"I don't want to go," I whisper.
Liam turns over to face me, and I swear he's closer than he was before. "Scared of sleeping alone?" he teases.
"Tell me about your secret crush," I say. I don't know why I'm saying the random things I'm saying, but the words slip out of my mouth. My heart is pounding, and I should run away, but I just want to get closer to him.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
I move a little closer to hear him better. His eyes drop to my lips.
"And I don't think you staying in this bed is a good idea, either," he adds.
"I can go," I murmur.
He shakes his head.
"Okay," I say.
We stare at each other. I don't know how much time has passed — it might have been a minute or an hour.
"Tell me about this someone else you like," he says.
I shake my head.
"You interrogated me about who I liked for days."
"I was a little obsessed, wasn't I?" I ask. "I think I was jealous."
He leans a little forward. "Jealous?"
It feels as if my heart has stopped beating. Maybe I'm a masochist, or maybe I don't care anymore, but I nod.
Liam stares at me. Oh god. I already know what he's going to do — jerk away from me in terror, confusion, disgust. Kick me out of the bedroom. Call Kennedy and say that he was right to hate me from the beginning. Never speak to me again. I've ruined our friendship. I've ruined everything.
"Anyway," I say, trying to sound nonchalant. "Tell me about —"
Liam grabs the front of my pyjama shirt.
22
Liam: King Bed
I reach out and pull him close, and press my lips against his. It's different from the beer-flavoured kisses I've had at house parties where the both of us were tipsy, the guys from other schools in Easton, the unsaid promise we'd never talk again.
The tension simmering inside me releases, filling my stomach with warmth. Curtis's body softens as he leans over me, mouth opening, and he moans into my mouth. The sound shoots sweet arousal through my body. I twist my hand in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he holds himself over me, one hand on either side of my head. We kiss, open-mouthed, and he tastes like mint toothpaste. His skin is so warm, and those quiet whimpering sounds he makes when I kiss him hard —
And then I realise. And just as quickly as I pulled him close, I push him away.
He lands on his side of the bed with a dazed thump, blinking rapidly while I pull myself up into a sitting position.
"Fuck," I curse, my heart rattling in my chest. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did that."
I do know why. Because I've been crushing on Curtis for days now, which doesn't seem like a long time, but it feels like a century when I'm with him every day, when I see him almost every waking hour. I gather the courage to glance at him. He's pulled himself up into a sitting position like me, touching two fingers to his mouth. His lips are a deeper pink than usual, his cheeks a little flushed, his hair rumpled.
I wonder what kind of mess I look like. I'm glad I have the blanket pulled over my waist.
Curtis, sensing my eyes on him, looks at me. He drops his hand. "It's not your fault."
I look at him incredulously. "Not my fault?"
