More Than This (More Than, #1)(40)

Then he grabs her in his arms and starts making out with her, like full on making out, in front of me, it’s not the first time I’ve seen it but still… gross.


I head up to her room and knock on the door.

“Jake?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Come in.”

I do. “Who were you expec-" I cut myself off when I see what she’s wearing. She’s freshly showered and in her pajamas. Bright red boy shorts and a matching tank.

Instant semi.

“Well, I didn’t really want anyone else seeing me like this.” She points up and down her body.

Damn right no one else will see her like that.

She moves to her dresser and fishes through a little wooden box.

I go to lay on her bed.

She turns around and sees me on the bed. Her face changes to a look of confusion, eyebrows drawn together, thinking… or remembering?

And then it hits me. That I’m lying on the bed that she’s probably had sex with James on, hundreds of times.

It’s enough to make me jump off the bed and make same lame eewe/grunt noise. I’m standing now, when I look over at her, she’s glaring at me with a ‘what the f*ck’ look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

My jaw hurts from how tense it is at the thought of her and James. “I just don’t really feel like laying on the same bed as the one you and that * ex of yours have do-"

“OH!” she says, surprised. “We never, I mean, he never, well, not that… he… we never… oh god!”

“You’ve never had sex on this bed?” I ask incredulous.

“No, we’ve never even fooled around on it, promise. You’re safe,” she laughs.

“Thank god,” I sigh out in relief before laying back on it.“Then why were you looking at me like that?”

“I just… I’ve never seen a boy in my bed before. It was just… I don’t know.” She blushes and looks down at the floor.

“C’mere.” I motion next to me on the bed.

She lies down and moves my right arm so she’s laying in the crook, her on her side, me on my back, her head on my chest.

A comfortable silence fills the room.

I’m almost asleep when I feel her hands move, her breath blowing out as she sighs.

My hand is resting on my stomach and she moves hers so that our finger tips are touching, she pushes my hand up with hers, almost like were comparing hand sizes. We’re both looking down at our hands now. It’s a small touch, our skin only lightly grazing, but it feels so intimate, like we’re more than what we are. I know I want to be. I want to be more than this.

I bend my fingers so they’re entwined with hers and I feel something I haven’t felt before. I bring our hands to my face so I can see. She has a diamond ring and a wedding ring on her ring finger, and a larger wedding ring on her thumb, on her right hand.

“Your parent’s?” I ask quietly.

“Huh? Oh yeah, it’s theirs. I know I probably shouldn’t be wearing them. Like, its disrespectful or something, but I guess it just makes me feel closer to them.”

“It’s not disrespectful at all, Kayla.” I whisper, kissing her hair. “If anything, it’s beautiful. Those rings are a symbol of their love, and so are you. I bet when they were putting those rings on their fingers they didn’t have a clue they’d have someone as special as you.”

She smiles a sad smile.

“Have I told you about how they met?”

I shake my head no.

“Mom was 21, Dad was 18. He worked part time delivering flowers. One day he delivered some to Mom, she signed for it but they weren’t for her. When she read the card and realized he had delivered them to the wrong address, she rang the company. Dad had to go back and re-deliver them to right the address, but not before getting her number. That night he rang her and they spent hours on the phone talking about anything and everything. Mom actually had a boyfriend at the time, apparently he was an *. He was working night shift, but she set her alarm so that as soon as he finished, she could call him and break up with him. Two weeks later, he was pretty much moved in with her. They fell in love instantly, Jake. It was like he went to the wrong address on purpose.

“Mom used to always tell the story when I was little. My friends parent’s would read them ‘The Little Mermaid’ and ‘Snow White’. Mine told me my very own fairytale. That’s what Mom called it, their story, she called it a fairytale. I believe it too. That instant, intense, love. Fate.” She sits up to look at me, tears brimming in her eyes as she tries to talk through the lump in her throat. “I believe in the happily ever after.”

She’s looking at me with so much emotion that I hope to hell that I’m reading her right, that the look she’s giving me is telling me everything I want to hear. That she believes in Fate. In Love. In us. Forever.


She stands up and walks towards closed curtains. This room never had windows before, it was just storage, Dad must have had it installed.

She opens the curtains and stifles a laugh.

“Have you seen this?” she asks, turning around to face me.

I’m trying to get my bearings in the room, which wall is facing where…