I glance at him mischievously. His eyes drift down to the rest of the pizza on the coffee table, and by the time I get what’s about to happen, it’s too late. He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me back onto the couch, my head resting on his thighs as he suffocates me under a thick blanket of cheese, onion, and pineapple. I don’t evenfight back. Instead, I just lie there, hiding my sadness under a slice of cheesy goodness.
“Lois?”
He peels back the pizza and laughs when he sees me staring back at him, my cheeks splattered with food, plucking a little stray onion out of my lashes. I want to kiss him so bad right now.
“I hate you,” I mutter.
That couldn’t be further from the truth—and the truth hurts more than I can say.
When Lane leans over me, my heart leaps into my throat, only to drop when I realize he’s just reaching for a tissue.Silly girl.I grab it from him and start cleaning myself up. I should get up and scoot over, I know, but I decide to keep my head in his lap a little while longer, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because come tomorrow, this will all be gone. He holds me up a peace offering, and as I take the slice from him, he falls back into the cushions.
“You’ve got to admit, this couch is seriously comfy.”
His voice sounds weird. He stares up at the ceiling.
“Yeah,” I say. “Nothing beats a real bed, though.”
“But with a couch, you’ve got everything in easy reach,” he says, gesturing at the coffee table.
“I hear they have these things called ‘bedside tables’ now.”
“Your roommates might snore.”
“I used to sleep next door to my grandpa, remember? I’m good to go.”
He nods slowly, fiddling with his lip. This conversation is so weird. It feels like he wants me to say the dorm sucks, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m too scared to tell him that given the choice, I’d prefer to stay here—with him. I’m scared because that would mean I care about him more than I thought.
I need to get him to open up, and so I start the only way I know how.
“What are you thinking?”
He lowers his gaze to meet mine. I stare at him, but try as I might,I can’t get a read. He’s not the same guy I met all those months ago. He’s changed—or maybe somewhere along the way, I did. He still hasn’t answered my question, I realize. It’s ridiculous how much time he can spend lost in thought like this. When I was with Kirk, I guess I never paid much attention to anyone else. Or maybe I just never met anyone worth paying attention to. One thing’s for sure: I can’t stop watching him think, and I can’t stand feeling shut out like this, either. I want him to say it. I need him to say it.Tell me to stay, Lane. Please. Just say it.
“I think there’s cheese in your nose.”
So much for a heartfelt chat.
I hop off the couch and head to the bathroom to clean up. Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, I peer in for a closer look, my breath rattling in my chest. What is going on with me? What’s changed? When exactly did I stop caring for Kirk and start feeling so much for Lane? I can’t stop thinking back to how he kissed me, how he touched me, how his fingers… The flashbacks are so intense, my head is reeling. What did it all mean to him? I could have asked him straight-up—I had dozens of chances to do just that, but I can’t, and he’s a closed book, so here we are. He started this whole thing, and then he acts like nothing ever happened. Lane isn’t exactly Mr. Sensitive, though. I’ve seen how he is with other girls—so why would I be any different? If he wanted more, he would have told me. Plus, there’s that spare room of his. There were so many times he could have told me to take it, if he really wanted me to move in with him. At least moving out now will help set a few things straight.
I tap the edge of the sink decidedly, and force myself back into the living room. It’s my last night at the apartment. I need to make the most of it and quit the overthinking.
I curl back up on the couch. “Want to watch a movie?”
My voice is a little squeaky, but I think I sound convincing. There’s no way I’m laying myself bare. I plan on keeping up the act for as long as needed.
“I didn’t notice whether there’s a TV in my new room,” I add.
He looks at me steadily. “There isn’t.”
“I have my laptop—that’ll do just fine.” I shoot him a sideways glance.
“Yeah.” He plucks up the remote and spends a while channel surfing. I’m pretty sure his eyes aren’t even registering.
“Hello?” I wave a hand in front of his face. “You just went through a hundred channels at least.”
He tosses me the remote. “You choose.”
I don’t give a shit what we watch, but I settle on a live concert. We both love the band. I tuck myself into the corner of the couch, my toes grazing the side of his thigh.
