A soft snort of laughter escapes him and he shakes his head. “I just… I can’t figure out why I feel so drawn to you. Like, when I look into your eyes, I feel like I’ve already know you for a thousand years, but I don’t really know anything about you at all. It’s… weird.”
“We don’t have to figure anything out, Nate. We don’t even need to know what we’re talking about. I like you,” I tell him, and I can’t believe I’m about to reveal just how much after only two dates. “I saw you the day we came here. We were driving past your house, and I saw you on your porch with your guitar. There’s no way you could have seen me through the tint on the windows, but it was like you looked into my soul when you lifted your head up and I saw your eyes for the first time.”
He doesn’t say anything at first. He’s not even looking at me, but I know he’s listening. Playing over every word I’ve just spoken in his mind, and it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Panic speeds up my heartbeat again, and tendrils of worry spiral around my ribcage, tightening by the second with each silent moment that passes between us.
“And you thought it was creepy that you spent all day thinking about kissing me.” I quirk my eyebrow when he finally turns in to look at me. The sadness isn’t entirely gone, but he’s intrigued by what I’m saying. “I’ve been stalking you from my bedroom window since I moved into that house. There, now you know.”
Gentle laughter catches in the back of his throat, and I think he’s laughing at me until he says, “What, you think I wasn’t waiting for you to come to the window? Why do you think I spent every minute I wasn’t at work on the porch? I was out there looking for you, watching you and your brother walk back and forth to Dough Boys, staring at the front door of your house every time you went back inside and hoping you’d come out again. I kept looking inside myself for the courage to say hi, or what’s up, or something… hoping maybe you’d make a move so I didn’t have to because you have no idea how much I suck at this whole thing now. I don’t trust myself at all.”
Pinching my lips together, I avert my eyes and stare at my hands on the table. My galaxy spiral nail wraps are starting to chip a little around the edges, but I don’t even really see them. All I see are his hands inching back in to lay over top of mine. There are scars across his knuckles, like he punched something a long time ago and those little white chunks of upraised flesh are a reminder to watch his temper. I study the black ink around his forearm, the words: deeds, not words, and wonder what they mean to him. What prompted him to tattoo them on his skin forever?
“Well,” I take a breath, “aren’t we a pair.”
“A pair of stalkers,” he chuckles.
“Is it really stalking if both parties are partaking?”
“I don’t know.” After a moment, he says, “I don’t even think it matters. Any more than it matters why I feel so drawn to you. I don’t really need to know, do I? It should be enough that I just am, right?”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
God, I sound like my dad when I say that, and I want to stuff napkins into my mouth to stop his voice from spilling out and ruining my date.
“Well,” Nate starts, “whatever the reason, I’m glad it’s happening.” Squeezing my hands inside his, I know I probably look like a grinning idiot, but I can’t help it. “I’m glad you moved into the witch house, and I get to watch you running away from whatever it is you’re running from, but mostly I’m glad you said yes when I asked you out yesterday.”
“Me too.”
Nothing like this has ever happened to me. I’ve thought I was in love before, thought I would quite literally die when Aidan McAffrey broke up with me junior year right after prom because he finally got what he wanted after seven months of not-so-patiently waiting to crack the combination to my panties, but the intensity of every moment with Nate is impossible to explain. Every time he touches me my skin tingles and my heart starts to race. When he kisses me it feels like I leave my body and drift off among the stars. Our eyes meet and there is no one else in the world, and I know in that moment that no matter what happens this summer it’s going to be intense and it’s going to leave a mark—a tattoo on my soul that might one day start to fade, but it’ll be with me until the day I die.
“I need more quarters.” Delilah appears beside the table, depositing reams of game tickets into the booth beside her brother.
“Seriously? I gave you five dollars.”
“Five dollars doesn’t go very far in this economy, Nate.”
Art lurks over her shoulder, neatly folded tickets clutched in one hand, while he holds the other out so I can give him five more dollars to spend. “Maybe save some quarters. The pizza’s probably going to be here soon.”
But they don’t hear me. They’re already off, feeding their five dollar bills into the change machine before darting back into the crowd of overstimulated kids and bedraggled parents. Nate and I watch them, and for a moment I expect them to go their separate ways, but they flock toward a wall lined with skee-ball targets and start a fierce competition there aren’t enough quarters in the world to complete.
“What do you say, Commander Bard? Should we skee-ball? I want to tell my guildies I beat you at something.”
Smirking across the table, I slide out of the booth. “You’re on!”
Nate and I lose ourselves in a grueling, ball-slinging competition, and for a minute I almost think about letting him win to boost his confidence, but then he starts trash talking my guild, and that means war. Four rounds later, there are so many tickets pouring out of my machine, one of the attendants has to come and add a new ream. Rolling his eyes as he gathers his winnings for Delilah, he drops his arm across my shoulder as we head back to the table, kissing close to my ear before he says, “You’re lucky they don’t have Ninja Gaiden. I’d so kick your ass at that.”
“You could try,” I raise my brow at him, grinning.
Art and Delilah have piles of tickets on the table between them and they’re discussing custody of the biggest prize behind the counter if they pool their resources over the pizza that’s already started to cool. Nate winks at me when he slides in beside his sister and there are those butterflies again, twirling like a company of ballerinas in my belly.
After we eat, the four of us putt through the miniature golf course, Nate and I endeavoring to playful trash talk because already we’re nothing, if not competitive with each other. I keep watching him with his little sister when I’m sure he’s not looking. He’s really good with both of the kids, actually. In fact, he seems to be a superstar when it comes to children, not exactly something you’d expect from most guys under the age of twenty-five. He gets along well with Delilah, and every time he opens his mouth to speak, Art hangs from his every word as if his life depends on it.
The funny thing is, I expected my brother to be a total shit tonight, but he’s been… fun. I don’t know what the world’s coming to, but I’m not going to curse myself by dwelling on it too long. We still have two movies at the drive-in to get through.
Anything could happen.
FOURTEEN
The front seat of a Geo Metro isn’t exactly the most comfortable place to get… well… comfortable. Those cars are small, and our legs are cramped. Without our seat belts, I stretch across the emergency break so we can lean into each other, but it’s impossible to get really close because of the steering wheel. Tipping the seats back too far seems to elicit shrieks of discomfort and protest from the back, so Nate and I wind up watching the first movie, an animated family film about little yellow monsters, with me tucked under his arm and leaning into his chest while trying to avoid the steering wheel.
Both kids are passed out about half an hour before the credits start to roll, the soft sounds of their long breath conjoined in a lullaby chorus. It’s probably for the best. The second film is rated PG13, and while my parents are pretty lenient about what they’ll let Art watch, the last thing I need is for him to start building a cyborg army
in the garage out back.
I stare up at the screen through the windshield, but I’m not really watching the movie. Even though it’s one I’ve really wanted to see, I’m distracted by the gentle caress of Nate’s hand sliding up and down the length of my arm, the dance of his fingers before he brings them up to play with pieces of my hair.
“Your hair’s like cotton candy,” he whispers. “I just want to eat it.”
Stifling a giggle as I bury my face into his shoulder, I tell him, “It doesn’t taste like cotton candy.”
“That’s too bad.”
When I tilt my head up to look at him, I realize he’s watching me, not the movie. Grinning, I draw back to ask, “I thought you were a Marvel kind of guy.”
“I’ve already seen this movie,” he shrugs. “And besides, I’d rather watch you. You’re far more interesting.” I stretch my body, shuddering as his fingers tickle along the nape of my neck before drawing out the length of my hair and letting it drop. When I shiver, it teases a smile from his lips and I lean upward to kiss them for the first time in hours. We were both on our best behavior when the kids were around, but now they’re sleeping in the backseat, not a peep out of either of them for almost an hour.
Nate’s mouth is warm, inviting, and while this is definitely not the most comfortable kissing position, every tender stroke of his tongue across mine makes it worthwhile. I’m floating away again, drifting among the stars with him and I’m not sure there’s anything that could ever bring me down from this. I feel like I’m caught in a wave that’s drawing me further from the shore instead of carrying me closer to it. I’m out there flailing in the great sea of Nate, and I know if I don’t pull back he’s going to wash me away. The overwhelming sense of perfection, the draw of attraction between us is too strong for two people who don’t know much more than the taste of each other’s lips.
It reminds me of a Dave Matthews song that came out the year I was born. Every time it comes on the radio, Dad sweeps Mom into his arms and they dance close and slow, and as much as I hate to think about it because it’s just wrong and gross to think about my parents in that way, I’m pretty sure that song is somehow responsible for bringing both of my siblings into the world.
For the first time in my life I understand its power.
I don’t know anything about this guy, and yet if we were alone right now, somewhere private and safe and completely beyond the pressure of inhibitions, I’d let him crash into me. Dilute every part of me with his essence until I no longer know where I begin and he ends.
And if that’s the kind of stuff I’m thinking about while he’s just kissing me, I don’t even want to imagine what’s going to happen to my mind if it ever goes any further than this. If he keeps kissing me this way, keeps stroking the backs of his fingers down my cheek every time he tilts his head to look at me, I have a feeling it’ll wind up in that place sooner, rather than later, and for the first time I’m really thinking about whether or not it’s a good idea.
I don’t even know if I’m going to stay here, and if I do it certainly isn’t going to be because of a guy. No matter how much he makes my belly quiver, or how soft his mouth is, or how much I tremble when he kisses past my cheek, touching his lips to my ear as he whispers, “You are so beautiful.”
I close my eyes, turn my head down and draw my ear away, the chills still dancing across the backs of my bare shoulders.
“I bet you hear that all the time.” He leans away, his eyes darting toward the screen as if he’s taken a sudden interest in Tony Stark’s armor. “How beautiful you are.”
“A couple times.” My hand on his chest, I lower my head into the crook of his neck again and say, “Though it’s been a while since I suspect anyone’s actually meant it. Things like that are easy to say.”
“People shouldn’t say things they don’t mean.”
“But they do. All the time. Sometimes they do it because they want something from you. Other times they do it just to hurt you. Or they say them just because they think it’s what you want to hear.”
Nate tilts his head down, the soft scruff of his facial hair brushing through my hair as he whispers, “I won’t ever say anything to you that isn’t true. When I say things, it’ll be because I mean them. Not because I want anything, or I think it’s what you want to hear, and never to purposely hurt you.”
“That’s good to know.”
And then we don’t say anything else for a while, because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. It almost feels like he’s trying to make up for something he said to someone else a long time ago, but a second date doesn’t seem like the right time to ask that kind of question. Especially with my little brother sleeping less than the full stretch of my arm away. Maybe on our third date. Or our fourth.
I’m not making assumptions. It’s more than a gut feeling. Like I said before, whatever this is, a summer fling or the start of something more amazing than I’ll ever be able to adequately describe, there’s no stopping what’s gotten started between Nate and me.
I don’t think I would try to stop it anyway, not even if I was given a choice.
Nate shuffles Delilah into the house, then comes back out to walk Art and me across the street. It took me almost the entire time he was inside to wake my brother, and while I expect Art to linger after I unlock the door and usher him inside the house, he’s so tired he heads right to the stairs and begins crawling up them like a slug. He doesn’t even say thank you, but it’s almost two o’clock in the morning, so no one holds it against him.
Nate has to work tomorrow morning at ten, but I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do than grab him by the hand and run away with him for a few more hours. I’ve already kept him out way later than I’m sure he wants to be, but neither of us moves toward the door. We just listen to the sound of my brother’s feet dragging him up the staircase, and then when he reaches the third floor the house grows silent again. I breathe out a short laugh and shake my head.
“He’ll be up at six o’clock in the morning. Just you watch.”
“Dee’s the same way.” His hand comes up, finger trailing absently through a loose lock of my hair.
“I think this was really good for him. An icebreaker between him and Delilah.”
“Definitely.”
“Thank you. There aren’t a lot of guys who’d be into taking a girl’s annoying little brother on a date.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“When we wants to be.”
Nate’s grip curls around my shoulders, drawing me into him as he murmurs, “Thank you for letting me take you and your brother on a date with me,” before lowering his mouth over mine.
I snake my arms around his neck, bringing him so close I can feel every muscle in his body flexing against mine as I stretch against him and our kiss deepens. His forearm tightens against the small of my back, his fingers pressing into my side, tightening as it tickles and I try not to squirm. Every time he kisses me it feels even more intense than the last time, drawing me further and further away from reason and logic. It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t want it to. I just want him to go on kissing me until my lips are numb.
His mouth drifts across my cheek, warm breath pulsing against my skin as he exhales beside my ear, “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, please.”
I start to pull back, but his arms tighten around me. There’s no escaping this moment, and I don’t want to. I want him to stay forever, take my hand and follow me up the stairs to my bedroom. Forget that my parents live here as we fall into bed and he makes me his in the most reckless and irresponsible way imaginable. Judging by the flicker of his tongue as it teases mine, I think he knows it. I think he wants it, too.
I wonder if he would follow me if I ask him, but I don’t because there’s a momentary jolt of reason somewhere in the back of my mind reminding me that I don’t know him, not the way my body thinks I should. Not yet, it whispers. I sort of hate that voice as I back away, holding
him at arms’ length and grinning. “If you don’t stop kissing me, neither of us is going to bed.”
Or both of us are going to bed, but there won’t be sleeping, and I’ll have a lot of explaining to do come morning.
“I don’t want to,” he laments, “but I should go. I’ll text you when I get off work.”
Swooping in, he kisses me again, but this time it’s quick, a soft peck that leaves my lips tingling long after he slips out the front door, and I press my back against the wall beside it, sliding down it like I’ve seen in about a hundred cheesy movies. I always thought it was silly, but for the first time in my life I am that puddle of goo, and I sit there crouched far longer than is probably normal.
In fact, I’m still sitting there when my phone chimes inside my purse, and I’m already grinning before I dig it out to check the message because I know it’s Nate.
I can’t sleep.
My thumbs move effortlessly across the screen: You’ve been home for all of ten minutes. You haven’t even tried, LOL.
Dragging myself up from the floor, I start wandering up the staircase, moving as quietly as possible so I don’t wake Gwen or my parents. It pings again when I slip into my bedroom, close the door and flip on the overhead light.
Nate: I don’t want to. I just want to stay up all night and talk to you.
I flop down on the edge of my bed and kick out of my sneakers.
Me: You’ll be super tired if you do that.
Nate: …So. Who needs sleep?
Me: If you’re super tired all day at work, imagine how tired you’ll be when you come home. You’ll fall asleep on me.
Nate: NEVER.
Me: What would we talk about?
Nate: Everything…
Me: Like what?
Nate: I don’t know, everything. Nothing. Whatever.
Me: So, basically, we would stay up all night making out? Not doing much talking at all?
He doesn’t answer right away, and there’s a nervous flutter as I contemplate whether I said the wrong thing. Relief floods me when I see the telltale ellipsis that signals him typing again. A few seconds later his message comes through.
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