Love Songs & Other Lies(66)
At seven o’clock I begin to stroke her arm with my fingertips. “Vee,” I whisper against her ear, “wake up.” She comes out of it slowly, nestling down into my shoulder before she fully wakes. The moment she realizes where she is, I know it. Her eyes are huge, like soccer balls. Her arm, which had lain loosely over my chest, is now rigid.
“Shit.”
I keep rubbing circles into her arm and laugh. “You got into my bed.” I shift to my side, so we’re facing each other, and slide my arm over her hip. “Can’t be mad,” I say, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, letting my hand drift behind her neck. Her body relaxes and her eyelids flutter shut again.
“I’m tired, Cam.” Her eyes are glossy and wet as she stares at me. “Hating you is exhausting.”
I run my finger across her cheekbone, trapping the tear that has escaped. “You don’t hate me.”
“I should.”
I nod. Maybe she should. We’re pressed up against each other in the tiny bunk, and I think of the two of us under a blanket, on the sand. “I’m going to kiss you.”
A barely perceptible nod, and then my lips are on hers. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant even. This feels wrong. Undeserved. Am I actually allowed to do this? She isn’t pulling away, isn’t stopping me. I can taste the salt of her tears, and I can’t help but think of our first kiss. What a different place we were in then, how different we were. And also, how similar it all is now; being with her, wanting her, loving her. We’re destined to kiss at inappropriate times. Maybe I did condition her to cry when we kiss. Maybe she always will. I don’t know if I even care, as long as there’s an always to worry about. I pull her closer to me, press us together, feel her warmth against me. I suck her lower lip, and then our tongues are meeting, twisting and tangling. Our bodies move in sync, our hips pushing, hands pulling.
Vee wraps one leg over my hips, bringing us even closer in the small space. She makes a sound like a single guitar string being plucked, a soft, tinny hum. The only thing that separates us is two thin layers of cotton and even that feels like too much, and also not enough. Being with her is like being wrapped around an exposed wire, like baring all of my raw nerves. My hand slips from her waist down to her hip, slipping under her pajama pants and resting against her warmed skin. I leave it there, letting her decide where it goes. She twists toward me, and my hand drops further, following her leg all the way down to her knee before slowly running my fingers back up. I’m waiting. This is all too good, too surreal. She’ll stop this.
She doesn’t. My hands continue to wander and explore, and our breath is loud in the small space. Her hand wraps tightly in my hair as she kisses me fiercely, roughly, like it’s the last time. Like she wants me as much as I want her. Which isn’t possible, because since I met her, I’ve wanted her more than air. The humming still fills my ears; a song, soft and low. Her lips are stilled against mine, before she captures my mouth again. The song continues, grows louder, is muffled by our mouths. It ends like it starts, with a single note, a hum. The sound of our breathing, our chests pounding in rhythm between us. The bunk above us squeaks and Vee tenses.
I kiss her hair, letting my lips rest there, as her body begins to relax again.
Her face is pressed against my chest. “You have nightmares.”
“Yeah.”
“I usually just stay until they stop.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Most nights.” Her voice is soft, muffled by my shirt. “I must have fallen asleep.”
She’s been treating me like an inconvenience for weeks; barely speaking to me. And at night she’s been crawling into my bed. She’s been holding me. I don’t like the little seed of hope that’s growing in my chest.
I pull the covers back up around us. “So when people have nightmares your first thought is to climb into bed with them?” I’m trying to lighten the mood. “I sure hope Reese never gets lucky enough to have night terrors.” I kiss her on the forehead and she laughs against my chest. “Thank you.”
I kiss her again, because I can’t get enough of touching her and I don’t know how long it will last. How long I’ll be allowed to be near her whenever I want.
VIRGINIA
The fans are in love with “This Girl,” so at the next show—my last show before I leave for the wedding—Jenn tells me I’m going to play it with them again during a special off-camera encore. It doesn’t sound like a request; it sounds like a task. Like when she tells me to set up a promo contest, or to prep Anders for an interview, so he doesn’t sound like a mumbling idiot (her words, not mine). “This Girl” and “Purple Shirt” have become fan favorites, and the second time I go out onstage it’s still terrifying, but it’s easier.
Logan hasn’t gotten me a present since I was ten, but when he goes off-script during a radio interview to mention that he and I aren’t actually together, I know it’s an “I’m sorry,” wrapped in a box, with a bow on it. He casually mentions to the deejay that the seriousness of our relationship has been “inadvertently misconstrued,” and I wonder if Jenn prepped him, because the words don’t sound like him. The whole thing has a bit of a “friends with benefits” vibe, but I’m not about to get picky. He’s the one stepping in front of the firing squad. I wonder if people hear the underlying truth in his words: We lied; we got caught.