My hands fisted in his hoodie, pulling him closer. As close as the small car—and the seemingly huge console that divided us—would allow.
“Jane,” he murmured, a whisper on my lips, and then he kissed me again, deeper. Even more desperately. And again, I got it.
It did feel desperate, like a losing battle to fight how good—how soooo good—it felt to kiss Stick.
He wasn’t trying to conquer me. He was trying to conquer this feeling. He didn’t want to feel it any more than I did.
I sucked on his tongue and he moaned, his fingers pressing into my jaw line, making me open my mouth even more to him. His thumbs brushed my cheeks, soothing, giving, while his mouth did nothing but take.
And I gave. Willingly.
We went on, tasting, kissing, gasping for breath when needed. At some point I noticed Yvette’s windows were completely steamed up, and it felt like we were drifting in our own Corvette cockpit cloud. That the world, with car theft rings, and women wasting away of cancer, was so, so far away.
I tried to get to him, needing to feel his arms around me, wanting the comfort I knew that would bring.
And that thought was what pulled me away, both of us gasping, his hands reaching to pull my face back to his, but me sitting back in my seat, turning away from him.
Because I would find no comfort in Stick. He wasn’t just some guy you could bang after a party for the pure physical pleasure of it, and walk away like nothing happened.
On the surface, yeah, that was exactly the guy who Stick should be.
And yet he wasn’t.
“I told you,” I said, facing out the side window. “We can’t happen.”
He would think it was because I had a hang-up about who he was, where he came from. What he did. And I’d let him think that—it served my purposes.
And maybe it was about that at first, certainly the other day it was.
But it was about more now.
Knowing about his father. Seeing him with Caro. I was dangerously close to…likingStick. And that simply could not happen.
I wasn’t a control freak or anything, but I’d watched my mother drive herself crazy wanting a man that she couldn’t have.
And somewhere deep inside of me, a voice was telling me that I could never truly have Stick. That he was not the type of guy to go along with me just because I wanted him to. And I needed that. I needed to be in control of that aspect of my life. Because so much of my life I had no control over.
And hard as I’d tried to carve out my own little world here at Bribury, it seemed I was still surrounded by my father’s enclave.
“Yeah, I know,” was all he said. There was no defensiveness in it. No “fuck you,” like the other day when he’d correctly read my thoughts about him. “That’s why I told myself to keep my hands off of you,” he added, a resignation in his voice. And also a bit of failure.
“But you didn’t,” I said, then turned back to face him. His eyes roved over my face, then settled on my lips, which felt puffy and well used. I put my fingers on them, not knowing if it was to create a barrier, or to feel the effect his kisses had on me.
Not that I needed any reminder of that—I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to rise up out of Yvette, my legs felt so weak and trembly.
“No, I didn’t. And I can’t seem to say ‘sorry’ about it, either.”
I nodded. I wasn’t sorry he’d kissed me, either. “But no more,” I said firmly.
“Right. No more,” he agreed. We looked at each other for a second, then both nodded, like it was a handshake on our deal.
He opened his door, the cool air rushing in, almost pulling me out of my make-out haze. Almost.
“Next Tuesday?” he asked.
I nodded, and he shut the door behind him, got into his own car and drove away.
I sat for a very long time before I left Yvette and walked back to my dorm.
