“What’re you doing back there?” Donovan yells.
“Just looking for…” I grab the first thing I find. “Pickles!”
I set the jar down on the counter and crack it open, cramming my mouth full. As the sour juices hit the back of my throat and my eyes flood with tears, I remember just how much I hate pickles. Needs must, though—I hold my breath and swallow hard, before reaching for a glass and gulping down some water.Get it together, girl!
I wander over to the living room, where Adam looks up from the circle.
“Sorry for rocking up like this. We tried calling, but nobody picked up.”
No shit.
“What were you guys doing?” Lewis asks sweetly.
“Nothing,” me and Lane answer together.
I glance at him. My cheeks are on fire.
“Wanna sit down?”
Becca pats the couch, and I stare at the cushions, my pulse racing as I play it all back in my mind. The couch.Thecouch I just had the best orgasm of my life on. Nuh-uh. There’s no way I’m sitting my ass down there just yet. The floor will do nicely.
“You okay, Lois?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
I slap my hands down on my thighs. “Sure!”
“You’re acting weird.”
“What do you feel like drinking, Becca?” Lane asks, too loud.
“Got anything sweet?”
I breathe out a sigh of relief and glance over, meeting his gaze for the briefest of seconds before he looks away. Fuck. I’d hoped to see a glimmer of reassurance from him—but nothing. Not a single sign. Jesus, it was hard enough after what happened in Fort Myers. This is setting up to be way worse.
“So, dude—how was Florida?” Don pops the cap off his beer.
“It was cool,” Lane drawls.
“Cool”?I’m disappointed that’s all he has to say about our week.Yeah, man. Cool…
As the night unfolds, Lane’s behavior just makes me feel worse and worse: He’s totally normal, like nothing ever happened. Like it’s no big deal. I watch him laughing with his buddies, teasing me, pulling faces at me, just the way he always has, and I know that should make things easier, but instead I feel hollow.
THE FOLLOWING DAYS, IT ONLYgets worse. Classes still haven’t started yet, but we spend every waking moment with the Campus Drivers. Lane keeps acting like nothing’s changed when we’re around them. Unfortunately, that means I keep turning into this uptight, awkward mess whenever he teases me like he’s always done. It drives me nuts. I could probably accept that the whole couch thing was just a onetime experiment—if Lane would justtalkto me about it. I mean, I have zero experience with this kind of thing. Am I overthinking it?
And maybe Icouldmove on—if it weren’t for the fact he does a complete one-eighty the moment we step into the apartment. Once it’s only the two of us, I can feel his eyes lingering on me. When I brush past him, he hardly steps aside. He’s a walking, talking contradiction, and it’s got me so confused. I’ve had to stop myself from yelling at him so many times now. I want to scream at him to justtalkto me, to justtellme what exactly is going on—but there’s a small part of me that actually enjoys this weird tension we’ve got going on. This is so messed up. Every time I get a little too close to him, my heart skips a beat. When he falls back onto the couch to watch TV, my breathcatches in my throat. And when he drums his fingers a hair’s breadth from my thigh, I wish they’d inch a little higher. I’m spending way too much time obsessing over this. I’m even having dreams about it all. I don’t know who I am or what I want anymore, and that scares me. I don’t recognizehimanymore, either, and that’s… thrilling.
“Shit.”
I stare at myself in the mirror, a toothbrush hanging from my mouth. I’ve been scrubbing my teeth for a whole five minutes now, playing everything back, going all the way to… When was it? Christmas—or before?
“I need professional help.”
I spit the toothpaste into the sink and dunk my head under the faucet, the water drowning out Lane’s footsteps.
“You nearly done?”
I jump, swinging back to face him, wiping my chin dry with my hand.
“I’m in the bathroom!” I clutch my towel tighter around me.
