Solving for Ex

by LeighAnn Kopans

  He tapped the GPS on the dashboard. “Tioga National Forest? The one you told me about? I called their park ranger’s office and they said they still have a couple areas with foliage. There isn’t much in Pittsburgh, and I’d never seen it growing up. California has, like, one season. So I thought you could show me.”

  Ω

  We talked about Thanksgiving the whole ride out. I told him about the boys and their jumping on me at two in the morning for fun, and my mom’s sweet potato casserole I loved so much, marshmallows melted and browned over the top. I learned his favorite type of pie and how he took his coffee—black, like me. The only way I respected it, really.

  By the time we got to the forest, the sky was beginning to turn a deep blue. Soon we’d be watching a classic Northern Pennsylvania autumn sunset, the colors somehow deeper and richer and truer against the gray-blue backdrop than the bright pastels of summer.

  He parked the car on a lookout, not unlike Mount Washington. Again, instead of feeling apprehensive, I felt okay. Warm. Happy for his company. He looked over at me and flashed a grin. “Wait here. Okay?”

  “Okay. Are you getting your camera?”

  “Just wait here.” He grinned, climbing out of the truck cab and slamming the door behind him.

  A couple minutes later, he pulled open my door and held out a hand to help me down. I put one hand in his. When he grasped my waist to help me hop out of the cab with his other hand, a thrill ran through me.

  He walked me around to the back of the pickup, where the walls of the bed were lined with pillows and the floor piled with at least four fluffy blankets. In the middle sat a large picnic basket.

  “What…? Wow.”

  “I have brownies, M&Ms, and hot chocolate. So, basically, chocolate in all forms, along with apples and caramel dip,” he said, smiling at the ground and pushing his fingers back through his hair.

  That hair. How had I missed how tempting it was to reach up and touch it?

  “Wanna have a seat?”

  All I could do was nod. I was smiling too hard to do anything else.

  Ω

  Once we were settled, our backs to the giant pillows he’d propped there, he pulled out two mugs and a thermos. When he turned the lid, I heard the air whoosh out as the suction broke. Steam floated through the air, carrying the scent of chocolate with it.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Hot chocolate?”

  “Mmhm,” he said, nodding. Something about the way one corner of his mouth pulled up more than the other tugged at my heart.

  “What’s in it?” I asked, leaning in to catch a better whiff.

  “I made it myself,” he said, his smile growing wider. “Scalded milk, and Belgian chocolate.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s it. I promised—no more messing around. And I meant it. I didn’t spike it or anything. Didn’t even think about it.”

  I finally smiled back. I leaned against one of what must have been three dozen pillows padding the back of this thing and accepted the mug he passed me. “I can’t believe you drove all the way out here just to hang out with me.”

  “I didn’t come out here to see you.” He reached into his bag, pulled out his camera body, and fished around for a lens. “Joining that art class late means I have to get this photography project done over break. No place more beautiful than Tioga.”

  My cheeks blazed red. Of course he didn’t come here to see me. “Oh…right. Yeah, of course.”

  “Ash. Come on. I’m kidding.” He stretched his arm over my shoulders and pulled me in to him.

  God, I was an idiot. I laughed, half with embarrassment, half with relief. “Still, three hours? That’s a drive.”

  “It’s boring in Pittsburgh. There’s nothing to do,” he said, leaning back too, letting his shoulder just barely touch mine.

  I laughed. “Um, I think it’s here that there’s nothing to do.”

  “Well, I guess what I meant is…everyone there is boring. The only person I really want to hang out with is you.”

  I drew my eyebrows in and looked at him doubtfully.

  “It’s true!” he protested, catching the look. “And the leaves are gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as you, but…” He looked at me. Patient, gentle smile. His eyes boring into me. Then practically whispered, “Ever since happiness heard your name, it has been running through the streets trying to find you.”

  “Very nice words,” I giggled. Vincent always sounded very smooth, but this was not like him at all. Still, the way he looked at me right now made me think he was very, very serious.

  “So. You’re into photography. I never tell anyone this, but want to hear my other extracurricular obsession?”

  Something in me sensed that this was serious. However many times Vincent was putting on a show, this wasn’t one of them.

  My voice softened. “Sure.”

  He leaned in and whispered at my ear, “Poetry.” His breath tickled my neck, blowing away the wisps of hair there. I gasped a little.

  He leaned back and looked at me. “What? Are you surprised? Didn’t think I was smart enough for poetry?”

  “No, just never seen you interested in it at school.”

  “Have you ever seen me interested in anything at school?”

  Now that he said it, he had a point. I hadn’t.

  “No, seriously. That doesn’t get me many AP points, and imagine me sitting in class freaking out about how badassed a Neruda poem is. But…it is.”

  “Neruda,” I said. I knew one line from a Neruda poem. “I love you without knowing how, or where, or when…”

  “I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride. Because I know no other way,” Vincent finished.

  Whoa.

  I had been looking out at the foggy sunset when I was saying that line, daydreaming. But, I now realized, Vincent was looking right at me. He leaned in, brushed his nose with mine, and kissed me lightly. I let my eyes drift shut, lingered there for a moment, and felt my shoulders relax. Then I drew back, and with my eyes still closed, leaned against the pillows, tilting my head toward the sky. I opened my eyes, and a thousand stars filled my vision. So many points of light in such a huge sky.

  what had used to be essential points

  We sat there for a long time, watching the stars emerge through the trees on the horizon, taking the crisp air into our lungs and blowing it back out in billowing white clouds.

  The chill in the air became so intense, so quickly, that it felt like it had reached through my skin and wrapped around my bones. Vincent must have seen me shiver, because he shrugged out of his heavy canvas jacket and draped it across my shoulders. I looked up at him, even though I knew it would start him kissing me again.

  He was already watching me, his eyes trained on mine. Searching them for something. His eyes moved down to my lips for one second. But then, strangely, they focused on something just over my shoulder, and…

  “Ashley!” he shouted, wrapping his left arm around my shoulders and pulling me tight to him, while grabbing one of the apples and chucking it at the inside of the truck bed, right next to where I’d just been sitting. The apple broke into about twenty pieces, sending a spray of cold, sticky juice everywhere. I closed one eye against the sting of flying apple juice, and swiped at the cheek beneath it.

  “What the hell, Vincent?”

  “There was a spider. Definitely a spider. Probably a black widow. Maybe.”

  His fingers still wrapped around my shoulder. He held on so tight that I could feel them digging into the skin, even through my coat. And that’s when I realized that he was shaking. His arm across my back was trembling, and so was his whole body. Just the slightest bit. I would have never noticed it if I wasn’t pressed up against him, so close that his breath, smelling of rich chocolate, steamed against my cheek.

  “You’re afraid of spiders?” A smile teased at corners of my mouth. He still held me tight to him, and I fought the urge to relax against his arm, to lay my head on his shoulder.r />
  He flushed, though he didn’t look away. “Some of them can kill you. I didn’t want…” He reached up into my hair and plucked something out.

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

  “What? What is it?” I prayed there was not a damn dead spider in my hair.

  “It’s…when the apple broke…” He held up a tiny, white piece of apple, then dropped it and went back in for some more. Only with one hand, though—the other one wrapped firmly around my shoulder, still.

  I giggled, at first nervously, then at the flush that continued to creep up his cheeks as he fished bits of apple out of my hair. “It’s okay,” I said.

  Did that come out quieter than I meant it to? I didn’t know. Couldn’t be bothered with the thought, actually, because then, all I could pay attention to was his strong jaw, and the smooth fullness of his lips. The ones that were just an inch from mine.

  “Yes. Now you know,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I’m afraid of spiders. But, Ashley Price,” he moved even closer to me, so that his breath tickled my lips when he spoke, “I am not afraid of you.”

  He tilted my chin up and brushed his lips against mine, feather light, soft, and delicious.

  My whole body trembled. It knew, maybe more than I did, that this was the time to make the choice. Break it to Vincent that Brendan would always be the only one for me, or break it to myself that maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t true.

  I was so tired of the struggle of wanting-and-not-having. I deserved this. I deserved to be wanted and adored, and to be really, truly happy about it. Vincent liked me, and there was no reason for me not to like him too.

  So I fell into him. He was waiting for me, I knew, because I felt his body relax too, and a little puff of air blew against my upper lip when he pressed in, molding his lips to mine. His fingers, having stopped clutching my shoulder, played along my hairline and under my jaw. He held me firmly and gently at the same time, like something he was afraid to lose. Like a treasure.

  My heart didn’t thrum wildly in my chest, and I wasn’t overwhelmed with love for Vincent. But I did love the way I felt now—like I was sweet, and desirable, like I existed as something powerful all on my own. Like people should want me.

  I really loved it.

  Which is probably why, instead of just letting him kiss me, I reached up and threaded my fingers through Vincent’s gorgeous curls, and opened my lips, letting his breath mingle with mine. And when he pulled away, grazing my bottom lip with his teeth gently enough to make me want more, I went after it, clutching at his shirt, pressing my chest against his, and letting the quietest moaning sigh tell Vincent that I was definitely not afraid of him either.

  He pulled away, leaning his forehead against mine. When he spoke, his breath brushed my face again, and I shivered when a little tingle ran down my spine. “We are in a truck bed. So I think it’s probably a good idea for us to stop this right now, and get you home by ten. Like I promised.”

  I swallowed and said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  Grinning, we climbed out of the truck bed, picked everything up, and climbed into the cab. Vincent looked at me, studying me for a moment. “It was nothing.”

  My heart burned, then dropped. “What? What do you—”

  “The drive. Three hours. It was so worth it. Even if it was just for that last kiss.”

  I had to look down. I knew my expression was a mixture of giddiness and confusion and embarrassment.

  We pulled up to my house. I looked up to the second floor. My light was still on.

  Vincent cupped my face in his hand again, and swiped at my cheek with his thumb. His gaze was steady, pressing into me in a way that was not unpleasant. At all. “I think you still had some apple guts there,” he said.

  confusion of discontent

  I couldn’t believe I finally let Vincent Cole kiss me. Hell, I more than let him—I kissed him back. I even let him French kiss me. I definitely enjoyed it.

  And I definitely had swollen, tingling lips by the time it got so cold that he took off his jacket, wrapped it around my shoulders and helped me down from the truck bed like a perfect gentleman. When he drove me home, walked me to the door, and said goodnight without trying to get his hands up my shirt or down my pants, I was actually floored. Right before he left, he took my hand, kissed it, and looked into my eyes. “Every night you turned me down was worth it, if all I ever get is just this one.”

  I just stood there, with my stomach sinking, feeling like I should be smiling bigger, like my heart should be doing jumping jacks inside my chest. Like I should be a little more excited about this. I didn’t know what to say, but of course, he did.

  “Tell me it’s not just this one, though,” he said, cupping his hand around my jaw. He leaned in and planted the most gentle kiss I could imagine on the corner of my mouth. “I do feel bad about what happened at Brendan’s. We shouldn’t have trashed everything like that.” I suddenly wanted, very badly, for him to kiss me again. Hard. A lot.

  “Can I see you? Tomorrow?” he asked, his eyes glinting in the light from the front porch.

  “I….” How could I say no? I looked at him, how beautiful he was, how nicely he was dressed, how good he smelled. Why would I want to say no? Maybe he really meant it. Maybe I was overreacting about that one time he cheated on that one little test.

  “Yeah. Tomorrow’s great.”

  “Thank you,” he said. It sounded almost like a prayer. I smiled and ducked inside.

  Ω

  That night, I lay in bed, waiting for the warm fuzzies to come. I had a boyfriend. Someone who drove halfway across the state to see me over Thanksgiving break, who decked out his rented truck bed and put together a picnic just for me, who begged to see me again tomorrow.

  But instead of feeling the creeping warmth that would push my face into an unshakable grin and keep me up imagining picnic dates as far as my calendar could see, all I felt was tired. I fell into a black, dreamless sleep.

  Ω

  The next morning, I forced myself out of bed and into the shower. I had been so exhausted last night, and maybe so eager to crawl into bed and try to get excited that Vincent was my boyfriend, that I’d fallen asleep in the same clothes I’d worn the day before. I had brought some cute sweaters back with me, and I should have worn one of those and bothered to do my hair. Instead I threw on a hoodie that was fraying at the cuffs, and my most broken-in jeans. I tied my hair in a hasty ponytail and sighed deeply on my way out the door.

  I knew something was wrong. I knew it. But I didn’t want to know it.

  Ω

  I didn’t even hear half the things he said in the truck on the way to the diner. Some stuff about lacrosse, and another party he was going to when he got back to Pittsburgh—designated driver, he assured me. Everything punctuated by an occasional wave of his cologne in front of my face.

  “What’ll you have, honey?” the waitress asked.

  “Just the banana pancakes, please.”

  “No bananas today, hon.”

  “What?” I looked at her like she’d said they only served worms and pigs’ feet.

  “No bananas,” she said, slowly and loudly, like I was mentally impaired.

  “Regular pancakes sounds great,” Vincent said, grabbing my menu from me to hand back to the waitress, and flashing his white-toothed grin. “I’ll have that too.” I swear she looked like she’d melt on the spot.

  I tried to ignore the vaguely sick feeling in my stomach.

  Maybe it was the diner. Maybe it was the way the waitress couldn’t do my regular order, or that it had tables and chairs instead of booths. Maybe it was that Vincent held the door for me, and pulled the chair out before I sat down.

  The metal chair legs squealed as Vincent scooted up to the table. A shiver ran down my spine.

  “So?” Vincent reached out and covered my hand with his, flashing that killer dimple at the same time. I wanted to pull my hand away, but instead I just sat there, figh
ting it. Willing this to feel all right. “How did you sleep?”

  “Um,” I said, using a swig of coffee to buy myself a couple more seconds. “Okay. You?”

  “I dreamed about you,” he said, ducking his head a little and trying to look me in the eye. Damn, there was no question that those eyes were swoon-worthy. Deep melty brown and just like the hot chocolate we’d shared last night.

  I raised my eyebrows at him, against my hormones’ better judgment.

  “I did!” He laughed. “I dreamed that we were taking a walk through those woods. And for the first time, I didn’t have to dream about what it would be like to kiss you.”

  My stomach twisted. Oh, God. This wasn’t good. My heart should have been fluttering like a damn butterfly, and I should have wanted to drag him out of the diner by his belt loops, throw him into the cab of that truck, and jump him.

  Instead, I fidgeted, glanced around, and found I couldn’t get comfortable in my chair. The waitress brought our pancakes and a whole pitcher of warm syrup. My stomach turned.

  “Vincent, I…”

  “Yeah?” He leaned forward, hanging on my every word, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.

  And then, I knew. When I looked at this guy, who basically thought the world revolved around me, and who was confirmed by every other girl there to be the cutest guy in the whole school, and all I felt was the sensation of my skin crawling, I knew. As nice as it was to be kissed and held and flattered and admired by Vincent, I didn’t love him. Didn’t even really like him that much, if I was being honest. His attitude was too perfect. So were his pretty words about his dreams. There was just something I didn’t trust.

  It could have been a lot of things. It could have been that I didn’t get dressed nicely that day. It could have been sleeping in my old bed last night. Hell, it could have been that the pancakes were plain instead of banana.

  But I knew it wasn’t. I knew it was him.

  So when he leaned in to kiss me over the table, and I tried to let the soft, warm sweetness of his lips wash over me, all I felt was the weird stickiness of pancake syrup holding us together for an unnatural extra fraction of a second.