I snorted. “David, come on.”
“Fine, cordial,” he said.
“I can’t believe you took something you’re allergic to.”
“Is that open enough for you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “What did you get? From the entire exchange, what did you get?”
It had to be something. Ever since we started at Westbrooke and these dares, David had gained something from our interactions, whether it was a laugh or an ego boost.
David was quiet as he considered his response, thinking so loud that I could barely focus on the voice in my head.
“It’s not because you had a crush on me?” I asked, teasing, joking, hoping.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but no. Did you have one on me?”
I scoffed, only slightly disappointed and mostly relieved because my answer was also, “No. Not even close.”
“I can’t remember the exact reason,” he confessed. “But I know I enjoyed talking to you —if only for the reminder that we couldn’t stand each other. It was entertaining.”
I laughed. “You risked going into anaphylactic shock to talk to me because arguing was fun?”
“The candy was wrapped in plastic, so the risk was minimal,” he said. “And worth it because sometimes you and I were on the same page. The more we interacted, the more chances we got to agree. And sometimes agreeing was just as fun asarguing. Not wanting to bite another’s head off was nice. Like now.”
“Now is nice?” I shouldn’t tease him. This was the longest we’ve gotten along in years. The first time we feel like we’re on the same team.
“To me,” David amended. “It’s nice to me.”
And there it was, a show of maturity I could have never mustered to express first. David stood in his honesty. Or maybe it was the dare talking. Either way, my heart drummed hard enough to be felt in my fingertips.
“Me too,” I said before I could rethink it. Before some weird, jeering comment spilled from my lips and pushed him away.
“I figured.” His statement should be a joke. My launching pad to something more our speed, like below-the-belt jabs or petty observations. Instead, I smiled and looked away for a second with burning cheeks as if I were some young girl whose first crush just spoke to her on the playground.
There were voices on the stairs, growing louder as the group moved closer to my room. I could tell it was Aimee, Adam, and a couple of my cousins. I cleared my throat and scooted away from David to put even more space between us. David did the opposite, inching closer and resting a hand on my knee. When my eyes widened with a question, he asked, “Trust me?”
“Maybe,” I whispered back.
“I need a yes if I’m going to continue,” he said.
“Yes,” I offered, my voice breathy. There wasn’t much of a window to overthink. And I’d be tossing and turning all night after this, frustrated at not knowing what it was that David wanted me to trust him with.
Right before my family was close enough to push the cracked door completely open, David placed his hand on mycheek. His hand covered the bottom half of my face, so when he leaned in, it was impossible to see that his lips never touched mine. He got close, though. The edge of his mouth hovered over mine. He smelled of spearmint and felt like the setting sun.
“Just to sell it,” he whispered against my mouth. The movement of his lips was like fire on my skin. It was the most heart-stopping non-kiss, leaving my throat dry and body aching for the real thing. How I had experienced the real thing and lived to tell the tale, I had no idea.
As soon as the door opened, David pressed his cheek against mine for an inhale. My body was abuzz with the desire to turn my head slightly and make contact. I would never, but I could dream. I would dream, I’m sure, to the end of time. He pulled back when Aimee stumbled over her apology.
“I didn’t think…” She pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to figure out a way to retrace everyone’s steps, go back in time, and knock. “Sorry, that was rude of us. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“The door’s supposed to be open. All the way.” Adam made a show of pushing the door wide enough so the hall was in full view. Two of my cousins were giggling with one another. They were young enough to swoon over David openly and without shame. I smiled because they got to express what I felt on the inside. All the fawning and sighing. At least someone could let it out.
Was this how it would have to be from now on? Would I always have to suppress what I felt about David, no matter what that feeling was, to appear nonchalant? First, it was my disdain. Now, it was my attraction. The switch—though nicer—was frustrating to contain. And all for what? To one-up him? To pretend he didn’t affect me when he had been doing just that for almosta decade.
“Sorry.” David took his time putting a bit of space between us. But he didn’t remove his hand from my knee. “That was my fault.”
David supposedly closed the door, made out with me, and took the blame for a broken rule. He even sounded a little breathless from the kissing and the embarrassment of being caught. Talk about selling. And my siblings were buying.
