But Alex must have heard something totally different from what I actually said, because there’s a quiet huff of a laugh, and I feel him smiling against my skin. Then he’s kissing my neck, and he props himself up on one elbow so he’s leaning over me, his hand roaming up my chest and back down as his lips work their wayalong my jawline toward my mouth.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” I grumble.
His body presses up against mine, and his free hand comes up to tilt my chin toward him. Then he’s kissing me again. Another of those tender, slow, sweet kisses.
“You said, and I quote”—he pulls back enough to study my eyes, a soft smile on his face—“‘I do want this—us—to be something. I want it more than anything.’” He dips back down to kiss me. “That’s what I heard.”
Fucking Alex. Fucking optimistic, confident Alex.
I fucking love him.
“I said more than that.”
“Eh, details.”
“Importantdetails.”
He shrugs, but he’s still smiling that soft, kind smile, his eyes caring and bright. I frown at him, about to argue again, even though I know he’s just messing with me, but he stops me by shaking his head.
Then he lowers his mouth to mine for another gentle kiss.
Iwakeupthenext morning well before my alarm is supposed to go off, and even though I try to go back to sleep, I can’t.
Alex lies right behind me, holding me. His embrace is just as warm and comforting as it has been the last few days. Even in his sleep, he makes me feel safe. At some point overnight, his hand slipped under my shirt and his top leg wedged between mine, and it’s so intimate and familiar now that it’s helped to chase away most of my anxiety for most of the night.
Because of that, I’ve been able to think a little without theconstant barrage of negative thoughts telling me the future Alex seems to want is impossible. I’ve even been able to hear his words with more clarity and less emotion blowing everything out of proportion. And I wonder if maybe, justmaybe, we really can figure something out.
I’d need a job—one that I could handle, even on a bad day. That’s the biggest problem I see.
But that’s going to be a problem no matter where I am. Here or California or anywhere else. My current job is temporary, and when the summer is up, I’ll have nothing.
I blink my eyes open and just stare across the room at Alex’s neat desk, his laptop sitting there open but with a blank screen. On the wall behind the desk is a corkboard with a bunch of random pinups. His acceptance letter to Stanford is front and center.
I remember the day he told me about it and the simultaneous joy and sadness that overwhelmed me because I was so fucking proud of him and yet devastated at the same time.
I already knew I wasn’t going to college. I’d known for years.
I did try.
Everyone probably thinks I didn’t, but they’re wrong.
Ididtry. I thought if I could do decently in school, maybe I’d get loans or a scholarship or something need-based. And Alex helped me as much as he could when I struggled, especially in math and science. But even with how hard I studied and studied, I can’t take tests for shit, and by the time sophomore year was done, the school counselor basically told me it would be a waste to even apply. No colleges would take me.
I worked my ass off to graduate anyway, though I’m not sure how much that matters now. I’m not really employable. I have few relevant skills and very little experience, and I don’t know how I could possibly change that in just three months.
My stomach knots up, and I take a long, slow, deep breath,trying to steady myself. Alex believes in me. He’s told me as much. Believing in myself, though... I guess I’m just not there yet.
Behind me, Alex shifts slightly.
“Mmm, you’re up early.” His voice is thick with sleep, but his lips press into my neck as he starts to flutter kisses along my skin.
“Yeah. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.” I inhale sharply as he kisses a particularly sensitive spot.
“What were you thinking about?” he asks softly, his lips still touching my neck.
“Mmm.” With a hum, I tilt my head slightly to give him better access. “I was... I was thinking about—” I gasp, and all other thoughts vanish as his hand slides low along my stomach and his foot rubs up to my ankle and then calf. “Ah, fuck, do that again.”
“Hmm . . . Do what?”
