“Stop it,” I say. “You’re staring at me.”
“That’s the point, Charlie. Look into my eyes.”
I burst into laughter. “You’ve got game, Silas Nash,” I say, walking toward my side of the car.
When we’re both buckled in, Silas turns to me and says, “According to a letter you wrote, the first time we had sex was—”
“No. I don’t want to go there. Where did you find that letter? I thought I hid it.”
“Not well enough.” Silas grins.
I think I like flirty Silas. Even if we forget everything again tomorrow, at least I’ll get one good day out of this. “Let’s go somewhere fun,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time I had fun.”
We both start laughing at the same time. I like him. I really do. He’s so easy to be around. He laughs too much, maybe. Like, we’re totally screwed right now, and he’s still always smiling. Worry a little, dude. He makes me laugh when I should be worrying.
“Okay,” he says, glancing at me. “I really would rather go to that place in the letter where I did that thing with my tongue, but…”
It’s automatic—it must belong to Charlie—but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, my hand reaches across the space between us and I slap his arm. He grabs my hand before I can pull away and holds it to his chest. This too feels like something that’s been done before, something that belongs to them—Charlie and Silas, not me and this guy.
It makes me feel tired to be held against him like this, even if it’s just my hand. I can’t afford to be tired, so I tug away from him and look out the window.
“You’re really fighting this,” he says. “That kind of defies the point.”
He’s right. I reach over and grab his hand. “This is me falling in love with you,” I tell him. “Deep, soul love.”
“I wonder if you’re less ridiculous when you have your memory.”
I turn on the radio with my free hand. “Doubt it,” I say.
I like making him smile. It doesn’t take much to make the corners of his mouth twitch, but to actually get his lips to curve all the way up, I have to be extra sassy. His lips are fully curved now as he pulls into traffic and I am able to watch him without him watching me. We’re acting like we know each other even though our conscious minds don’t know each other. Why is that?
I reach for the backpack, to search for the answer in their letters or journals.
“Charlize,” Silas says. “The answer isn’t in there. Just be with me. Don’t worry about that.”
I drop the backpack. I don’t know where he’s driving. I don’t know if he knows where he’s driving, but we end up in a parking lot just as it starts to rain. There are no other cars around and it’s coming down too hard for me to see what’s in the buildings around us.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know,” Silas says. “But we should get out of the car.”
“It’s raining.”
“Yes. Silas says get out of the car.”
“Silas says…? Like Simon says?”
He just stares at me expectantly, so I shrug. Honestly, what do I have to lose? I open the car door and step into the rain. It’s warm rain. I tilt my face up and let it hit me.
I hear his door slam and then he runs around the front of the car and stands in front of me.
“Silas says run around the car five times.”
“You’re weird, you know that?” He stares at me. I shrug again and start running. It feels good. Like with every step some of the tension is leaving my body.
I don’t look at him when I run past him; I stay focused on not tripping. Maybe Charlie ran track or something. Five car laps later I stop in front of him. We are both soaked through. Drops of water are dangling from his eyelashes and running down his tanned neck. Why do I have the urge to touch my tongue to those lines of water?
Oh, yeah. We were in love. Or maybe it’s because he’s freaking hot.
“Silas says go into that store and ask for a hotdog. When they tell you they don’t have hotdogs, stomp your foot really hard and scream like you did in the hotel this morning.”
“What the—”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Silas says.”
Why the hell am I even doing this? I give Silas the dirtiest look I can and stomp off in the direction of the store he pointed me to. It’s an insurance agency. I swing open the door and three grouchy-looking adults raise their heads to see who has walked in. One of them even has the audacity to scrunch up their nose at me, like I don’t already know I’m dripping water everywhere.
“I’d like a hotdog with everything,” I say.
I’m met with blank stares. “Are you drunk?” the receptionist asks me. “Do you need help? What’s your name?”
I stomp my foot and let out a bloodcurdling scream, at which all three of them drop whatever they’re holding and look at each other.
I take their moment of surprise to run out. Silas is waiting for me outside the door. He’s laughing so hard; he’s bent over at the waist.
I punch him on the arm and then we both run for the Rover.
I can hear my own laughter blending with his. That was fun. We jump into the car and peel away just as Grouchy One, Two, and Three walk outside to watch us.
Silas drives for a few miles before he pulls into another parking lot. This time I can see the glowing sign advertising: THE BEST COFFEE AND BEIGNETS IN LOUISIANA!
“We’re soaking wet,” I say, not seeming to be able to wipe the smile from my face. “Do you know how messy beignets will be?”
“Silas says eat ten beignets,” he says stoically.
“Ugh. Why do you have to act like a robot when you play this game? It’s creeping me out.”
He doesn’t respond. We get a table near the window and order coffee and two dozen beignets. The waitress doesn’t seem bothered by our wet clothes or the fact Silas is speaking in a robot voice.
“The waitress thinks we’re cute,” I tell Silas.
“We are.”
I roll my eyes. This is fun. Would Charlie think this was fun?
When our beignets come, I am so hungry I don’t care about my wet hair or clothes. I dive in, moaning when the warm pastry hits my tongue. Silas watches me in amusement.
“You really like those, huh?”
“They’re actually really gross,” I say. “I’m just really into this game.”
We eat as many as we can until we’re covered in white powder. Before we leave, Silas rubs some of it across my face and hair. Not to be outdone, I return the favor. God, this guy is fun. Maybe I kind of see what Charlie sees in him.
She’s into this. She hasn’t smiled nearly enough in the last few days I’ve had with her, but now she can’t stop smiling.
“Where are we going now?” she says, clapping her hands together. She still has powdered sugar on the corner of her mouth. I reach across the seat and wipe it off with my thumb.
“We’re going to The French Quarter,” I tell her. “Lots of romantic places there.”
She rolls her eyes, scrolling through her phone. “I wonder what we actually used to do for fun. Besides take selfies.”
“At least they were all good selfies.”
She shoots me a look of pity. “That’s a contradiction. There are no such things as good selfies.”
“I’ve been through your camera roll. I beg to differ.”
She ducks her head and looks out her window, but I can see the pinks of her cheeks grow redder.
After we park, I have absolutely no plan. We filled up on so many beignets for breakfast, I’m not sure she’s quite ready to have lunch yet.
We spend the first part of the afternoon walking up and down every street, stopping in almost every store. It’s as if we’re both so fascinated by the scenery, we forget we have a goal today. I’m supposed to make her swoon. She’s supposed to swoon and fall in love with me. Get back on track, Silas.
We’re on Dauphine Street when we walk p
ast what claims to be a bookstore. Charlie turns around and grabs my hands. “Come on,” she says, pulling me into the store. “I’m pretty sure the way to my heart is in here.”
There are books stacked floor to ceiling, every which way. Sideways, top to bottom, books used as shelves for more books. A man sits behind a cash register to the right, which is covered in even more books. He nods a greeting as we enter. Charlie heads to the back of the store, which isn’t very far away. It’s a small store, but there are more books than a man could read in his entire life. She runs her fingers along the books as she passes them, looking up, down, around. She actually twirls when she gets to the end of the aisle. She’s definitely in her element, whether she remembers or not.
She’s facing a corner, pulling a red book off the shelf. I walk up behind her and give her another Silas Says task.
“Silas says…open the book to a random page and read the first few sentences you see...”
She chuckles. “That’s easy.”
“I wasn’t finished,” I say. “Silas says read the sentences at the top of your lungs.”
She spins around to face me, eyes wide. But then a mischievous grin drags across her mouth. She stands up tall while holding the book out in front of her. “Fine,” she says. “You asked for it.” She clears her throat, and then, as loud as she can, she reads, “IT MADE ME WANT TO MARRY HER! MADE ME WANT TO BUY HER A MAGIC AIRPLANE AND FLY HER AWAY TO A PLACE WHERE NOTHING BAD COULD EVER HAPPEN! MADE ME WANT TO POUR RUBBER CEMENT ALL OVER MY CHEST AND THEN LAY DOWN ON TOP OF HER SO THAT WE’D BE STUCK TOGETHER, AND SO IT WOULD HURT LIKE HELL IF WE EVER TRIED TO TEAR OURSELVES APART!”
Charlie is laughing when she finishes. But when the words she read begin to register, her laughter fades. She runs her fingers over the sentences like they mean something to her. “That was really sweet,” she says. She flips through the pages of the book until she comes to a stop with her finger on a different paragraph. Then, in just barely a whisper, she begins reading again. “Fate is the magnetic pull of our souls toward the people, places, and things we belong with.”
She stares at the book for a moment and then closes it. She places it back on the shelf, but she moves two books out of the way so that this book can be displayed more prominently. “Do you believe that?”
“Which part?”
She leans against a wall of books and stares over my shoulder. “That our souls are pulled toward the people we belong with.”
I reach out to her and pull at a lock of her hair. I run my fingers down it and twirl it around my finger. “I don’t know if I normally believe in soul mates,” I tell her. “But for the next twenty-four hours, I’d bet my life for it to be true.”
She rolls her shoulder until her back is pressed against the wall of books, and she’s facing me. I would absolutely bet my life on fate right now. I somehow have more feelings for this girl than will fit inside of me. And I want more than anything for her to feel the same thing. To want the same thing. Which…in this very moment…is for my mouth to be on hers.
“Charlie…” I release her lock of hair and bring my hand to her cheek. I touch her gently…tracing her cheekbone with my fingertips. Her breaths are shallow and quick. “Kiss me.”
She leans into my hand a little and her eyes flutter. For a moment, I think she might actually do it. But then a smile steals her heated expression and she says, “Silas didn’t say.” She darts under my arm and disappears down the next aisle. I don’t follow her. I grab the book she read from and tuck it under my arm as I head for the register.
She knows what I’m doing. The whole time I’m at the register, she’s watching me from down the aisle. After I purchase the book, I walk outside and let the door shut behind me. I wait a few seconds to see if she follows me immediately out, but she doesn’t. Same stubborn Charlie.
I pull the backpack off my shoulder and shove the book inside of it. Then I pull out my camera and turn it on.
She stays inside the bookstore for another half hour. I don’t mind it. I know she knows I’m still out here. I take picture after picture, engrossed in the people who pass by and the way the sun is setting over the buildings, casting shadows on even the smallest of things. I take pictures of all of it. When Charlie finally makes it back outside, my battery is almost dead.
She walks up to me and says, “Where’s my book?”
I hoist the backpack over my shoulder. “I didn’t buy that book for you. I bought it for me.”
She huffs and follows after me as I make my way down the street. “That’s not a good move, Silas. You’re supposed to be thoughtful. Not selfish. I want to fall in love with you, not become irritated with you.”
I laugh. “Why do I feel like love and irritation go hand in hand with you?”
“Well, you have known me longer than I’ve known myself.” She grabs my hand to pull me to a stop. “Look! Crawfish!” She yanks me in the direction of the restaurant. “Do we like crawfish? I’m so hungry!”
Turns out, we do not like crawfish. Luckily, they had chicken strips on the menu. We both like chicken, apparently.
“We should write that down somewhere,” she says, walking backward down the middle of the street. “That we hate crawfish. I don’t want to have to go through that awful experience again.”
“Wait! You’re about to…” Charlie falls on her butt before the rest of the sentence can make it out of my mouth. “Walk into a pothole,” I finish.
I reach down to help her up, but there’s not much I can do about her pants. We had finally dried off after the rain from earlier today, and now she’s soaking wet again. This time from muddy water. “You okay?” I ask, trying not to laugh. Trying being the key word here. Because I’m laughing harder than I’ve laughed all day.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says as she attempts to wipe mud from her pants and her hands. I’m still laughing when she narrows her eyes and points down at the mud puddle. “Charlie says sit in the pothole, Silas.”
I shake my head. “No. No way. The game is called Silas says, not Charlie says.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” She takes a step closer to me and says, “Charlie says sit in the pothole. If Silas does what Charlie says, Charlie will do whatever Silas says.”
Is that an invitation of sorts? I’m liking flirtatious Charlie. I glance down at the pothole. It’s not that deep. I turn around and lower myself until I’m sitting cross-legged in the puddle of muddy water. I keep my eyes on Charlie’s face, not wanting to witness the attention we’re probably attracting from bystanders. She swallows back her laughter, but I can see the pleasure she’s getting out of this.
I stay sitting in the pothole until it even starts to embarrass Charlie. After several seconds, I lean back onto my elbows and cross my legs. Someone snaps a picture of me in the pothole, so she motions for me to stand. “Get up,” she says, glancing around. “Hurry.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. Charlie didn’t say.”
She grabs my hand, laughing. “Charlie says get up, you idiot.” She helps me to my feet and grabs my shirt, pressing her face against my chest. “Oh my God, they’re all staring at us.”
I wrap my arms around her and begin to sway back and forth, which is probably not what she was expecting me to do. She looks up at me, my shirt still clenched in her fists. “Can we go now? Let’s go.”
I shake my head. “Silas says dance.”
Her eyebrows crinkle together. “You can’t be serious!”
There are several people stopped on the street now, some of them taking pictures of us. I sort of don’t blame them. I’d probably take pictures of an idiot who willingly sat in a mud puddle, too.
I unclench her fists from my shirt and make her hold my hands as I force her to dance to non-existent music. She’s stiff at first, but then she seems to let the laughter take over the embarrassment. We sway and dance down Bourbon Street, bumping into people as we go. The whole time, she’s giggling like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
&n
bsp; After a few minutes, we come to a break in the crowd. I stop twirling her long enough to pull her to my chest and sway softly, back and forth. She’s looking up at me, shaking her head. “You’re crazy, Silas Nash,” she says.
I nod. “Good. That’s what you love about me.”
Her smile fades for a moment and the look she has in her eyes causes me to stop swaying. She places her palm over my heart and stares at the back of her hand. I already know she’s not feeling a heartbeat inside my chest. It’s more like a drumline in mid procession.
Her eyes meet mine again. She parts her lips and whispers, “Charlie says…kiss Charlie.”
I would have kissed her even if Charlie didn’t say. My hand wraps in her hair a single second before my lips meet hers. When her mouth parts for mine, it feels as though she punches a hole straight through my chest and makes a fist around my heart. It hurts, it doesn’t, it’s beautiful, it’s terrifying. I want it to last for eternity, but I’ll run out of breath if this kiss goes on for just one more minute. My arm wraps around her waist, and when I pull her closer, she moans quietly into my mouth. Jesus.
The only thing I have room for in this head of mine right now is the firm belief that fate absolutely exists. Fate…soul mates…time travel…you name it. It all exists. Because that’s what her kiss feels like. Existence.
We’re momentarily jolted when someone bumps into us. Our mouths seaparate, but it takes effort to free ourselves from whatever hold just took over. The music from all the open doors along the street comes back into focus. The lights, the people, the laughter. All the external things that ten seconds of her kiss just blocked out are rushing back. The sun is setting, and nighttime seems to transform this entire street from one world to another. I can’t think of anything I want more than to get her out of here. Neither of us seems to be able to move, though, and my arm feels like it weighs twenty pounds when I reach for her hand. She slides her fingers through mine and we begin walking in silence back toward the parking lot where my car is.
Neither of us speaks a word the entire walk back. Once we’re both inside my car, I wait a moment before cranking it. Things are too heavy. I don’t want to start driving until we get out whatever it is we need to say. Kisses like that can’t linger without acknowledgment.
Never Never: Part Three (Never Never #3) Page 6