by Ginger Scott
“Did someone catch her?” Leah asks.
“No. They caught…the prince!” Paige says, and I hear Leah gasp. “Delilah was only one leap away from her freedom, but when she saw the prince was in trouble, she couldn’t leave him.”
“What did she do?” Leah asks.
“She ran through the darkness to the drawbridge. The prince was being tied with rope to the back of a horse, to be led into the witch’s tower for punishment. She looked everywhere for something she could use, something that would help her defeat the guards. There were so many of them, but only one of her. And then she noticed a large barrel of oil. The guards used the oil to keep their torches lit.
“Delilah had grown strong enough, she was able to push the barrel over, spreading the slick liquid all over the bridge in their path. She waited, hidden underneath one of the bridge’s trusses, holding herself with her tiring arms, until she heard the horses begin to walk above her. Careful not to make any sound, she crawled around the bridge’s edge, doing her best to not be seen. The mud that covered her body kept her disguised. Then, she reached into her hair, and pulled out the tiny wood stick, sharp on one end, and she poked the leg of one of the horses.
“The horse leapt up on his back legs, and began jerking wildly, scaring every other horse, which caused many of the guards to lose their balance and drop their torches into the oil. The oil caught fire—igniting the bridge in fiery flames, which frightened the horses even more. They all took off in various directions, including the horse that the prince was still tied to. That horse is the only one Delilah cared about. She followed it, deep into the forest, but didn’t make a sound or let the prince know she was near until she was sure they were far enough away from the others.”
“What happened then?” Leah asks.
“When Delilah felt it was safe, she spoke softly. ‘It’s me, don’t be frightened,’ she said to the prince. He looked around for her in the darkness, and when he saw her, he was so happy. She ran to him, untied him, and hugged him tight, so happy he was safe. He told her that he was trying to rescue her, and she laughed, climbing onto the horse behind him so they could both ride away for their escape. Then, she told him that she wasn’t the kind of girl who needed rescuing, but she’s glad she could save him. And they lived happily ever after.”
Leah’s quiet. So is Paige. I’m pretty sure she’s the princess in the story, and I kind of think Leah knows it too. After a few seconds, I hear her light click off, so I stand, still keeping my back to the wall, my body out of sight.
“Paige?” Leah says.
“Yes, Leah,” she responds.
“I like that version,” Leah says.
I can hear Paige’s steps moving closer to the door, closer to me, and it’s beginning to get harder to breathe.
“Me, too, Leah. Me, too,” she says, stepping through the door and closing it behind her.
She sees me quickly, jumping a little, but not making a sound.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, my hands flat on the wall behind me. I’m a little stunned from…that. My heart is pounding in my stomach. “I didn’t want to interrupt your story. I think she liked it.”
“I think she did too,” Paige says, folding her arms over her body. She’s dressed in a long cotton shirt with a large heart on the front, her arms guarding it tightly with all her might. I’m struck by the irony. “How was your night with the guys?” she asks.
“I had a good time. Thanks for making me go,” I say, my voice low, not wanting to stir Leah. Not wanting to disturb our space—to ruin our alone. “You’re right. Ty’s a pretty good guy.”
“He is,” she sighs, her eyes lingering on mine. Even in the darkness, I can see the mix of blue and specks of green. She’s prettier this way, her hair long and messy, hanging over her shoulders, draping to her breasts. Her face is a blank canvas, the makeup gone, nothing to take away from her eyes and her mouth. My eyes can’t seem to leave her lips. They’re nervous. She’s nervous. She’s…beautiful.
And I’m all in.
“I like you, Paige,” I say, watching intently as her eyes show her tell—flashing wider for a brief second, before she flits them away, looking down at her feet, at her arms that are hugging her body, her heart, tighter. “I like you. I don’t wanna like you…but I do.”
Her eyes find mine quickly. The recognition is there. She remembers. I heard. We both feel. And now things are messy…messier.
“I can’t,” she says.
“I know,” I say, my voice more broken than I expected. The rawness makes her smile fade when she hears me.
“I want to,” she says, her eyes locked on mine now. She’s no longer breathing, and her lips are quivering.
“I know,” I say, taking my breaths for her.
Neither of us is moving. Why can’t I move? Why isn’t she moving?
The longer I stand here and stare at her, the more impossible it feels to leave—to ever leave. This strong goddess who doesn’t need anyone to save her, but damn does she need someone to believe in her.
Her breath catches, just when she realizes she hasn’t tasted air for nearly a minute, and her lips part in a way that makes them that much more beautiful. I take deliberate steps across the hallway, but I move slowly enough she won’t flinch. She can’t run—I can’t let her run. If she runs, I will chase her. I will have to convince her. I will beg her.
It will get messy.
When my toes touch hers, I finally let my eyes move from her mouth to her eyes. She’s wearing her warrior face; her lids lowered slightly to dare me—to show me how strong she is, to prove she’s not the one giving me permission. But she isn’t running. She isn’t yelling. She isn’t protesting. She’s scared.
Fuck, I’m scared. I get scared. And my life is scary. I don’t come into anything alone. I’m a package.
But she isn’t running.
I’m slow with my hand, and when she sees my fingers near her cheek, her breath hitches again.
“I like you, Paige,” I repeat, my voice a whisper, my lips close to her ear. I barely remember how to do this, how to do any of this, but every movement, every word with her right now feels so natural. “I don’t want to. You don’t want me to. But I do. And so do you. And we can keep fighting, and you can walk away from things, and you can yell at me when nothing makes sense, and you don’t have anyone else to blame. I’m okay with that. I’ll be that guy. Even though part of me doesn’t want to. That part is fucking terrified. But the rest of me…”
I step back again, my hand fully on her cheek now, her weight resting on me, her eyes closed, lips still trembling.
“The rest of me just wants to kiss you,” I say, closing the inches quickly until my lips touch hers, surprise hers, claim hers and quell her fears all in one action. Her protest is short, and soon her hands find my shoulders and then my back and she pulls me into her. My hands are holding her face, and we both walk backward until her back is against my door.
I reach with one hand, frantic to find it—desperate to open the damn door. Panicked that if I break this contact she’ll stop, that she’ll slap me…that she’ll go back to not wanting to…anything. When I get the door open, we both fall inside, but our lips never part, our grip remains tight on one another. Reaching with one hand, I close the door behind us gently, not wanting to make any sound that could possibly get us caught.
This cannot be interrupted. It’s still too new, too at risk for being the only time I get to feel this. Goddamn does she taste like the most expensive drink I’ve ever had. Scooping her into my arms, I pull her even closer to me, until my legs hit the bed. I don’t want her to think anything other than this kiss is enough. I’ve thought about more. Fuck, I think about more twenty-three of my twenty-four hours, dreaming when I’m sleeping, daydreaming when I’m awake. But this kiss—it’s enough right now.
Her mouth breaks from mine long enough for her to breathe, and our foreheads fall together, my hands still cupping her face, memorizing ever
y curve and contour of her cheeks, chin, mouth. Her eyes finally open to mine, and her hands move from my back to the sides of my face, her fingertips reaching into my hair. Her bottom lip is caught in her teeth, and just when I think I see worry—maybe even regret—flash in her features, her lip curves up into a smile.
“I might like you a lot,” I say, and she giggles, her breath soft and sweet.
She places one hand flat against my chest, putting pressure on me, urging me to sit. I do as she says, but I keep my eyes on hers just in case she changes her mind, my hands holding hers, relishing the feel of her fingertips, the softness of her skin. She crawls onto my lap, straddling me with one leg on either side until she’s completely wrapped herself around my waist, and simply the feel of the weight of her, of holding her…like this, awakens my most basic male instincts. My eyes close, and I growl a deep moan into her neck, my hands finding her ass, fingers teasing the line of her lace panties, and pulling her closer to me until her lips are again only a beat away from touching mine.
I watch her eyes for permission, dragging my hands around her body, up her thigh, to her hips and sides until my thumbs feel the perfect curve of her breasts. I leave her eyes, only for a few seconds, because her body has been invading my thoughts for too long for me not to see how it reacts when I touch her. I let my fingers linger at her ribs, my thumbs caressing the roundness, sliding cautiously until my thumbs run over the hardness of her nipples. As they do, her legs clutch onto me, and her body rolls into mine, pressing into me so hard I know there is no way she doesn’t feel everything I’m feeling. There are no more secrets. I want her—every single piece.
“You feel…I’m sorry, but you feel fucking fantastic,” I say, my breathing heavy and the pressure of everything in my pants truly the only thing I can focus on. She laughs again, the breathy kind, almost like panting. Fuck, I think she’s panting.
“I don’t know what Ty told you, or what you’ve heard about me, but I need to take this slow, Houston. I want you, but this is…it’s just…you’re so much,” she says, her head resting on mine, her hands against my face. My fingers are digging into her sides, fighting against the animal urge.
I laugh at her words. “I’ve been called big, but too much?” I joke, and she shoves me to my back, her hands on my chest, her hair cascading down her face, her center pressing even harder on mine. Oh my god slow is going to kill me.
“That’s not what I meant,” she says, her smile almost bashful. Beautiful.
I reach up and sweep her hair behind her, running my thumb over her cheek. “I know. I know what you meant. And honestly, if all I ever got to do again was kiss you, I’d be fine with that,” I say, letting my hand trace her shoulder and then stop again at her ribs before moving slowly up her unbelievably perfect breasts.
“That’s a lie,” I say, letting my thumbs tease across her nipples once more. “Kissing is good for now, but I’m pretty sure if all I ever got to do was kiss you I’d die.”
She laughs at my confession, but lets it fade into this sexy, sinister smile as her hands run up my arms until her fingers intertwine with mine against her breasts, squeezing them and pulling at her skin. I let her guide my hands lower to her legs, running them up her thighs, pushing the edge of her night shirt up higher until now I can see the pink lace of her underwear, the shirt that once draped to her knees now bunched around her waist. She moves my hands back around her, until I’m gripping her ass again hard, her body moving against mine in a purposeful sway, and she lets her head fall back, her hair falling in waves along her shoulders, her lips parting as she moans.
She moves her head back to face me, leaning forward, her hands running along my chest and down my arms, purposefully, and then she stops as her mouth hovers above mine. “I’m pretty sure it would kill me too, but for tonight, that’s the line,” she says, waiting for me to accept.
I do. Of course I do. And I grab her head and kiss her hard and roll her on her back underneath me and relish the next hour that she lets me have her lips, taste her neck, and let my hands roam, but never too far. She’s the one to pull away. I let her be the one to say when this moment is over, because I will forgo sleep.
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t say this was a mistake, and she doesn’t look sad. She looks worried. But underneath, she’s also hungry. And I know she’ll be back, and I know that the kissing line will move a little farther. I also know that I love gambling, and I’m pretty sure I’m addicted.
And my poker face is just fine.
Chapter 12
Paige
Is this what falling for someone is supposed to feel like? I wake up every morning—after sneaking away late at night, tiptoeing from Houston’s room back to mine—feeling…alive. When I’m with him, there is no video, no pitiful freshman year, no former Delta-sisters, or blackmail drug-photos locked away in my phone and computer. No drama. There’s just Houston, and me—and kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.
What’s strange is how he always holds that line. Maybe, in a way, I’ve been testing him these last few nights, to see if his hands would roam a little more, if he’d pressure me. He doesn’t. I think maybe this is also what a gentleman is like.
I see why Beth loved him.
When I look at myself, I don’t see a person trying to pretend to be anything other than who I am. With Houston, I’m me—I’m my flaws and my good stuff all at once. And he seems to want both parts. Being with him isn’t exhausting. There is no worry—other than the fear that Leah will catch me during one of my late-night trips, or that his mother will ask about us.
I worry about that a lot. But when we’re kissing, I worry about it less.
Maybe it’s just the sneaking around I enjoy. Houston and I share this secret, and it’s distracting—unbelievably distracting. I’ve had moments this week where I start to think he’s in a place different from me with this thing we’re doing. Sometimes I think he might be taking us too seriously, and the next I think that he’s not taking us seriously enough. Truth is, I’m not sure what place I’m in with this thing we’re doing. All I know is that when his hands are on me, I feel safe. I don’t feel the need to pretend everything’s okay. Everything just…is.
I hate that I ever let a guy touch me just because I was afraid of losing him. My sister was like that, and I persecuted her for it. Turns out I wasn’t so different.
With Houston, it’s more than the kissing, than the touching—than the thought of him crossing that line and the tease of temptation. Houston looks at me as if I’m more than some hot score. He doesn’t slap my ass then want me out of his way as soon as he’s done. He wants to talk. He wants to listen. We don’t have many secrets left. In fact, I don’t think he has any. All I have are those photos on my phone, the ones that started this all. I don’t bring them up…because I’m not sure they make me any better than Chandra now. She leaked a video. I leaked some photos. Of course, mine were real. I haven’t thought about them for days. It seems the world’s forgotten about them, too. Turns out—money can stop the Internet.
Houston left early this morning, leaving me alone to get ready for class and to eat breakfast downstairs with his mom and Leah. Thank god for Leah; she fills the silence with constant questions about the story I told her the other night and with her plans for the next time we play. She’s maybe the most precious little girl I’ve ever met. But…I don’t want to be her mother.
Which, of course, means this thing with Houston, it can’t…
“Leah, you need to get your shoes on so we can make it to the church in time for the puppet lady,” Joyce says, her voice coming out in a singsong way that makes Leah obey. I bet she raised Houston with that same voice, and I bet it’s why he’s so attentive and willing to listen.
“Thank you,” I say to Joyce as she pulls my plate from the table and moves it to the sink. She’s fed me almost every meal that I’ve had since I’ve been here. I was thinking about it last night, and I should really try to contribute more. I have points
on my meal plan I can use for things.
“It’s nice having you here,” she says, her smile lingering a little longer than it should. It feels like she’s working the muscles to make sure it stays in place. I don’t get the impression that she doesn’t like me, but there’s something underneath—I can tell.
“I want to help out, maybe shop for some groceries when I can? Is there anything that I can get? I could go later today,” I say.
Her smile gets tighter, and I’m expecting her to speak long before she finally does. “Get whatever you would like. We’re fine with what we have,” she says, turning from me so I can’t see her face. I get the sense those words are talking about more than the food in the pantry.
“All right, well thank you, again,” I say, my voice weaker. I’m gathering my backpack and things when I hear Leah skipping down the stairs, so I pause at the back door to make sure I say goodbye to her for the day. Before I fully turn, I feel her arms around me, her face nuzzled into my side, and she kisses my hip.
“Have a good day,” she says.
“Oh…thank you. You too,” I say, a little stunned by her affection. I glance back up at Joyce—her worried smile still the same. I understand it a little more.
Leah.
This isn’t about me and Houston—her concern is about me…and Leah.
I leave without voicing any of the nonverbal conversations Joyce and I just had. Houston’s mother is warm and wonderful. Much of her reminds me of my mom, only far less flighty. Joyce is strong, and she’s very much the glue that holds this house together. I respect that. She and I are more similar than she knows—we’re both protectors. Which means as welcome as she makes me feel, she also prefers me to leave everything exactly as I found it. And maybe a week ago, I would have.