When I turn around, she’s staring at me, eyes wide.
“Since when do you listen to Harry Styles?” She sounds so confounded that I almost have to laugh.
“For a while,” I answer curtly, because there’s no way I can admit that I chose the song for her. That would mean that I was thinking about her, and... No. Just no.
I stand behind her and decide to focus on the original problem. I pluck at the hem of her sweater. “Are you wearing anything underneath?”
Zoe stiffens, and when her eyes go wide this time, it’s not because I’ve confused her. “Why?” she asks. Her voice goes up an octave.
“Because in class you’re never wearing a thick sweatshirt. Doesn’t it feel different through all that material?”
She hesitates and then nods and pulls the sweatshirt off over her head. Underneath, she’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt with short sleeves that’s a lot like a ballet leotard.
“Ready?” I ask her, and also myself, because this isn’t a great idea. I’ve known that for days, and nothing has changed.
Instead of answering, she puts her hand in mine. It feels like a jolt of electricity is shooting up my arm from my palm. It goes straight into my chest and that damn muscle that’s not supposed to feel anything. It seems to constantly forget that when I’m around her.
I take a deep breath, trying to remember how it felt last year when Zoe stopped answering my notes and Caleb didn’t call me back anymore. All at once, I no longer had a second home that felt more like a real home than anywhere I’d been in years. Ceara stopped making me eat more, and Ethan stopped asking me how I was doing and if everything was okay.
Every muscle in my body tenses, and Zoe stiffens with me and pulls back her hands.
“Relax,” I say to both of us.
“You relax,” she retorts, and my mind goes quiet as she puts her hands in mine again. They’re small, much smaller than mine. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed that. I noticed it a long time ago, back when I held her hand properly for the first time. The fact that I’m noticing it again now is... yeah, well, it probably means something.
I continue like the last time. I slip my fingers between hers, even though that’s technically unnecessary, because we don’t needto touch that way when we’re dancing. But apparently, my hands want to know how her fingers feel between mine again.
Familiar. Strange. Painful. Yearning.
My hands move of their own accord, gliding up her arms and over her shoulders. She holds still, but I can tell my touch is doing something to her. I can feel her heart beating faster. Just like mine. Damn traitor.
My fingertips slide over her back. After all, I have to touch it when we dance. Her hips, her waist. Everything makes sense. It feels right, I think. Or I don’t think. I’m not really sure anymore what’s going on in my head. My hands come to rest on her stomach. I don’t do it deliberately; it just happens. And it just happens that Zoe leans back against me again. Just like last time.
She’s on fire. Her skin gives off an incredible amount of heat, even through her T-shirt. I automatically pull her closer until we’re pressed together lengthwise, just slightly, but it’s enough to make me feel just as warm. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, along with something else, when I notice Zoe’s breath speeding up.
Her chest rises and falls, faster than it did a moment ago. My eyes are automatically drawn to her breasts. It’s wrong, but I can’t look away, and all the blood goes from my head to my dick, and I know I have a problem. An even worse one than I thought.
“How does that feel?” Zoe asks, even though it’s me who should be asking that question. But her voice is strangely hoarse, and this definitely feels like my downfall.
I give her a different answer. Because I’m an idiot. “It feels like you.”
Before
Zoe
One year earlier
June25, 10:17 PM
Charlotte and Adaline’s house is practically bursting at the seams. I don’t know how they managed to persuade their parents to let them invite so many people. It’s not only the entire graduating class of Westview High but also most of my class, along with some kids I’ve never seen before. A few of the guys look older, probably college students.
My friends have disappeared into the crowd and are looking for something to drink. I’m standing alone in a corner trying not to freak out.
In the living room, all the furniture has been shoved aside to make space for a dance floor. Caleb is standing on the edge of it with Reed and Nick. I just saw Tristan on the way to the kitchen, and Jase... I haven’t seen him anywhere.
My stomach is fluttering nervously, my heart is beating too fast, and there’s a quiet, unsure voice inside me that’s wondering if I made a mistake by writing that last note to Jase.
What if it was a dumb idea? What if I chose the wrong moment? Would it have been better to talk to him than to writehim a note? Why don’t I just do it instead? Kiss him, I mean. But what if he doesn’t even want to kiss me? What if he doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him? What if I ruined everything with that note and everything that was happening between us is over now just because I wrote those three words on a piece of paper? Because I couldn’t stand the thought that Charlotte might be the one he kisses.
