Regretting You(67)

“I’m not lying,” Miller says. “We really do have to work on a project.”

“Whatever you say.”

Miller rolls his eyes as he pushes out of the chair. He grabs my hand and pulls me up. “I apologize on behalf of my grandpa.”

“Why? You’re lying to him. We don’t have a project to work on.”

Miller rolls his head. “Yes, we do.” He looks at his grandpa disapprovingly. “You two aren’t allowed to hang out anymore. You’re too much alike.”

Gramps smiles at me as we leave the living room. When we walk down the hallway, I glance into their bathroom. Miller sees my pause. There are multiple pill bottles lined up on the counter, and the reminder that his grandpa is sick makes my stomach twist into a knot.

Once we’re in Miller’s bedroom, he can tell my mood has shifted. “Thinking about Gramps?”

I nod.

“Yeah. Sucks. Bad.” He kicks off his shoes and lies down in the middle of the bed, patting the mattress next to him. I kick off my shoes and crawl in, tucking myself to his side, draping my arm over him.

“How’d the doctor visit go today?”

He pushes back my hair, running his fingers all the way to the ends. “We talked about what to expect over the next few months. It’s not really safe for him to be here alone while I’m in school, so they’re putting him on hospice soon. Once he’s on hospice, an aide will be here with him most of the time, so that’s a relief. I won’t have to drop out of school.”

I sit up on my elbow. “Was that really your only option?”

“Yeah. My mother died when I was ten, and he’s her father. I have an uncle who lives in California, but he’s not much help from there. Other relatives stop by a lot. Make sure we have what we need. But I’ve lived with him since I was ten, so most of the responsibility falls on my shoulders.”

I had no idea his mother passed away. “I’m so sorry.” I shake my head. “That’s a lot of pressure for someone your age.”

Miller rests a hand on my cheek. “You’re only sixteen and look what you’ve been through. Life doesn’t play favorites.” He pulls my head to his chest. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s talk about something else.”

He smells good. Like lemon this time. “When’s your birthday?” I ask.

“December fifteenth.” He pauses. “Yours is next week, right?”

I nod, but I’d like to forget. With my birthday comes the traditional birthday dinner, but this will be the first one without my dad and Aunt Jenny. I don’t want to think about it, so I change the subject. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t have one. I like all of them except orange.”

“Really? I like orange.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s a terrible color,” he says. “What’s your least favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“You just said you like orange.”

“You made me doubt it, like maybe there’s something wrong with it that I’m not aware of.”

“There’s a lot wrong with orange,” he says. “It doesn’t even rhyme with anything.”

“Is it the color or the word you don’t like?”

“Both. I hate them both.”

“Did something in particular spark this immense hatred?”

“No. It came about naturally, I guess. Maybe I was born this way.”

“Is it a particular shade of orange you loathe?”

“I hate them all,” he says. “Every shade of orange, from mango to coral.”

I laugh. “This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, we’re kind of bad at this. Maybe we should just kiss.”

I pull my head from his chest and look up at him. “Hurry, because I’m starting to forget why I’m even attracted to you.”

He grins and then rolls on top of me, brushing back my hair while he smiles lazily. “Need a reminder?”

I nod. This is the most connection our bodies have ever had. We’ve kissed standing up. We’ve kissed in his truck. We’ve kissed sitting down. But we’ve never kissed on a bed with his body between my legs. He rests his mouth against mine, but doesn’t kiss me. He adjusts the pillow beneath my head; then he kicks the covers away, all while barely teasing my lips with his.

“This sure is taking a long time,” I say.

“I want you to be comfortable.” He keeps his mouth near mine and lifts my neck a little, pulling my hair out from beneath me. He piles it over my shoulder and whispers, “Ready?” against my lips.

I start to laugh, but the laugh never happens because Miller’s tongue parts my lips, and my near laugh turns into a gasp. It feels different like this—with him on top of me. Better. The kiss is nice. Slow flicks of his tongue. His fingers trailing down my arm. Mine trailing up his back.

But then I feel him begin to harden between my legs, and it both surprises me and gives me confidence. I wrap my legs around his waist, wanting to ease the ache I’m beginning to feel there, but it only makes it worse. His kiss deepens, and he pushes against me, forcing a moan up my throat. He pauses the kiss for a second, as if that sound does something to him, but then he brings his mouth back to mine with an even more profound urge.