What he may not have figured out about me yet is that I’m an expert at acting on feelings. It’s all I know how to do, and right now, Ifeellike I’ve never met a person who could make my pulse skitter so much. Who makes my skin feel alive. Joshua does, and without even trying. Maybe if I make him feel it too then he’ll step outside of his head again for me.
Sliding my hand down, I feel his abs tense against my palm, and I inch lower. When my fingers brush his jeans, my cheeks burn. I know what I want to do for him, but I’ve never done it before, and my nerves flutter in apprehension. Still, when I start to fumble with his zipper, the thrill that courses through me is enough to keep me going.
He jolts, sitting up so suddenly I almost fall off him, but he catches me around the waist. His grip is firm, scorching my skin through my dress.
“We, uh ... we should go,” he says gruffly, his voice thick with something I can’t place.
I tilt my head up at him and suck in a breath at the intensity shadowing his expression. Sometimes, when I’m so wrapped up in the way he makes me feel, I forget how dangerous he can appear. The rough edges and hard angles that so easily scare others away. But I’ve looked past his exterior deep enough now that all I see is a devastatingly beautiful face staring back at me.
“Right now?” I ask, not sure where my oxygen has gone or why my lungs are so tight.
His gaze sweeps over me, his eyes flashing. “Yeah,” he half-growls, half-groans, “right now.”
The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s standing, and I stumble to my feet when he releases my waist.
“Why?” I flick my eyes between his. I’m not a self-conscious person, and it’s obvious he wants me. But I’ve also never offered this much of myself to someone before, and something inside me slowly chips away at those words. “What’s wrong?”
His nostrils flare, and he shuts his eyes briefly.
“Joshua ...”
“Look, I ...” Peering down at me, he blows out a breath. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Blue. About my life before I moved here, about the way I am. And I just—I can’t have you touching me like that right now.”
Apangstrikes my chest, and it hurts. “Will you tell me?”
He furrows his brow.
“What you’re so worried about?”
His expression hardens, and he looks away. He kicks a small pile of leaves on the ground. “Maybe ... yeah. Someday.” Without looking back, he runs a hand along his jaw and over his mouth, then starts walking away, the way we came.
“Come on,” he says, his voice gentle. “Let’s get you home.”
Blue
Ilove Saturday mornings. It feels like the entire world is awake. Hopping off my bike, I round the corner of my street and head toward the house. Even Joshua is out, although I don’t know where. I frown, tapping the handle as I walk. He hasn’t yet told me why he rejected me. Mayberejectedis too harsh a word—he still walked me to class the next day, and the next, and stopped by my room to say goodnight. Still gave me that secret, crooked smile and a warm, melt-my-insides kind of buzz. But ... something’s holding him back, and I can’t shake the ache from him walking away, twice now, when I wanted to give him more.
Kimmie lingers on the steps as I approach. She stands on her tiptoes, lifting a hand to block her eyes from the sun while she scans the street.
“Morning,” I call, pushing my bike up the sidewalk.
“Hey.” She’s dressed up today, her dark hair curled and an unusually bright expression lightening her face. I might even say she looks ... happy.
“Going out with Cory?” I ask.
“Cory?” Her nose scrunches. “Oh, no. My dad’s picking me up.” She lifts her chin and hoists the purse strap over her shoulder. “It’s hard on him being away from me so much, you know, so he wants to spend all day with me.”
“Sounds fun. I’m sure he misses you.” I smile, walking past her to the garage.
After parking my bike, I pull my phone from my tote bag and text Benji back. He’s running an experiment to see if skipping showers strengthens his connection with the earth, and right now, he’s at a whopping fifteen days of no washing. Not really my thing, but he and his parents have also been experimenting with a new kind of brownie. Whichmighthave something to do with it.
When I leave the garage and head to the front door, Kimmie’s expression stops me short. Her gaze is locked on the phone in her hand, knuckles whitening as she scans the screen. After a second, she presses her lips together and looks up, staring straight ahead. Unshed tears pool above her bottom lashes. Her shoulders droop, her purse slinking down her arm.
I take a step closer, and a leaf crunches beneath my sandal.
Kimmie’s gaze whips to mine.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her like this. Vulnerable and uncertain. I don’t like it. Apparently, she doesn’t either because she wipes the expression clean like a pro.
