Instead of You(27)

Suddenly, a strong wave of relief rushed through me. I moved into him, pressing my cheek against his chest, loving the way his arms naturally wound around me, holding me close to him. I listened to his heartbeat, felt the warmth from his body against my face.

After a few minutes of just feeling him against me, I said something I knew needed to be addressed.

“We can’t tell anyone,” I whispered. “No one would understand, Hayes. It would hurt so many people.” And that hurt me. We were just hours into this—whatever this was—and I already knew it was different than what I had with Cory. I’d never felt anything close to this with him. And knowing that something that felt so wonderful to me would hurt and confuse those closest to us left a dark cloud over everything.

“I know,” he said softly, sounding despondent, just before pressing his lips to the top of my head. “You should probably go back inside. It’s getting late.”

I knew he was right, knew it was better to be inside instead of standing on my porch hugging him, but his words just brought fears I wasn’t prepared for. What if we went our separate ways that night and then everything went back to the way it was the next day? What if this one night was some sort of fluke, and tomorrow we were forced back to the old Hayes and McKenzie? I didn’t want to go back; didn’t want to lose whatever connection we’d forged in the rain that night. I wanted him to know, for whatever it was worth, how much I wanted us to continue, risks and obstacles be damned.

Taking no time to worry about his response, I lifted onto my toes, reached up, and kissed him. Whatever I couldn’t say, whatever feelings were too powerful to give words to, I put them into that kiss. I showed him my fears, my worries, but most of all, I showed him what I wanted.

I wanted him.

He answered my kiss with one of his own.

Finally, he pulled away again and I had to fight the urge to groan, already missing his mouth against mine.

“You need to go inside now.” His voice was raspy, nearly a growl, and hearing it made everything inside me seize and then sputter back to life, but I nodded, agreeing.

“Just promise me you won’t forget about me tomorrow.” I hadn’t meant to sound like a needy, immature girl, but I desperately needed the reassurance.

His eyes met mine again, this time both his hands cradling my face. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

“Okay,” I whispered. He gave me one last small peck on the lips, then took a small step back, but he might as well have put a canyon between us for how far away he felt.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I turned away from him and walked back in my house, making sure I turned the dead bolt behind me. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and then continued to my bedroom, hoping the next day would bring a little more clarity and a little less uncertainty.





Chapter Eleven


McKenzie


The following days did nothing to quiet the uneasiness I felt about my situation with Hayes.

School was torture.

I spent the entire day peeking over my shoulder, looking down hallways, basically being paranoid and searching for his face in a crowd. I never saw him outside of class, which made sense; he wasn’t a student so he wouldn’t be traipsing through the halls between periods. But it almost felt as though he weren’t real. That what had happened between us was simply a figment of my overactive and sadistic imagination.

Sitting in his class, however, was surprisingly easier than I had anticipated.

Because I got to look at him.

And I not only got to look at him, but I was able to see him.

I thought I knew Hayes, and in a big way, I did. But I hadn’t met that Hayes yet. I hadn’t been introduced to the guy who was passionate about history, of all things. Or the person who could make witty comments and entice laughter from a room full of sullen teenagers. I never knew the man who could engage a room full of students and make them excited about a world war or learning about it in a way that was more than just dates, names, and events. He wasn’t just teaching history; he was telling us a story.

But he was also beautiful.

So I let him teach and I tried to pay attention—really, I did—but a lot of the time I was just caught up in all the new things I was learning about him and memorizing all the things about him that made him Hayes. He also made this very easy because not once since he’d started had he looked at me. I had my suspicions about why that was and figured he thought it was too risky for him to be looking at me at all. So it was easy to stare and get lost in him since he was never looking my way.

I wasn’t dumb, and I wasn’t ignorant to the situation. I knew that if anyone found out about what had happened between us, the only one who would suffer would be Hayes. So when I sat in his class every day, my body weirdly aching for him to just glance in my direction, I knew why he didn’t and I was completely okay with it.

Well, for the most part.

I was having a grand old time taking him in, watching the way his body moved and stretched the shirt trying to contain his muscled arms, or how when he turned around his hair was so neatly pulled back into a bundle at the base of his neck, making his shoulders look fantastic. But I also wasn’t the only one noticing how beautiful he was.

When he did turn his back to the class, I watched as all the girls looked around at each other, raising their eyebrows, their mouths forming tiny Os, their cheeks pinkening. Then the giggling started and my heartbeat pounded in my veins.