The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(64)
And my poker face is just fine.
Chapter 12
Paige
Is this what falling for someone is supposed to feel like? I wake up every morning—after sneaking away late at night, tiptoeing from Houston’s room back to mine—feeling…alive. When I’m with him, there is no video, no pitiful freshman year, no former Delta-sisters, or blackmail drug-photos locked away in my phone and computer. No drama. There’s just Houston, and me—and kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.
What’s strange is how he always holds that line. Maybe, in a way, I’ve been testing him these last few nights, to see if his hands would roam a little more, if he’d pressure me. He doesn’t. I think maybe this is also what a gentleman is like.
I see why Beth loved him.
When I look at myself, I don’t see a person trying to pretend to be anything other than who I am. With Houston, I’m me—I’m my flaws and my good stuff all at once. And he seems to want both parts. Being with him isn’t exhausting. There is no worry—other than the fear that Leah will catch me during one of my late-night trips, or that his mother will ask about us.
I worry about that a lot. But when we’re kissing, I worry about it less.
Maybe it’s just the sneaking around I enjoy. Houston and I share this secret, and it’s distracting—unbelievably distracting. I’ve had moments this week where I start to think he’s in a place different from me with this thing we’re doing. Sometimes I think he might be taking us too seriously, and the next I think that he’s not taking us seriously enough. Truth is, I’m not sure what place I’m in with this thing we’re doing. All I know is that when his hands are on me, I feel safe. I don’t feel the need to pretend everything’s okay. Everything just…is.
I hate that I ever let a guy touch me just because I was afraid of losing him. My sister was like that, and I persecuted her for it. Turns out I wasn’t so different.
With Houston, it’s more than the kissing, than the touching—than the thought of him crossing that line and the tease of temptation. Houston looks at me as if I’m more than some hot score. He doesn’t slap my ass then want me out of his way as soon as he’s done. He wants to talk. He wants to listen. We don’t have many secrets left. In fact, I don’t think he has any. All I have are those photos on my phone, the ones that started this all. I don’t bring them up…because I’m not sure they make me any better than Chandra now. She leaked a video. I leaked some photos. Of course, mine were real. I haven’t thought about them for days. It seems the world’s forgotten about them, too. Turns out—money can stop the Internet.
Houston left early this morning, leaving me alone to get ready for class and to eat breakfast downstairs with his mom and Leah. Thank god for Leah; she fills the silence with constant questions about the story I told her the other night and with her plans for the next time we play. She’s maybe the most precious little girl I’ve ever met. But…I don’t want to be her mother.
Which, of course, means this thing with Houston, it can’t…
“Leah, you need to get your shoes on so we can make it to the church in time for the puppet lady,” Joyce says, her voice coming out in a singsong way that makes Leah obey. I bet she raised Houston with that same voice, and I bet it’s why he’s so attentive and willing to listen.
“Thank you,” I say to Joyce as she pulls my plate from the table and moves it to the sink. She’s fed me almost every meal that I’ve had since I’ve been here. I was thinking about it last night, and I should really try to contribute more. I have points on my meal plan I can use for things.
“It’s nice having you here,” she says, her smile lingering a little longer than it should. It feels like she’s working the muscles to make sure it stays in place. I don’t get the impression that she doesn’t like me, but there’s something underneath—I can tell.
“I want to help out, maybe shop for some groceries when I can? Is there anything that I can get? I could go later today,” I say.
Her smile gets tighter, and I’m expecting her to speak long before she finally does. “Get whatever you would like. We’re fine with what we have,” she says, turning from me so I can’t see her face. I get the sense those words are talking about more than the food in the pantry.
“All right, well thank you, again,” I say, my voice weaker. I’m gathering my backpack and things when I hear Leah skipping down the stairs, so I pause at the back door to make sure I say goodbye to her for the day. Before I fully turn, I feel her arms around me, her face nuzzled into my side, and she kisses my hip.
“Have a good day,” she says.
“Oh…thank you. You too,” I say, a little stunned by her affection. I glance back up at Joyce—her worried smile still the same. I understand it a little more.
Leah.
This isn’t about me and Houston—her concern is about me…and Leah.
I leave without voicing any of the nonverbal conversations Joyce and I just had. Houston’s mother is warm and wonderful. Much of her reminds me of my mom, only far less flighty. Joyce is strong, and she’s very much the glue that holds this house together. I respect that. She and I are more similar than she knows—we’re both protectors. Which means as welcome as she makes me feel, she also prefers me to leave everything exactly as I found it. And maybe a week ago, I would have.