Waylon looks around, his eyes skating over each framed butterfly specimen with renewed interest.
“I only really have one question,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“Which one is your favorite?”
“The forest mother-of-pearl my mother gave me,” I tell him without hesitation. “She got sick and it was the last thing she gave me before she died.”
Waylon’s throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes never leaving mine. He doesn’t tell me he’s sorry for my loss or offer his condolences, and I’m glad for that but it surprises me. It seems like that’s the first thing anyone says when they find out.
“My mom died when I was five,” he says.
And I immediately get it. We’re both part of the same club. Carrying that wound, the loss of your mother, it’s unique. Only someone who’s been through it will understand. In that knowledge, I can’t help but feel closer to him. And I was already feel a pretty strong connection.
We spend another three hours talking, and it’s only when light is beginning to filter through my windows that we fall asleep.
We talked about everything. Our families, school, first loves, stupid shit like our favorite ice cream, and joked about getting matching tattoos.
My eyes flutter open sometime later, and I realize he’s wrapped his arm around me. My head is on his chest, and rather than shrink away from him, I sink back in and shut my eyes. It takes me no time to fall back asleep. His presence is so comforting.
It’s the whisper of voices on the other side of my door that wake me next. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I know I’m alone in this bed without looking behind me. I slide off my mattress and step lightly toward my door so I can hear better.
“It’s not like that,” Waylon says, his voice hushed. “Nothing happened.”
For a moment, I feel myself getting mad. But he’s right. Nothing really happened. Well, we kissed. Why wouldn’t he say that? Who’s he talking to? Wait, wait. I’m jumping to conclusions. I inhale a long, deep breath, stilling myself.
So he doesn’t kiss and tell. That’s probably a good thing. Although he’d only be talking to Ridge or one of the other guys, right? They’re his friends. Wouldn’t he tell his friends if he kissed a girl he liked? Unless he regrets it. Ugh, I’m jumping again. It’s fine. He’ll come back in here, we’ll talk. Maybe we can go on a proper date.
It’s fine. You’ll see. You’re just paranoid.
CHAPTER 5
LYRIC
I’m lyingthrough my teeth at him. Because one little kiss or not, it did mean something to me. The memory of the morning after plays over in my head. I told myself he’d walk back into my room and we’d have a nice laugh and then maybe we’d go on a date.
Because it had been that kind of night. It was leading somewhere. But he didn’t come back. I sat on the edge of my bed for half an hour and I waited. He slipped out the front door, and when I heard it click behind him, I knew. Wherever I had thought this was going, he hadn’t felt the same way.
Waylon is staring at me like he’s waiting for something, but I don’t budge. I said what I said. It was a single kiss. Not a big deal.
He sighs, relenting. “Okay then. As long as you don’t think it will be a problem. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable here.”
“Like I said, no big deal.” I grab the drink he sat in front of me and gulp several times, throat parched from my own lies.
“Well, when do you want to move in?”
For a moment, I think about how I could just say no right here and now.No thanks, bro. Don’t want to move into your nice house where I get my own bathroom or use the pretty sunroom off the back where you said I could put my plants. Don’t want to cuddle your cute dog. Don’t want to be around you.
But then all of my claims would be called into question. I could be outed for my lies. And that would be even worse than pretending I don’t give a fuck and enduring Waylon. Because yeah, it’s possible he made me feel something. It’s possible it rattled me. But nothing is more sobering than knowing he’s also just a guy who stole a kiss and bolted the next morning. And the next time we saw each other? Nothing. And the next time? Nothing. I think that makes it pretty clear.
“Technically, my lease is up at the end of the week. I’m on a month to month, and it’s the end of this one already. But I can pay an extra month if you need time to prepare?”
“No, this weekend is fine. We can make that work. I don’t want you to have to pay for a whole extra month. I’m sure the guys can help and we can get you out of there quick.”
“I don’t want to trouble them. Besides, I don’t have a lot to move.”
“I think we both know that you have more than you think. How many plants are there?”
