Page 44 of A Really Bad Idea

Christian wraps his arms around my waist, and I still. We’ve danced. He’s held my hand. He’s even held me before while I cried. But this? This feels more intimate than anything we’ve shared.

What do I do now? Lay my head on his shoulder? Grab on to his hands and hold them there?

Instead, I laugh. My stomach rolls in as I toss into a giggle fit.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“I don’t know what to do with my hands.” I turn around and face him.

His arms loosen on my waist as the line between his brows deepens. “Place them around my neck.”

I do just that, and it feels like we’re dancing.

I look back up into his eyes, glassy from the night air and tower lights. “I don’t know how to be intimate with you,” I confess.

He lowers his chin. “Why do you think I want three dates?”

“So, it’s not just me?”

“We’ve always been attracted to each other. You can’t pretend that’s not true. And we’ve done flirty well over the years. We’ve just never crossed this threshold.”

“It feels natural, and yet—”

“This is all new to me, too,” he says, and I let out a breath as he rests his forehead against mine.

As awkward and even scary as this situation might seem at times, it’s nice to know I’m going through it with someone I trust immensely. Just being in his arms calms me in a way no one else can.

Especially when he speaks in his soothing hum, “I don’t know what happens next, but I’m not ashamed. You shouldn’t care what everyone else thinks. I don’t. All I care about is you. Don’t look down toward your fears or up into your own worst enemy.”

I frown, wondering who he’s talking about.

He taps my temple. “You get lost in your own thoughts. Stop listening to that little voice up there. All your answers, your dreams, your desires can be seen if you look straight.”

I’m looking straight. Straight into him. Into his soul, into his heart, and into the very person I’m giving my dreams to.

I close my eyes for a moment to gather my wits. It’s here, in the dark, with the breeze in my hair and the smell of the harbor and Christian’s warm hands holding me tight, that I inhale the greatest breath I’ve taken in weeks and let out the stifling fear I’ve been holding on to.

“I was thirteen and had a massive crush on you,” I say. I’m not sure why I’m telling him this. It just feels like something I need to get off my chest. “It was the year we all went to Six Flags on a class trip. You were dating Sally Romano, and I knew that you would kiss her on the Great American Scream Machine, so I told you—”

“That she had herpes,” he finishes my sentence.

I squeeze my eyes tighter, embarrassment coating my cheeks. “You didn’t kiss her because of that, and I followed you around, hoping that you would want to kiss me.”

“You went on every roller coaster with me that day.”

“I did.” I nod. “And, if I’m being totally honest, I absolutely, positively hate roller coasters.”

“No, you don’t,” he says with a tinge of humor in his voice.

With my eyes closed, I lift my chin in confirmation. “That day was the first and last time I ever went to an amusement park. I never told you because then you’d know that, when I was thirteen, I wanted nothing more than for you to kiss me.”

“You wanted to kiss me? When we were in middle school?”

“Desperately,” I admit.

“Meadow,” he breathes, but I don’t answer.

I raise my brows at him, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t say a word. He does something better.