“Yeah, me neither,” he grinned.
He gently, gently backed me up against the tree. The air whooshed out of me just from that—his gentle touch. It sent electric sparks through my whole body and made my heart pound wild against my chest.
Closing my eyes, I waited. Aching and practically panting for his magical kiss. I held my breath and everything. The world spun and my pulse pounded hard in my ears, waiting, waiting, waiting.
I could hear him breathing, it was driving me wild.
Silently, he skimmed his rough hands down my shivering arms. Oh my gosh, not kidding, I had to hold back a moan. Not kidding!!! His achingly tender touch made tingles wash through my entire body. I was on fire for that kiss.
But instead of his mouth crashing on mine like I anticipated, his warm breath heated my lips with a question.
His voice came out hesitant, almost shy, “You know how you were saying you wanted the tent closer to me?”
I opened my eyes at his unexpected question. I peeked up at him. “Yeah.”
He narrowed a look at me, his eyes full of question. “Why’d you want that?”
I didn’t understand why we were talking instead of mackin’. Confused, I shrugged. “You know me—I’m just a big chicken and our tent is kind of on the outskirts of the group. I’d just feel safer closer to you.”
He cocked his head and squinted. “I have a five man tent.”
He said it as though this should mean something to me. But my body was still shivering with tingles and my head was stuck on thoughts of kissing—that’s all it could focus on—the only thing—of having his beautiful warm mouth press against mine and me melting into his strong, hot, scrumptious embrace. Mmmm.
I swallowed, trying to refocus—but my mushy, star-struck brain refused. “Are you saying me and Danny can have it?”
He looked at me incredulously, his answer a slow shake of his head.
Oh. My face ignited with heat for some reason—probably because I was thinking about kissing him. “You mean you’d share it with us?”
His voice was soft, but sounded sort of like, duh. “Yeah.”
My face went even hotter. I’m sure it was bright red, but he didn’t tease me about blushing now.
“It was just a thought,” he murmured softly, his face drawing near mine, finally going to do what we came here for.
The air whooshed out of me and my heart sped up as I dreamily thought, Here it comes. What I’ve fantasized about for the last year—no the last four years. The spectacular thrill of being kissed by Mason Archer.
Then FINALLY the kiss came. It was the softest, sweetest, most wonderful kiss in the world.…. But it was on my forehead.
“Good night, Summer.”
CHAPTER 32
I didn’t know what had me so unnerved about Mason’s offer—about the tent situation. I knew he didn’t mean anything swarmy or lewd. Of course. So I don’t know why it struck me so oddly. I mean, he used to sleep in a sleeping bag on my bedroom floor every night.
Of course back then he’d never planted those amazing lips on me—and never told me he wanted to kiss me blind.
So … there was that.
In any case, Mason must have told Philip he didn’t need to help him with my tent. ‘Cause he didn’t. Mason had it straight and proper in a matter of minutes.
Then Mason left me with another simple, “Good night.” It wasn’t tense or awkward or anything like that. It was gentle and caring. But still, it gave me a knotted, unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach that made it sort of hard to breathe.
I never liked Mason leaving me. Not ever. Not the whole, entire time I knew him.
And tonight was definitely no exception.
***
I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag, totally fretting about Mason, and our confusing relationship. The term “rocky” and “unsteady” seemed to pretty much sum it up. The lines blurring big time at times—from both of us now, though … right? Right??? I mean, he had been the one to initiate this kiss. It had been totally all him. Totally … although, yeah, the kiss ended up being completely “brotherly.” So, ugh. Whatever. Maybe I was still the only one blurring the lines.
I was back to thinking I should just keep my mind sensible—stop with the fantasizing and secrete hoping. Just think of Mason as my brother. Period. Since really, it seemed I didn’t even have a choice. This year—away from us—Mason had become pretty much a trouble magnet—getting into fistfights constantly, and breaking girls’ hearts with lightening speed…. So, I tried to be glad he apparently still wanted to keep me “sisterly.”
I mean, ‘cause really at least there was that, right?
Here comes a huge example of why: When I woke in the middle of the night—after all of my tossing and turning in my sleeping bag, fretting over Mason and our unclear relationship—I was relieved (but not totally surprised) to see Mason had moved his tent. Moved it!!
A huge lump rose in my throat and my heart got all warm and mushy. ‘Cause his tent was now out of the row of all the other tents—totally out of formation. Instead, it was right in front of mine—right in front of it—so there was no way someone could get into it without disturbing Mason’s.
With a resigned sigh, I had to admit—being his “sister” definitely had its perks.
CHAPTER 33
The next morning a new/different (obviously) camp director came by our tent-site with another group of campers, planning to cross the bridge. I missed all the commotion and everything, as I hadn’t slept too well last night. Not totally just because I’m not Miss Camper or one to sleep on the cold hard ground. No (of course), also there were all those convoluted thoughts of Mason swarming around in my brain.
So annoying!!
Anyway, I didn’t sleep well. Or at all. Until it was almost sunrise. Then I slept like a log. And missed the big scene when the new camp director learned about our camp director—you know, the one that died.
But apparently the guy took it hard. Which is completely understandable. Completely. Of course. (Though, I was so glad I missed it.) Then, finally, the guy used his walkie-talkie thing to order a bus to come and get us. Then we headed home. Exhausted.
But even after that horrible experience, I still had to do my homework for Monday, which included writing a very bad poem. (Well, the assignment wasn’t to write a bad poem. The assignment was just to write a poem. It just turned out really bad because hey, that’s my style. I guess.)
I didn’t actually really care too terribly much about the poem though, until Monday in class when I had to turn the stupid thing in. Then I was rather mortified. For two reasons. One, our teacher was randomly reading some of the poems aloud to the class. Two, Mason showed up in our class for some reason. (Turned out he got transferred to the class for scheduling purposes, but whatever. I was horrified. Horrified he might hear my horrible [awful] poem.) Especially because—gasp!!—IT WAS ABOUT HIM!!!!!
Of course our teacher wasn’t announcing our names as she read the random poems. But still, I was sitting there dying. ‘Cause Mason would definitely know the poem was written by me if he heard it. ‘Cause like I said—it was about him!!! (Eeeek!)
I sat in my seat praying, praying, PRAYING Mrs. Frisk wouldn’t read my poem. But then—of course—she did. Because that is just so obviously my luck. Obviously. I mean, come on, Mason showed up in my class (the only one he’s ever, ever been in with me—ever) the very day I turned in a poem about him.
My luck bit. Big time.
I sat holding my breath, watching Mason. I don’t think he even realized I was in the class. Not yet. Not until Mrs. Frisk started reading my poem. And at first not even then.
So there I was: squirming as Mrs. Frisk read my guts aloud to the class. Thinking: How totally insane is this? Mason to actually be in my class on the very first day that Mrs. Frisk decides to read something of mine. Of course she doesn’t say whose poem it is. At least there’s that. And Mason’s not really listening. He’s drawing a guitar
on his folder. So, there’s that too. If he just keeps not listening…
But when Mrs. Frisk got to the part about the hospital—about me opening my eyes and seeing Mason’s—Mason stiffened and immediately stopped drawing. His eyes narrowed, and his lips parted slightly, and it was like a light bulb blinked on in his brain—this is about me and Summer, back in middle school.
He cocked his head and sat there motionless, listening intently as Mrs. Frisk read on and on.
His name was never mentioned, but of course he knew every detail. Every loving sweet thing he’d ever done … and I’d written them down!!!
There they were being read to the class.
Mason glanced back at me when the torture was finally over. His big dark eyes were like glistening question marks.
My heart pounding, I brought my hands to my flaming cheeks, refusing to meet his gaze. Well, that’s not exactly true. For a minute my eyes were locked on his, knocking the breath out of me. My heart completely stopped. But then I jerked my gaze away and started searching through my backpack. For absolutely nothing. I just couldn’t take his heated stare. It seemed to be saying, Why are you writing mushy poems about me? Am I your brother or not?
That was the question. But I truly didn’t have the answer.
All I knew was, I’d spent the whole bus ride home from camp yesterday thinking about Mason. Daydreaming about him. That’s why I wrote the poem. But I wasn’t exactly sure what the whole thing meant.
I was confused. Just like always, when it came to Mason.
CHAPTER 34
After third period, a hand gently clasped my shoulder. Startled, I whipped around, then my breath caught in my throat. Because there was Mason, with his dark eyes on me. My heart exploded. Without a word, he pulled me into the janitor’s closet.
What the—???
Still without speaking, he pinned me against the wall, making heat rip through my body and my pulse skyrocket to the moon. I mean, the last time he pinned me like this was at that party—the one where he had kissed me blind. The memory made shivers flutter through my stomach.
He curled his fingers around mine.
“I liked the poem,” he said huskily.
I groaned, my face sizzling with humiliation. But even at that—as I was dying of embarrassment; still, the way his eyes were glued to me—all hungry and I-want-you-so bad-like—had me on fire. For a totally different reason. So the opposite of embarrassment.
His hot, unyielding stare made my heart pound wild and my knees go weak. I swear. I was about to topple over or pass out or something embarrassing like that (almost as embarrassing as having a poem you wrote about a boy being read in front of the whole class—with that very boy sitting right there in the class all stunned and wide-eyed).
But my sudden shivers and spazzing heart didn’t only have to do with Mason’s glistening, hungry stare. It also had to do with his words and the husky way he said them. And the fact his rough, heated hands still held mine captive against the wall. Okay, it had to do with the entire moment. Everything about it. It was hot.
Just like Mason.
Trembling, I tried ignoring being so close to him … and ignoring his yummy, tantalizing Mason-scent … and ignoring my stupid sudden longing to feel his hot mouth crash against mine again, and feel his large, fervent hands tangle in my hair … ignore all that stuff. Because that stuff was stupid.
Instead I focused on my humiliation. Grrr!
So, my tortured moan was completely about that—not about being so close to him that it made me ache for his talented mouth—but about my poem. “You weren’t supposed to hear it,” I growled.
His lips quirked slightly, like he knew that. “I’m glad I did.”
Still trying to squirm away from him, I groaned again. “It’s embarrassing. I want to die.”
“Summer,” he said calmly, “I liked it.”
He said it like, Why are you being such a dope? It was a great poem—I liked hearing how much you love me. And hearing about it in a class full of people was entertaining. Write more. Entertain me more. School is boring, but your young, immature love is hilarious.
Okay, maybe he didn’t mean all that.
Or any of it.
But maybe he did.
After all, I saw him out in the school parking lot this morning with some blond. A gorgeous, go-go dancer, stripper-type lady. (Okay, maybe she wasn’t a stripper, or even a dancer, but she looked like she could be one. And she looked about twenty. I swear. And they’d been kissing as I walked by. And he didn’t even notice me. And that’s the way he had always been—since we were like, fourteen. When he was with girls he liked he didn’t notice me.)
I gritted my teeth. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“Yes it did,” Mason murmured softly. “It meant everything.”
I set my jaw. “Mason! It was just a dumb assignment. It meant absolutely nothing. I swear.”
Mason narrowed his eyes, pulling away a little so he could peer at me. “Summer, why are you being like this?”
His dark eyes tried searching mine. But all I could think about was him and that girl—no “woman.” I refused to meet his gaze—half because I was mad (and embarrassed that I was, since I had absolutely no right to be) and the other half of me was just plain old embarrassed.
Mason’s voice came out as a husky whisper, “Don’t tell me it meant nothing.” His warm hands cupped my chin, making me look up at him—like I couldn’t lie to his face.
Belligerent (and shaking) I stared straight into his eyes. “It was nothing Mason. I swear.”
His brow lowered. A tiny little growl escaped from him, yet he drew my face closer. His eyes squinted. Like he was trying to figure me out. Like he was asking again, ‘Summer, why are you being like this?’
But he didn’t say a word.
He drew out a breath and pushed away from the wall, finally letting me free. He ran a hand over his face, his gaze remaining steady on me, like I was a puzzle he would never, ever get. And it bugged him. Made him mad.
When he finally spoke, he sounded frustrated. “Summer, you draw weird pictures of me, you stare at me … and you write poems about me. Why’s it so hard? Why can’t you just admit you’re into me?”
Heat washed through me.
Wincing, I looked away.
There were so many reasons I didn’t know where to begin—well except with blondie this morning out in the parking lot, with her long legs and short skirt, and his trail of hot kisses down her neck. There was definitely that. And all of his other “women.” All of them just like her—Parking-Lot-Stripper-Chick.
Yeah. There was definitely that. Definitely.
But the next reason that came to mind was just as definite. And it hit me harder. It was: Because I had enough ex-boyfriends. I couldn’t add Mason to that list. I just couldn’t. I needed him. I couldn’t lose him. And that’s what I found happens when you have a relationship with a guy. You break up and you lose whatever you had before. Only what I had with Mason was dear to me. Dear to my heart. Okay? Get it? It was special to me. It was the only special relationship I’d ever had with a boy. And I only still had it because Mason and I had never given-in to a romantic relationship. One that involved kissing and all that mushy stuff. As much as I was dying to do that stuff with him, I couldn’t risk the aftermath of our break up. No way. I just realized that now—but no way.
I swallowed, still shaken by his full-on call-out—why I couldn’t admit I was into him. Finally, I whispered huskily, “Because I’m not.”
Mason banged his fist against the wall. Not so much that he seemed mad. It was more like he didn’t believe me. And he was frustrated that I didn’t just jump into his arms like all of his other blond gaga-struck fan-girls. (The hundreds and thousands of them that he randomly made-out with, then never talked to again.)
His eyes lingered on me a moment. Then he did his usual. He left me.
CHAPTER 35
On shaky legs, I finally left the janitor’s cl
oset.
Everything felt surreal. Everything that just happened.
My chest aching, I wrapped his arms around my waist, worried I’d blown it with Mason. That I should have just come clean and confessed: yes, I was into him. I’d always been into him. It seemed like he’d always really known that anyway. Deep down. But he’d never, ever called me out on it before. Ever. So the moment had been huge—meaningful—and I’d blown it.
I trailed into my next class and crumbled into my seat just as the bell rang. Then I spent the whole period, shaking and wondering if I should maybe text Mason and confess. Did I dare? The thought both excited and terrified me.
But before I made any decision one way or the other, I was called down to the office. When I got there, I blinked. There was Mom, sitting with Principal Gardner.
It turned out she wanted to take me out of Jefferson High and have me go live with my aunt in Connecticut for a while, so I could go to school with my cousin Dara—an all-girl school.
My breath hitched and I screeched out, “Why???”
Though I already knew why—she told me why. It was about the picture that had been sent out to the whole school. “It’s just the last straw,” Mom said. “Dirty pictures of you on cell phones, boys calling all hours of the night, phone hang-ups, flirty, inappropriate, anonymous notes left everywhere. And now mothers calling me—crying that their daughter’s boyfriend wrote smoldering poems about you that were read to your English class. Enough!!”
She stood, like we were finished here. “There is too much drama going on with you at this school.”
CHAPTER 36
I slogged out to the school parking lot with Mom, figuring I’d fight with her at home. Get everything straightened out there—once she had time to cool down. I figured Sabrina’s mom must have just called her this morning, and it triggered off what she’d already been considering doing—sending me off to my cousin’s all-girl school. Bleck. She threatened it all the time. Constantly lately. Then when she heard about the cell phone picture fiasco … well, it wasn’t pretty.
Louder Than Words (Fall For Me) Page 10