Sidney
Asher wakes me up with kisses along my shoulder, and fingers running over my back. They loop and curve and slash across my threadbare T-shirt, and they feel purposeful. “What are you doing back there?” My voice is thick with sleep.
“Your voice is different right when you wake up.”
“I guess so.” I’ve slept in his bed a few times, but I’ve never stayed through the night. I always set an alarm and go back to my bed after a few hours. Even with our doors locked, I can’t relax enough to really sleep together in the same bed with our parents just down the hallway.
“I like that I know that.”
I don’t say anything, because “I like that you know, too,” seems like too much. So instead I whisper, “That’s because you like to collect random facts about me.”
“I’m writing secret messages.”
“Really?”
“Here, try to guess.” His finger dips and trails over my skin, and I try to picture it in my mind, but the word that forms there is probably not right.
Asher’s finger stops, and I know I’m wrong but say it anyway. “Potato?”
“Yes, I’m lying in bed with you and writingpotatoon your back.” His chin rests on my shoulder, and I can feel his breath on my neck. “I have another question.”
The panic doesn’t hit me this time. “I’m too tired to dance.”
Asher shakes his head. “Why are you fighting this so much?”
“I’m lying in your bed right now. I would hardly call that fighting.” I smile sweetly at him and kiss his forehead, only because his lips are out of reach. Covering his mouth would be so much more effective. “You scare me.”
“You scare me more.”
“Yeah, but I scare you because you think I’m the person you know most likely to be able to hide a body. You scaremebecause you’re basically one big heartbreak waiting to happen. You’re like all of my relationship fears wrapped up in one pretty package.”
“You think I’m pretty.”
I could kiss him right now for making a joke. “Youthink you’re pretty.”
“I’m not sure why it’s alwaysmebreakingyourheart,” Asher says, his eyes pinched in frustration. “The opposite seemsmuchmore likely here. If it weren’t for me, things would have ended three days ago.And,if I hadn’t asked you to meet me at midnight, you’d still be tormenting me.” He jumps when I poke a finger into his side, and grabs my hand with his. “See, you’restillcoming after me.”
He shifts to his side and wraps an arm over me, rolling me onto my side with a hand to my back. Now we’re face-to-face, in a cocoon of blankets and body heat. “Let’s talk worst-case scenario,” he says finally. “This whole thing ends in a fiery blaze of heartbreak.”
I nod. His tone implies he’s having to stretch his imagination right now, but this is the only scenario I can see, currently. We’re eighteen, not even in college yet. What are the chances that this lasts a year, or two, or three? What are the chances thatwe get married? Because that’s the only way this whole thing isn’t eventually a disaster with our families. And what are the chances?
“We’d be right back where we started, then,” he says.
I nod, but I don’t think it’s anywhere close to the same thing. I think about seeing Asher every day, about actually hating him. Not the play-hate of the last five years, but actual, visceral brokenhearted hate.Is there any chance that one of us doesn’t feel that way in the end?And beyond that, what about seeing him with someone else after I’ve loved him? Really loved him?
I can totally see myself falling in love with Asher. I know it’s coming, the way I know I’ll take another breath. Loving Asher Marin feels like an inescapable inevitability. And to think of seeing him with someone else? I hate the thought of it, even now. Could I actually stomachweeksof that? Him treating someone the way he’s treated me? Being witness to it? The notes on the mirror, and the temple kisses; the way he’s always idly touching me, like it’s a reflex for him. The way he winks at me over the kitchen table when he knows I’m the only one looking. I definitely couldn’t handle it, which means I’d avoid him. And the thought of not seeing him at all? It’s hard to even imagine now.
“You’re thinking horrible things, aren’t you?” His voice is soft, concerned. He pushes up on an elbow, and as if he could read my thoughts, presses his lips against the soft skin along my hairline.
While his lips tingle against my skin, I try to think about thebestworst-case scenario. We don’t have the houses at Five Pines anymore. This year’s house is temporary. And sure, maybe our parents will rent something together in the future, but if everything goes south with me and Asher, who’s to say they can’t get separate houses again? Surely my parents wouldn’t force me to share a house with an ex if they could avoid it. And if we weren’t forced together, maybe we would eventually return to something like normal. Something about having that backupplan in my mind loosens the tightest knots of dread inside of me.
A warm finger taps my temple as Asher says, “What’s going on up there?”
I can’t tell him the truth:I’m running through all of the possible outcomes of our future demise. But good news! There’s at least one worst-case scenario that doesn’t make my skin crawl!
Instead, I say, “I think our parents would flip if they knew we were together.”
Together.The word hangs in the air, and neither of us wants to touch it. I said it to lighten the mood, but it’s done the absolute opposite. I can feel the tension buzzing between us. The fingers that were idly tracing a circle on my back have stopped.
