Page 29 of People Like Us

He set my foot gently back onto the floor, then stared expectantly up at me. I lifted my chin, gesturing for him to get up, and he did.

He leaned back against the wall, looking down at me. We didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the time we stood there. The bell rang, and Mrs. Deal came rushing in through the back door just as the hallway began to flood with students. Everything moved around me like a swirl of color as I kept my eyes on August’s. He didn’t move until I did.

I stepped around him to enter the classroom, and he followed behind.

A few minutes into class, I finished the coffee. I reached across the table to place the thermos beside August’s computer. The imprint of my mouth had been painted in dark red lipstick around the opening of the cup. He eyed it, and I could see the coral spreading across the bridge of his nose behind his open laptop.

“Do you expect him to wash that for you or something?” Wyatt said from beside me.

Before I could respond, August’s voice carried across the table. “Hey, Wyatt?” Wyatt turned his head toward August in recognition. “Shut up, okay, Buddy?”

Wyatt looked utterly confused, and I had to roll my lips inward to hold back the smile trying desperately to take over my face.

A few more minutes went by, and August lifted the cup to his mouth. There was nothing left in it, but he held it there for a while anyway. When he set it back down, the lipstick stain was gone.

I should’ve known it right then. That I was done for. That we both were. But, as usual, I had no idea how bad things could get.

Chapter Thirteen

August was standing outside when I pulled into his driveway and parked behind his car. I reached back to grab my bag out of my back seat, and when I looked back, he was already opening my door for me.

I didn’t say anything as I got out, or on our way up the stairs. When we made it to his room above the garage, he took his shoes off, leaving them by the door, and then turned, without question, and began to unzip my boots. I lost a few inches of height as my feet landed flat on his soft carpet. My toes curled into it on instinct.

We sat on the couch to study. Opposite ends, facing one another. His feet hung off the edge, while mine were crossed one over the other over his knee. Touching, but not really.

Over the next hour August asked me questions about marine biology, and I answered them with ease. After every section I passed he said something like: “You’re so smart.” or “You’re doing a good job.” and every time the coil in my stomach got impossibly tighter.

After the last question, that earned me a “You’re amazing.” He closed his laptop, and leaned forward, his long fingers wrapping around my ankles as he set the computer on his coffee table. He grabbed my own laptop, placing it next to his.

We looked at each other for too long to not be considered intimate. My body sank comfortably into the sofa, my face rested against the back cushion as I leaned into it.

“Tell me what your favorite food would be if the calories didn’t matter,” he said finally, and I was so struck by the question that I couldn’t think of an answer to it right away.

He didn’t push me to answer, or repeat himself. He just waited. In the time it took me to respond, my brain transformed this image of us on the couch into an old married couple. I pushed it away instantly, and finally said “Fried Pickles from The Grill. With ranch.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Is that it?” he asked.

I bit my lip, holding back a smile. “And a cheerwine.”

He nodded, his smile growing wider. “Glass bottle?”

I shook my head. “Glass bottles are for purists. I’ll take a crisp can any day.” This earned me a full, thousand-watt smile, which sent the butterflies in my stomach into a whirlwind.

“What’s yours?” I asked.

“My dad’s cheesy penne pasta.” he answered without having to think about it.

“What’s special about it?”

He lifted his shoulders a bit. “It’s his.”

I did my best to give a convincing smile of understanding, though I had no idea what it was like to love anything that belonged to my father.

“Did you want to stay for dinner? My mom uses gluten-free pasta.”

I studied his face before saying, “It’s early.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you’d have to hang out with me for a few hours. I promise the pasta is worth the wait though.”