“We are fighting,” she says, sharp as ever.
“Do you want your parents to know?”
She hesitates then sighs. “No. Fine, you can put your arm around me. But smile, okay? You’re supposed to like me, and this place would be romantic if you did.”
“Like I’ve established many times on this trip, I do like you,” I say, my voice low and calm, but I’m beginning to lose my patience on the matter. How many times will I have to say that to her before she understands it as truth? If I can’t get her to accept that I even like her, like hell will taking the next step be easy.
“You say you like me, but your face keeps suggesting otherwise.”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“You look like it’s miserable to be in my presence, like you always do.”
“That’s just my face,” I say. “Ask my mom, I have the equivalent of resting bitch face for a dude.”
“Resting dick face?”
I shrug. “I mean, I don’t love that particular label, but sure.”
“Caden’s doesn’t look like that.”
“I’m aware,” I snap. That fun fact has followed me around my entire life. Caden is the life of the party. The social one. The one everyone liked at school growing up. The one who got invited to parties when I didn’t. Because I was grumpy. Or anti-social.
I don’thatepeople. I’m just shy and quiet, there’s a difference. But after years and years of being told you’re something, I found it easier to just be unsociable and taciturn.
Mentally, I try to quickly bandage all the little wounds Natalie’s statement unintentionally reopened. Snaking her arm around her waist, I pull tight against me and bring my mouth to her ear. “Caden will never look at you like I do, though.”
“Like you hate me and think I’m beneath you?”
My eyes widen. All I’ve done is flirt with Natalie, how could she have gotten my signals so wrong? Am I that terrible at flirting? “I scowl at you?” I ask.
She tries to hide the fact that apparently however I look at her has actually been hurting her feelings this whole time, and if that doesn’t make me feel like the biggest jerk in existence—worse than even Caden—that I don’t know what could.
“Natalie, if it looks like I’m miserable, or scowling, it’s because I am.”
“Well, glad we could finally agree on something.”
I lift her chin so her eyes meet mine. “I’m miserable because I can’t just be with you, be the one to laugh with you. Be the one to kiss you.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Then takes another sip of her cider.
My fingers splay across her ribcage, slowly. In my mind, I find little cords there, the ones that bind us together. I tap on them. Pluck them. The hanging silence strengthens between us. Suddenly, more than anything, I need her. And I can feel thatsame need—at a much smaller decibel—slowly creeping over Natalie too.
I could use our dating ruse…as a ruse… to kiss her, but if I start this time, I’m worried I won’t be able to stop. I have too much pent up inside. I lift my arm off her side, and without touching her, the want settles into something manageable. Still, I need something to douse the tension entirely.
“Hey,” I say stretching my arm. “Is it just me, or have you ever gotten the impression your mom might fuck a wreath if she could?”
“Every year,” Natalie sighs. “No one pines like Lora for a good evergreen.”
I shrug. “Kind of like you and a chocolate chip cookie.”
“Those do get me horny.” Natalie jokes. Then gasps, her cheeks turning a rosy, delicious, red.
“So I noticed,” I say, taking another sip of cider. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to make some more while I’m here.” I wink—only sort of joking. The next time she climbs on me, I want her good, needy, and obviously sober. I won’t push her off then. Instead, I’ll bring her up to my face, and I’ll taste her in slow, languishing strokes of my tongue, savoring every inch of her as she comes undone.
Yes, the next time she climbs on me, she’ll be mine, no more games, or questions hanging over us. The time for miscommunications or leaving space for her to misinterpret my face is over. Tonight, I’m telling Natalie how I really feel. Everything.
Well, everything minus the “Hey I’m pretty sure your drunk story about your witchy ancestor was right” bit. That part I’ll keep to myself, for now.
