With a resigned sigh, he pushes the door closed, finds his way to the sofa, and sinks down beside me. Sneaking a hand under the hem of my jeans, he lets his fingers dance around my ankle and then, very slowly, up my shin. His tiptoe-touch tickles in the most amazing way, and I have a moment of astonishment regarding this new reality.
His hand stills and he leans forward, right into my bubble. “Jillian, what are we doing?”
I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore, except that he’s leaving what happens next up to me. I can end this now and save myself inevitable heartache. I can do the right thing concerning Becky. I can save Max from another round of emotional ups and downs.
If I ask him to leave, he will.
Gazing into his eyes, I think of our first kiss—not the Halloween kiss, but the one that happened years ago, during a trip we all took to Disneyland just after Dad and Meredith were married. When our parents set us free in the Happiest Place on Earth, Ivy and Zoe paired off, refusing to go on rides with their thirteen-year-old brother and the tomboy from across the street, which was fine with Max and me. Things were easy back then; we goofed around to a soundtrack of endless laughter. We spent hours riding Splash Mountain and Space Mountain and Matterhorn Mountain until our necks were stiff and our stomachs were inside out. On the final day of our trip, we discovered Pirates of the Caribbean and its partially air-conditioned queue. Though it was never acknowledged in the light of day, on that ride, dark and damp, amid beer-guzzling, animatronic pirates, Max and I shared a tentative kiss.
Tonight feels equally exciting, but different, too. Easy and natural. Like it’s meant to be.
“Jilly,” he says softly. “Quit thinking so much. Tell me what you want.”
I take a deep breath. His hypnotizing boy scent washes over me, and then I do know what I want. I knowexactlywhat I want.
“I want you to kiss me again.”
He does, a sweeping, sizzling, breath-stealing kiss that sends prickles like want racing across my skin.
When it’s over, he stays close, resting his forehead against mine, letting our inhales and exhales fall into sync. Our fingers are twined together and his eyes are closed, his expression vulnerable, unguarded. It hits me, how intimate this moment is—so much more intimate than the kiss it followed—which makes my mind whirl. What we’re doing doesn’t feel casual or blithe. It feels deeply personal, like something couples do.
Max and me… we’re not a couple.
I draw back, at the same time pushing him away. He must think I’m being playful, because he flops against the back of the couch. He whispers my name, reaching for me again, but freezes when a wedge of light slices across the study.
I blink, disoriented. Ivy Holden stands backlit in the study’s doorway.
As usual, she pays me little attention. “What the hell, Max?”
“What the hell, Ivy?” he parrots. “You know how to knock?”
“I didn’t think I’d need to. Mom’s looking for you.” She folds her arms across her bustier, snooty. “What are you two doing in here?”
God, how bad does this look? Max and I are sitting on the same couch, but there’s a chasm of open air between us. The room’s dark, but it’s late. We’re alone, but for all Ivy knows, we were hiding out until the cleaning’s done.
I open my mouth, but Max beats me with a grumbled, “None of your business.”
“Oh, yeah? It might be Becky’s.”
“Leave her out of it.”
“She’d be crushed. You, withJillian?” She says my name like I’m a lesser species, a cretin, like her brother’s probable philandering would be more acceptable if it were with anyone but me. “You’ve got to be the world’s worst boyfriend.”
“Fuck off, Ivy.”
Her eyes spark. “Why, so you can drink yourself stupid? Cheat on my best friend with the neighbor girl? You’re such a loser, Max, and after everything that’s happened with Dad. He’d be so disappointed.”
He shoots off the couch, taking a confrontational step toward his sister. I’m so horrified, somortified, I can’t bring myself to intervene. I sit, frozen, watching the two of them with a briskly whisked stomach.
“Get out,” he says.
“Gladly. But just so you know, Jake’s on his way up. You two might want to wrap your party up before he finds you.” With that, she pivots and disappears down the hall.
My dad. I’ve just engaged in a booze-soaked hookup in his study, with the only boy he’s ever objected to. A surge of shame slams into me.
Max crosses the room to open the door. Light floods in; it’s jarring. His voice, however, is gentle. “Jill.”
I’m too thrown by his inexplicable calm to respond.
