Crimson Death (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #25)(34)

Will slammed his hand on the piano, clunking the keys. “Wait, you what?”

“What?”

“Brussels sprouts? Is this a sick joke?”

“I’d never joke about Brussels sprouts. They’re the best all roasted, with bacon bits and some syrup …” I trailed off, dreamy. It occurred to me that my feelings for Brussels sprouts bordered on sexual.

He blinked at me. “Ollie, that’s foul. Yuck. If I’d known your taste was that bad I never would’ve—” He caught himself, then became suddenly interested in the piano again. Oh, there it was. The opening to acknowledge summer. He was kidding himself if he thought I wasn’t gonna take this for all it was worth.

“Never would’ve what?”

“You know what.”

“Done my taxes?”

“No.”

“Gone paragliding with me?”

“We never went paragliding.”

“It’s on my list. And to be fair, you never did my taxes, either. Was that an option?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh,” I said, dropping my mouth open, and then whispering, “you meant you would’ve never let me dribble your basketballs?”

Will let out a noise that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from a surprised dog. He drove his elbow backward and into my side. “Shhh!”

I’d gone to laugh, but the smile dropped right off my face. Seriously? We couldn’t even discuss it in private? Wasn’t that a tad dramatic? “What?” I asked loudly. “Afraid all the people in the room might think you’re gay if they found out you hooked up with me?”

“Ollie, seriously.”

I stepped back and threw my arms out, spinning in a circle. “There’s no one here, Will. I get that you don’t wanna advertise that you knew me before school, but do we have to keep pretending we don’t have a history when we’re alone, too? It’s making me feel kind of uncomfortable. I don’t know where we stand.”

Will closed the lid of the piano and swiveled around on the bench. I had a sudden flashback to an evening at the lake. I didn’t remember exactly when, or what we’d done that day. Only the sunset casting a lavender glow over the water, and dragonflies zipping past my head while I stood on the edge of the jetty. And Will had been treading water, his head and shoulders sticking out of the lake. Only in my memory he was smiling. In real life, right here and now, he looked apprehensive. Like he was worried I was going to hurt him. If the truth was a weapon, then maybe I was.

“I didn’t want to make it weird,” he said finally. “Why bring it up if it’s going to be awkward?”

Um, fucking ouch? Yep. The truth was definitely a weapon. Man down. “Why should it be awkward? Do you regret it?”

We had a sort of standoff then. Both of us stared each other down, like whoever blinked was the one who actually had feelings. The one who could be hurt. Will caved first. “No. I don’t regret it.”

“Then can we acknowledge it, please?” I jumped in, almost on top of his words.

“Um, sure.”

“Say you kissed me,” I said.

Honest to God, he scanned the room like he was worried someone had snaked their way into it in the last thirty seconds without either of us noticing. “I kissed you.”

“He whispers reluctantly,” I said.

“I kissed you,” Will said, loudly this time.

“Multiple times.”

“Not as many times as you kissed me,” Will said, and I felt the tension shatter. There. This was the Will I knew. He was supposed to be the confident one out of us, not me.

“I wasn’t keeping a record,” I said.

“Take my word for it.”

“I’m gonna have to.”

He stood up and came over to me, without breaking eye contact. “I remember more than just kissing, by the way.”

“Is that so?”

Dear God, I sounded like a forty-five-year-old cougar. Is that so? Really? Send help, I could not flirt. Woah, wait, he’d taken another step closer, and another, and he was looking at my mouth. Blatantly staring at it. Suddenly all I could do was stare at him staring at my mouth.

Then I was certain. He was going to kiss me.

People say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. Well, in that very moment, my future flashed before mine. Will was firmly, firmly in the closet, and obviously not comfortable with this, or us, or what we’d had. Even if he was trying to kiss me right now, a minute ago he’d definitely checked an empty room for spies. He couldn’t be less chill about this.

Argh, but right now I could smell him. So strongly. And even that made me dizzy, and weak, and honestly, I’d have traded my own grandma for the chance to kiss him now. If I kissed him, though, I’d taste him again, and I’d be right back at square one. I’d go home tonight floating and spinning out and squeaking, and I’d wait for him to text me. But he maybe—probably—wouldn’t. And he’d maybe—probably—be all weird at school tomorrow. Then there’d be me. Basking in the putrid glow of unrequited hell.

For the last month I’d had control over things. We had a rhythm. It was calm. I couldn’t give that up. I couldn’t go back to desperately pining and hoping, only to be let down. Not even for a kiss from Will.