Goddamn.I’ve spent years letting people talk. I let them paint me as whoever they want.
But Chloe…Chloe has never looked at me like she sees my reputation. She’s never fallen for the version that everyone buys, and for the first time, that part of myself I keep closed off wants to be seen. If only by her.
I reach over, running my middle finger from the crown of her head, down the side of her heart-shaped face. “Chlo…”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t pull away.
Not for the first time, we’re alone with absolutely no excuse to kiss her other than my burning need. My hand slides along her neck, thumb brushing the soft skin at the base of her throat, and her pulse hammers wildly beneath it.
I lean in just an inch, and that’s all it takes. Her chest meets mine on a shaky inhale, and the space between us pulls taught. Her eyes dip to my mouth, and it’s all the confirmation I need. My hand flexes and I steal one last breath, only to freeze when her phone vibrates.
The sound that’s normally so faint, slices through the tent, startling us both. I drop my hand, roll over onto my back, and stare up at the tent ceiling, confident that one more almost kiss with her might kill me.
After a moment, she sits up, and her inhale is audible.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Yeah. I just need some air.”
By the time I sit up, she’s already unzipped the tent and taken off.
I’m not self-centered enough to assume she was so affected by what almost happened that she needed to leave, but I’m also not delusional enough to assume she wasn’t.
I’m about to lie back down when the vibrating sounds again, and this time, a soft glow fills the tent. Normally, my immediate reaction would be to ignore it. I stick to my business, and let everyone handle theirs, but what I can’t ignore is the heavy lead feeling in the pit of my stomach. When it lights up once more, I lose my battle of wills and pick it up.
Two hidden messages from Nathan glare back at me from the screen, and the lead that was filling my stomach rises to my throat.
25
maverick
When Chloefinally crawled back into the tent last night, I did the only thing I could think to do. Pretend to be asleep.
Considering how cold it was last night, and how long she stayed out there, I figured she was hoping that I would be asleep when she came back. I didn't exactly feel like admitting to how hot my blood had boiled, or the urge I had to chuck her phone across the lake when I saw Nathan’s name pop up, so I think pretending to be asleep was probably the best call for both of us.
The drive back to Linden Creek looks the same outside, but something inside the car has shifted. It would be easiest to blame it on the post-get-away slump. The hype of taking a mini trip for the weekend is now over, but I’ve done this drive home a few times, and while I’m usually a lot more hungover, I know that’s not the only difference.
Glancing over at Chloe, she’s got her head pressed all the way back, face turned to the window, and other than picking the paint at the corners of her nails, she doesn’t move.
What did Nathan want?
Are you thinking about him now?
Do you regret coming this weekend?
I smack my gum between my teeth, biting back the questions I want answers to. It’s not until I run through them again that I have absolute clarity on why this drive back is so hard.
I’m jealous. I’m fucking jealous of a guy I never thought twice about before. I’m jealous that he has unwavering loyalty from someone so perfect. I’m jealous that he still has this effect over her, that just by seeing his name, she’s immediately pulled back into whatever game he’s playing. I’m jealous that he gets even a moment of her attention. I’m jealous that even though he doesn't deserve her, he will always be someone she could be with and people wouldn’t wonder what she was doing with him.
Aside from the random,“Are you warm enough?”and“Let me know if you want me to stop for anything,”the ride home was fairly quiet. Not including the two-hour dialogue I had in my head. Mostly constant panic and more jealousy that she would be calling Nathan as soon as I dropped her off.
“Do you have plans for the rest of the day?” I ask, pulling into her apartment complex.
“Unpack,” her voice rasps, likely because it hasn’t been used in a while. “I have a tutoring session at four, and then I signed up for an interview prep group.”
I put the car in park but leave the engine running. “Interview prep group?”
“Yeah. I don’t know.” She shrugs. “My advisor sent me a flyer. They meet in the library for an hour, and the lady that runs it only does it once a month, so I figured I’d check it out.”
