This Is Falling(34)

“I want to stay ‘til the end,” she says, her smile fake and stiff.

“Sure,” I say, sliding my feet up to rest on the bar in front of us. I keep my hands in my own lap, because Rowe is hugging herself again. I’m pretty sure I know what she and Cass were fighting about, but I want her to say it. I don’t want to be the jerk who pushes her to spend the night in my room when she clearly doesn’t want to.

“Paige called. She’s staying at the Delta house all weekend. She’s probably going to move out in a week or two. They like her.” Rowe keeps her eyes on the field when she talks. I try to keep mine there, too, but I slip every few seconds to catch a glimpse of her fidgeting hands and shaking leg.

“Oh. Well…I guess I’m glad Paige has found her people?” I don’t know what to say, and I can’t even make a funny joke.

“Ty is spending the night in our room.” I gathered this much, and I am doing cartwheels inside at the thought of Rowe coming home with me. But I want her to want to be there. This forced feeling emanating from her body feels really sucky.

“Well, there’s always my friend the lounge sofa,” I say, finally turning to her so I can see how she reacts. When she doesn’t, I’m even more confused—either I’ve offended her by not offering my place or she’s genuinely indifferent about the lounge sofa.

“Can I borrow a blanket? And maybe some sweat pants or something? I don’t think I want to go back to my room if I can help it,” she says, her lips twisting and her eyes still not quite on me but looking down.

“Sure. You can borrow a blanket. And I have some clothes.” This sucks.





Rowe





We walk back to his room, and the entire time I battle myself internally, trying to get the courage to ask if I can stay with him. My body wants to be there, and part of me was actually a little excited when Cass put me in this position. But the other part of me feels sick at the thought, unsure of what it means if I spend the night with a guy. And I wonder what Nate would expect.

“Here, come on in. You can use my new blanket,” he says, flipping on the lights and reminding me that his room is still pink. It makes me smile. I round the corner and move to his bed, where he gathers up a sparkly Barbie blanket.

“Ahhh, bling. I get it now,” I say, pretty damn impressed.

“I told you. Preeters don’t do embarrassed. We embrace,” he says, reaching in the crack between his bed and wall to pull out a fluffy, purple, heart-pillow. I take it in my arms and hold it, and he smiles proudly. I keep waiting for his flaw, something to make me not want him. But everything he does has the opposite effect.

“Here, you can wear this. You can change in our closet if you want. I promise, I won’t look.” He covers his eyes but leaves cracks between his fingers, which makes me laugh.

I take the stack of clothes from him and flip on his closet light, shutting the door. He gave me a long-sleeved gray McConnell baseball shirt, which I slip over my head first, pulling the dress straps from my shoulders underneath. I was hoping the dress would slip down my waist, but the two snaps are holding it snug in place, and no matter how many ways I bend and stretch, I can’t reach them.

“Everything okay?” I’ve been in here for several minutes now, and my pulse is racing so fast that I’m starting to sweat.

“Uhhhhh,” I say, laying my forehead flat against the door. Breathe, just breathe.

“Sweat pants throwing you for a loop?” he chuckles.

My entire body is shaking and my fingers are numb as I twist the closet door handle and crack the door open. When I look out, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, but he gets up quickly and comes closer, putting his hand back over his eyes, not cheating this time.

“It’s my dress. I can’t reach the snaps.”

“Oh.” He stands still for a few seconds, still averting his eyes, and I love that he doesn’t want to take advantage of me. He’s like a straight-A student in the college of gentlemen.

“It’s okay. I have your shirt on. If you can just…I don’t know, maybe lift up the back and pop the snaps?”

I can hear him swallow, and then he slowly pulls his hand from his eyes, careful to keep his stare on my face. “Yeah, I can do that.”

I turn around and move my ponytail over my neck. A few seconds later, I feel his hand carefully lift the bottom of the shirt, dragging it slowly upward. When he gets to the snaps, he stops, not pulling it any further. It’s impossible for his fingers not to touch my bare skin when he reaches in and tugs the fabric apart, and that small, gentle caress sends my heart into overdrive.

The dress starts to slip; I try to catch it, but its weight brings it down my legs quickly. Nate backs away, moving his hands to his side; I turn to face him, pulling the bottom of his long shirt down to cover my upper thighs. He’s not looking at my eyes any more.

“Thanks,” I say, kicking the dress back into the closet and shutting the door again. “I’ll be right out.”

I pull the sweatpants on quickly when I shut the door, and I reach down to gather Paige’s dress, folding it as best as I can. Everything feels urgent. Getting out of this closet feels urgent. Getting out of this room feels urgent. Forcing my eyes to close…shit! I don’t have my Ambien.

When I open the door, I do my best to put on a grateful face. But just having realized that—not only will I be lying for hours on a sofa out in the open near the place people come and go freely all night long—but any hope of falling asleep tonight is moot, because I haven’t slept without the aide of medicine for more than seven hundred days.