Noah
Students will be able to pretend.
Five more minutes.
That was all I needed.
If I could have five more minutes, I’d ask for nothing else in this life.
Five more minutes of Shay’s body tucked close to mine, her hand flat on the small of my back. Five more minutes of knowing the feel of her skin against my lips.
Five more minutes of pretending she was mine.
But the problem with asking for five more minutes was that I’d suffer in the long run. I’d live with this knowledge and I had no doubt it would slowly ruin me.
Perhaps the ruination would come quick. Perhaps it was better that way. I’d always done well when I knew the suffering to come. My law school roommates had been a year ahead of me and they’d been an excellent resource for previewing my future misery. It’d helped set my expectations.
If someone could tap me on the shoulder or send me a text message about how much my life would suck when these five minutes were up and the pretending was over, I’d appreciate it. Always good to know the range.
I shifted, putting a bit of distance between us before this situation turned sour and Shay had to force me off her. But she trapped my hand on her waist, saying, “Don’t go anywhere. Don’t stop. Not yet.”
Okay. Great.I’d suffer while hearing that in my head and imagining the scent of her hair for the rest of eternity. Outstanding.
“Can I have a frozen lemonade now?” Gennie asked, her arms around my neck. The beads from the bracelet she’d made last night—because Shay wore bracelets and we were obsessed with Shay—pressed against my clavicle. It was enough to remind me in loud, screaming letters that I had a kid and I couldn’t fuck around just because it felt nice.
But god help me, I really wanted another minute or two of this. Of Gennie, safe and secure on one side of me, and Shay snuggled up on the other. It was like we were living a carefree life, the three of us out for a high school football game without any worries in the world.
Except none of that was true and this fantasy was seconds away from disintegrating in my hands.
“Yeah. No problem. Do you want to get it yourself?” I asked Gennie.
She shook her head against my shoulder. She didn’t like me picking her up. Apparently it was too babyish and, as I’d been informed several times, she was a big girl. Forty-five pounds and toothless, but yeah. Big girl. She probably hated that I’d picked her up in front of Christiane Manning’s kids too. Any minute now, she’d kick and yell for me to put her down. And I would. Just as soon as I seared every inch of this into my memory.
“Come with me,” Gennie said.
And that was how I bought myself a few more minutes in line at the frozen lemonade truck with Gennie’s head on my shoulder and my arm around Shay.
It was a warm night made bearable only by a steady breeze off the bay. Bearable for everyone else. I was dying. Burning up, melting down, boiling over. In all the ways I’d imagined touching Shay, I never saw it happening here at the high school or while I held Gennie in the other arm.
When it was our turn, Gennie wiggled out of my hold to place her order. She glanced back at me, saying, “Money, please.”
Getting to my wallet meant releasing Shay and there was a solid moment where I blinked down at my niece and prayed for a better solution to come my way.
In the end, Shay shocked the shit out of me by reaching into my back pocket, grabbing my wallet, and passing Gennie a five. When she returned my wallet to the pocket and gave my ass a swift pat, I was toast. Just fucking done.
Shay turned her face toward me, her lips pursed in a smirk I’d always tagged as condescending. I was probably wrong about that. I needed to be wrong.
“She’s still watching,” Shay whispered.
She leaned in, brushed her lips over my jaw. I shuddered, my grip on her turning needlessly tight. I couldn’t help it. And though I knew little about internal organs, it seemed like mine were rearranging themselves as my heart tried to break free from my ribs.
“Kiss my forehead,” she said.
“What?”
“She’s still watching us,” Shay repeated. “Kiss my forehead. Make it believable.”
Making it believable wasn’t my problem.
