She climbs into bed, staying on her side at first. Then, slowly, she moves closer.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“For waiting. For not pushing. For all of it.”
I pull her against me, her head finding that spot on my chest where she ended up last night, like her body knows where it belongs now. “Anytime, Ice Queen.”
We lie there in the dark and I try not to think about how much I want her. How much it’s killing me to be this close and not closer.
But this is right. She needs time to figure out what she wants. And I need her to choose me, not just fall into something because we’re playing pretend and got carried away.
“Rodriguez?” Her voice is small in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too, JuJu. Me too.”
She falls asleep first, her breathing evening out against my chest. I lie there staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of her against me, the softness of her hair under my chin.
We crossed a line tonight. Not a huge line, but a line.
And we still have to get through days of touching and kissing and pretending in front of her family.
Except now we both know it’s not entirely pretending anymore.
15
JULIETTE
I wakeup to the worst headache of my life and Rodriguez’s arm firmly around my waist.
For a second I just lay there, trying to piece together how I even ended up here. Then last night comes back in vivid fragments that feel way too clear for how hungover I am, the club, the dancing, Garrett being predictably awful, the kiss on the dance floor that turned into two kisses that turned into us basically stumbling back here and me completely failing to say what I actually meant.
Is this real for you?
It could be. I think it could be.
I said “it could be” like some kind of asshole. Like someone who’s so used to performing that she literally can’t commit to something she wants. He stood there and admitted he’s been falling for me since September and I gave him “it could be” like I was hedging my bets.
My head is pounding. There’s a dull throb behind my eyes that makes even the dim morning light feel too bright. And Rodriguez is curled around me like we do this every night, his arm heavy and warm across my stomach, his breathing deep and even against my shoulder.
Maybe he does have the right. After last night, after everything, maybe this is exactly where we both belong.
Except I don’t really know how to think about that without spiraling, so I focus on more immediate problems. Like the fact that my bladder is screaming at me and my mouth tastes like I licked a dive bar floor and if I don’t move soon this is going to get way more embarrassing.
I try to extract myself as carefully as possible. Rodriguez makes a sound of protest in his sleep, this low rumble that I feel more than hear, and rolls onto his back. His hair is everywhere, dark against the white pillowcase. One arm flung across the space where I was just lying.
I freeze, waiting to see if he’ll wake up.
He doesn’t.
In the bathroom, I crank the shower as hot as it will go and then immediately regret looking in the mirror. My hair looks like I lost a fight with a wind tunnel. I look exactly like someone who spent last night making out with her fake boyfriend and then panicked when he asked if it was real.
I should have said yes. Should have been brave enough to just tell him the truth instead of hiding behind qualifiers and maybes. But the words stuck in my throat because what if I’m wrong? What if this feeling is just adrenaline and proximity and the heady rush of someone actually paying attention? What if I let myself fall and he realizes I’m not worth it?
