Every bone in my body feels like Jell-O and it’s taking so much in me to not fall victim to this feeling, the one where I am consumed by whatever euphoric feeling is clawing up my spine right now. Holding him like this while he gives me a piece of the vulnerability he’s worked so hard to disguise, it feels special. But I've always known there was pain hidden beneath the surface. It's one of the things that draws me to him, honestly.
"Have you gotten any acceptances?" he asks, and I worry that my answer might make his feelings worse. I haven't really talked about college with anyone. In fact, I still haven't even told my parents yet.
I suck in a breath of air and I lean into him a bit, painting a small smile on my face as I look into his eyes. "Yeah, a few," I say.
"MICA?" he questions and my brows raise.
"How did you-"
"I might have seen your application on the kitchen counter a few months ago," he starts and he lifts smile over his lips. "I'm proud of you, Cadie. I know how much you love photography."
His words cause my heart to swell with so much revere, appreciating how he seems to pay attention to minor details.
"You know I might be photographing the homecoming game?" I ask him and his smile widens.
"That means you'll be closer to the field," he states and now it's my turn to smile.
"Correction, Mr. Loft. I'll beonthe field." I giggle as he brushes his fingers against my face, still holding me by my cheek.
We stay like this for a few beats more and a thought forms in my mind; I could reach up on my toes and press my lips to his. I could kiss him. And I think I want to. But I’m just not sure if I’m brave enough to take that risk yet and I don’t know if it’s something he’ll react positively to. I mean, I'm sure he will. But maybe now is not the right time so I shake the thought loose and instead I drop our hands and take a step back to breathe. I can tell that he takes a deep breath too, and I can already see him relax a bit more, letting go of the tension he’s been holding onto.
I smile, feeling hopeful that I might have helped in some way. His silence is enough when his eyes tell me that he appreciates me. But I know this is just the beginning. And I want to dive deeper into what else is bothering his mind, but right now, I decide to do something a little out of pocket, eager to take his mind off all this stress.
I jump on his bed, as if it were my own and I’m comfortable doing so, and reach over to his nightstand for the remote.
“Come,” I pat the space next to me. “Sit. We have decisions to make.”
He furrows his brows at me, a look of confusion and mischief tangling in his expression.
“What do you mean?” he asks and I giggle, flipping through his streaming services.
“I’m gonna turn your world upside down, Mr. Loft. We’re going to find out if you’re team Conrad or team Jeremiah.” I smirk, finding the show I’m looking for and hittingplay.
Zach just grins at me, like he knows he’s in for something he’s probably going to dread. "What are you dragging me into?"he asks playfully and I give him my best puppy-dog look, channeling my best Ryen skills, before he decides to finally take the spot next to me.
I don’t even hesitate, snuggling up next to him as the show starts and I can already feel it, his sadness is fading. His body warmth settles against mine as we relax into each other—not holding each other, but just sitting close.
I turn to look at him, wanting to study his features up close but he turns at the same time, our eyes connect in an instant.
“What are you thinking?” I ask him, eager to get another glimpse inside his mind.
He pauses for a beat, his eyes fall from my eyes to lips and I do my best to disguise the way my body reacts to that.
“Just how stupid I was for not going for what I wanted sooner,” he tells me and I tilt my head at him, wondering what the heck he’s talking about.
“You started football when you were like nine, Zach. I’d say you took on what you wanted pretty dang early,” I assure him but he just stares at me. Damn near burning his dark honey pools of lava into my soul.
“I wasn’t talking about football, little one.”
My breath hitches.He’s not talking about football. I repeat, he’s not talking about football.I turn my head toward the TV, needing to escape his eye contact, and I can hear a slight chuckle come from beside me.
“What areyouthinking?” he asks me and I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can answer. And I give him just as bold of an answer as he gave me.
I turn to look at him one more time.
“That I wish I would have kissed you earlier,” I admit and I can tell his body reacts to my answer just as mine had.
“So then why didn’t you?” He reaches out and brushes the loose tendrils of hair from my forehead, pushing them behindmy ear. My whole body sets ablaze with goosebumps, and again I have to take a deep breath before I can respond
