A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(43)

“All the Lancasters are tall,” he continues. “Mostly blond. Blue eyes. We all look pretty much the same.”

If all the Lancaster men are as handsome as Crew, then they must be devastating.

Our server appears, overly cheerful as she asks us for our drink order. Her hair is dyed a vivid pink, cut into a severe bob, and she’s wearing pink glasses that match. She’s adorable.

“Just water,” I tell her with a faint smile.

“Same,” Crew adds.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.” She takes off and I watch her go, noting how confident she seems. You’d have to be to have hair that color.

“Do you like girls with pink hair?” I ask Crew.

He levels that icy blue gaze on me. “I prefer brunettes.”

“Really.”

Crew nods. “With green eyes and an appreciation for art.”

“You’re just saying that.” I grab my menu and hold it up in front of me, trying to concentrate on what I’m reading, but the words just go blurry. I can feel him watching me, not saying a word, and it completely unnerves me. Finally, I drop my menu. “What?”

“Do you really think ‘I’m just saying that’ when I followed you to the gallery? You think that was actually a coincidence?”

I blink at him, captivated by his intensity. “No.” He goes quiet until I can’t take it anymore. “Why are you here anyway?”

“Why do you think?”

“You’re stalking me?”

He laughs, the sound rough, and with little humor. It ends as quickly as it started. “No.”

Feels like it, though I don’t say so. “You said you were going to keep tabs on me after what I—saw.”

“That was just an excuse.”

“Then why? I don’t get it. I’m nothing special.” When I spot the incredulous look on his face, I keep talking. “No, really I’m not. I’m na?ve and sheltered, and ridiculed at school for my beliefs. People don’t like you when you make them uncomfortable.”

“You think you make people uncomfortable?”

I nod. “I know I do. They don’t like the ring and what it stands for.” I hold up my hand for him to see it. This stupid ring that’s starting to feel more and more like a burden, especially after what I did last night.

Shame washes over me at the memories.

“I think you’re brave.”

“Or stupid.”

“Not stupid, Birdy. Never stupid.”

“Do you ever feel trapped? Like there’s all this expectation on you to do all of these—things, sometimes things you don’t even want to do. People want you to act a certain way too. They never let you handle things on your own. As if they don’t think you’re capable of anything.” I press my lips together, suddenly wondering if I said too much.

“All the time,” he drawls. “As the baby of the family, my father wants to keep me on a short leash.”

“As the only child, my father does the same.”

“Yet he barely acknowledges me. Half the time, I think he forgets I even exist,” he continues.

“I wish my father forgot I existed sometimes.” A sigh leaves me. “I don’t know what it’s like, to be my own person.”

“I think you’re trying to be exactly that right now,” he says.

His words give me hope. “You really think so?”

“Definitely. You’re stronger than you think. You just need to stretch your wings, and eventually fly.” He settles his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles, electricity sparking where we touch. “When do you turn eighteen?”

“Christmas Day,” I admit.

“Coming up then.” He doesn’t remove his hand from mine, and I like that. His possessive touch, the way he’s studying me. “Are you doing anything special?”

“I was going to have a party the day after,” I admit.

“Where?”

“At my parents’ apartment. But I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“None of them are real.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I take his silence as agreement. Until he says, “I’m your friend.”

Until this very moment, I would’ve never described Crew Lancaster as my friend.

“Are you really?” I whisper.

“I’m whatever you want me to be.” He curls his fingers around mine and lifts our linked hands, bringing them to his mouth, where he brushes the softest kiss against my knuckles.

I feel that touch all the way to my soul, settling deep in my bones. I lean toward him, my lips parting, my mouth dry, wishing I could find the words to explain how he makes me feel.

Like anything is possible.

“You should have the party,” he says.

Pulling my hand from his grip, I settle back in my seat. “I don’t think so. I’m going to cancel it.”

“Maybe you should let me take you out for your birthday.” He settles his hand over mine once more, as if he can’t stop touching me.

Why is he being so nice? Why does he suddenly care? It’s like he knew what I was doing last night. Touching myself while thinking of him, and now he’s here, and I don’t understand his mood change.