That seemed to shut him up—for all of two minutes.
“Fine. You want to know what happened?” Before I could give him an answer, he powered on. “Matt didn’t back off because of you. Nothing about you was the issue, and I hadn’t exposed some embarrassing childhood truth about you to him. It’s not that he has anything against you. He just, uh, didn’t realize until he came into the kitchen that I … that I cared about you so much.”
Wait. What?
“Care about me?”
I forced myself not to ask him,Like a friend, right?
I didn’t have to as I turned to face him on the couch. Those little moments up to now all started to piece together like a puzzle. His extra-long look at me that I’d pushed off as him seeing something on my face or just being polite when I was talking. The moments when I had thought that maybe he liked me just as much as I liked him.
Though neither of us said anything.
Not now.
“Not just like a friend,” he said, as if reading my mind. He rubbed the back of his head. “Not just like my sister’s friend either. I’m pretty sure it’s obvious. I’m pretty sure that we are both obvious.”
Heat flared to my cheeks. “O-oh.”
“Oh …” He paused before a chuckle burst out of him, eyes wide. He swallowed shakily. “That’s what you are going to say after you pried it out of me?”
“I, um … I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I don’t think I do either.”
We both sat there on the couch in silence as the television screen lit up between us. I kept my gaze forward, locked on it, so I wouldn’t look at him again in the silence. If I did, I wasn’t sure what would happen or even what I wanted to happen. I could jump him. He could jump me. I could say something that I would regret. Likely that.
Most likely that.
But I thought I had it under control now, until my fat mouth and I couldn’t stand it anymore. “You—you know how I felt about you.”
Josh’s head snapped toward me. “Felt.”
“Yes.”
“Felt. Like before? Like you used to feel something for me, Brielle?”
“Yes.” My voice was tight. Controlled.
And I looked at him. Really looked at him. Into those eyes that suddenly felt like they were pulling me into something I couldn’t climb out of, even if I wanted to.
“Felt, Josh. I felt so much for you. The last time I saw you, in your laundry room, I told you. I showed you. I’ve always felt everything when it came to you. And, sure, maybe I covered it up or pretended not to care. But even when I hated you, I still …” I swallowed hard. “I still cared. Not like a friend. Definitely not like I should’ve.”
Josh’s expression didn’t move. Except in his eyes—those were flicking back and forth, like he was trying to decide if he was allowed to breathe yet.
“So … felt back then,” he repeated. “Not now.”
“Felt … always. Felt then.” My voice cracked, and I hated that it did. “Felt after. Felt a week ago. Felt a second ago.”
His hand shifted closer to me on the couch. He was leaning in. The heat of his body, the way his eyes dropped briefly to my lips?—
“Feel now,” I whispered.
Josh didn’t say anything at first. His face was unreadable for half a breath. Then his jaw tensed, then softened. “I didn’t realize either,” he said, quieter. “But … I’ve kind of been feeling something too. More than something. I just didn’t know how to—how to deal with it.”
“We can’tdealwith it.”
“Maybe not.”
