To say Clay was unwilling was a bit of an understatement. He had told me emphatically that he had had his fill of “head doctors” when he was hospitalized. I tried to not get frustrated with how stubborn he was about his mental health. But he was insistent, stating he knew what he needed and the meds were enough.
However, I didn’t believe him, and I suspected there were days he didn’t take them. I hated not trusting him about something so important but I knew he still hid so much.
“This is your room?” he asked in surprise.
“Yeah,” I said defensively. Now I remembered the other reason I had never let him up here. The excessive amount of pink left over from my childhood was more than a little humiliating.
Clay went over to my window seat and picked up Mr. Prickles, my stuffed porcupine. “Cute,” he said wryly. I grabbed Mr. Prickles from his hands and hugged him to my chest.
“Don’t make fun of Mr. Prickles. He is priceless.” I put the porcupine on my dresser and turned to my closet.
“I wouldn’t dream of making fun of Mr. Prickles,” he joked, moving to my bed. I hadn’t bothered to make it today and I was just thankful I had picked my bras and panties up off the floor before leaving for school that morning.
“Have a seat,” I told him, a lump forming in my throat at the sight of him on my bed. Yeah, that had been a central image in a number of my fantasies lately. But with a lot less clothing.
God, I was turning into a smut queen!
Focus, Maggie! Focus!
Clay leaned back on my pillows, his eyes already looking heavy. “Show me this dress of yours,” he said drowsily.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you awake,” I said sarcastically.
Clay took his fingers and held his eyes open. “I’m awake, I swear!”
I laughed. “No need to be allClockwork Orangeabout it.”
I reached into my closet and pulled out the dress, which was sheathed in a plastic cover. “You ready for it?”
Clay gave me a thumbs-up. “I was born ready.”
With a dramatic flourish, I pulled off the cover to reveal a bright-teal, knee-length dress with a huge bow in the back and one shoulder bared. The other shoulder was capped with a large white puff.
Clay covered his mouth, trying not to laugh. “Seriously? You’re going to wear that?” He looked at me as if I were kidding.
I snickered. “We told you that the girls wear the most horrendous dresses they can find. We like to make the whole experience extremely ironic.”
Clay gave in and laughed. “Well, I can’t imagine anyone looking more... ironic... than you.”
I took his comment as a compliment and quickly covered the dress again. “You should see Rachel’s. It’s hot pink with this slutty slit up to one thigh, covered in these horrible sequins. She bought these nasty velour high heels to go with them.” Rachel and I were going to make quite a pair at the dance. The fact that we didn’t take the whole thing seriously made it even more fun.
I went to sit at his feet on the bed. I shook his leg playfully. “That just means your suit had better be epic. Epically awful, thatis.”
Clay grinned. “I’m planning to go shopping over the weekend. Now that I’ve seen your masterpiece, I know what to go for.” He let loose another mouth-splitting yawn.
He patted the bed beside him. “Come lay with me, Mags. Just for a little bit.”
I looked over at my alarm clock. “My dad is going to be home soon, and he will flip if I have a boy in my room,” I said uneasily. I think that was a bit of an understatement, given his less-than-jovial feelings about Clay. But, more than that, I was nervous about lying down with him, being that close. I felt like such a silly girl around him sometimes.
He patted the bed again. “Just for a minute. Please. Trust me, I don’t want your dad catching me up here any more than you do. I just want to hold you for a bit,” he said softly, his voice scratchy with tiredness. There he was again, tiptoeing on that line we had drawn in the sand. His brown eyes were heavy and he looked at me in that way that made my knees go weak. I never had any resistance where Clay was concerned. He was everything I craved and knew I shouldn’t have. But none of that mattered—just the fact that he wanted me near him as much as I wanted it.
So I crawled up beside him and he slipped his arm underneath me, pulling me onto my side. I spooned up beside him, my head on his chest, my hand resting lightly on his stomach. My legs were suddenly tangled with his and I found myself extremely comfortable.
Clay pulled my arm off of his stomach and tightened it around his waist so that I was practically plastered to his side. He smoothed my hair off my forehead and rested his cheek on the top of my head. I wondered if he could feel the frantic beat of my heart as I lay nestled against him.
He let out a gigantic sigh and relaxed into me. “This is nice,” he murmured, his other hand running slowly up and down my back. Whoa. Lying here like this with him made me forget all my reasons for not jumping in with both feet. I mean, I loved him. Completely. I thought he at least cared about me. So why wait?
Clay’s hand slowed until it rested on my lower back, right underneath my shirt, against my bare skin. The warmth of his fingers seemed to shoot tingles into my flesh. I could hear his breathing deepen. I chanced a peek up at him and saw that he was almost asleep. I tried to move out from his embrace but his arms tightened around me.
