Chapter eightThiago
Seeing her there—in my space, with my things—it did something to me. I wasn’t proud of how that moment had finally come about, and I knew I had no right to expect anything. But I did. And whatever I was hoping for, it already had a bitter edge, because I knew it would hurt someone I loved more than myself. But we’re all weak. Like I told Kami a few minutes before—we’re only human.
I couldn’t control what was going on in my body—or my head—every time I caught sight of her. I never could. Not when I was a kid and all I wanted was to get under her skin. And definitely not now, when just looking at her made me think about kissing her, holding her, having her beside me. Being her friend, her confidant, her lover. In my head, she’d always been mine—since that first, dumb kiss, back when I thought I knew what love was. There was a problem, though. She may have belonged to me in my mind—not like an object; I knew you could never possess another person. No, she belonged to me in a way that went beyond my own principles and prejudices. My soul cried out for her, my heart needed her, my body longed for her every single day.
I was in love.
A person knows these things, and if you aren’t sure, it means something is wrong. And that was what got to me: I was scared of taking a wrong step. Kam had feelings for my brother. She had to. She was crying over him. Missing him.
Is it true that you can love more than one person? I couldn’t wrap my head around that, but maybe that was me, maybe I was too uptight, too old-fashioned, maybe I didn’t understand those kinds of feelings because I couldn’t imagine loving anyone but her.
I couldn’t judge her—human minds are too complicated for that—but still, every tear she shed for my brother broke my heart.
Was I jealous?
I didn’t know, but what I felt when I saw her with him or imagined them together was an ugly feeling, one I wasn’t proud of and didn’t want to harbor.
It was difficult—all of it—because I understood how she could love Taylor. He was incredible. Who the hell wouldn’t love him?
What I didn’t understand was why she was in love with me.
Did that even matter? Did I need to understand it? Did I care? Because she was there, right? And the way her body reacted when I was near had to mean something—something serious, something important. Didn’t it?
“Who picked out those cushions?” she asked.
Like always, she caught me off guard. I blinked, confused at first, until I realized what she was talking about.
“Those? They were in here when I bought it,” I answered, studying her profile, her little nose. I’d always liked the shape of it. Especially because it was so expressive. You’re probably wondering how a person can use their nose to express anything. Kamila Hamilton could. It would wrinkle when something grossed her out, and twist slightly when she was deep in thought. When she smiled, it would turn upward, and when she got impatient, hernostrils would flare. And then there were her eyes: rich brown and expressive, framed by a precious halo of eyelashes. I was always struck by her combination of light skin, blond hair, and heavy dark lashes. When she looked at me, it transported me elsewhere. She could drive me crazy, and she could reel me back in. One look and I was willing to do anything, anything, just to be the center of her universe.
“I figured,” she remarked, making her way farther inside.
She stopped close to my bed—too close. Not on purpose, and it’s not like there was anywhere else to go, the place was pretty small, but once I saw her there, my mind flooded with the possibilities.
How many times had I imagined undressing her—slowly, carefully, taking my time to kiss every inch of skin, all the spots no one else would think to touch? Or just the opposite—rushed, rough, desperate, like I couldn’t get close to her fast enough. People say we’re just animals, all instinct. And maybe that’s true. I was trying to keep mine in check. But some days, it felt impossible.
Did she feel the same thing when she saw me? Did she want to tear my clothes off and kiss me all over?
I turned away with the excuse of switching the heater on, hoping to give myself a moment to calm down.
“I like it,” Kam said, and I looked back at her. That smile, those eyes still red from crying, that blond hair tousled from the motorcycle ride. Every bit of her moved me in a way I still couldn’t express in words.
She was gorgeous, magnificent, the sweetest person in the world. She was the girl of my dreams.
“I likeyou,” I couldn’t help but respond, and I watched her absorb those words.
“I don’t understand why,” she said.
Shaking my head, I replied, “If only you could be in my headright now. Because I promise you every one of your doubts would vanish.” I took a step toward her.
She looked out the window and remarked that it was snowing. I looked to see the flakes gently falling. And that made me realize something.
“It would be dangerous to drive you home,” I said, taking a step closer.
“Because of the snow?” she asked.
“The motorcycle could skid, especially if the road’s iced over. I wouldn’t want to put you in danger.”
“I’ll call my mom and tell her…” The way she hesitated made me even crazier about her.
