The Way You Make Me Feel(43)

I glanced up from his hands to his face. That expressive, open face. “Good night,” I replied.

He took a step backward but kept looking at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to go inside.

So I dropped the bag of food, took a step forward, and tugged him by his shirt until our hips bumped. “I want to kiss you. Is that okay?” I asked, my face tilted up toward his.

His eyes widened and his lips parted slightly. Then he placed a warm hand on my waist. “Okay,” he murmured.

I got up on my tippy-toes to reach his lips, and brushed them over his. My eyes closed, I took in the scent of him—grass jelly. His lips were soft, but they were quick to meet mine. He drew me in closer until our bodies were pressed against each other, one of my hands still clutching his shirt, the other wrapped around his neck, curled into his hair.

When we pulled apart, the blood rushed from my head into my toes.

Hamlet looked stunned. And adorable—his hair mussed and shirt wrinkled.

“Good night, for reals,” I said as I grabbed the leftovers bag and unlocked my door.

I caught a glimpse of his face before I closed the door. Pink cheeks and a huge smile. “Good night!” he shouted.

“Oh my God!” I closed the door with a smile. It stayed on my face until I fell asleep that night.





CHAPTER 19

A persistent knocking woke me up the next morning.

“What?” I yelled from under my blanket.

“I’m coming in!” my dad said before opening the door a crack. “Are you decent?”

“No, I’m in my lace negligee,” I muttered. “Since when do you care if I’m ‘decent’?”

My dad stepped inside. “I don’t know, you were on a date last night so…”

I moved the blanket off my face. “Are you implying that Hamlet might have slept over?”

He shrugged as he leaned against the doorway.

“Okay, I’m not you in high school, so…” I sputtered.

“Burn, Shorty,” he said with a laugh. “So, how was it?”

“Pai. Seriously?”

“What!”

“I don’t wanna talk to you about my date!”

“Ooh, so it was a date date. So there’s something to talk about.”

I buried myself in my blanket again. “CAN WE NOT?”

“So it went well?”

Suddenly the memory of last night’s kiss came flooding back. Night air laced with jasmine. The glow of the apartment lights throwing half of Hamlet’s face into shadow. The taste of grass jelly. I giggled involuntarily.

My dad gaped at me. “Whoa.”

“Can you leave?” I yelled, tossing my stuffed sriracha bottle pillow at him.

He caught it swiftly. “All right, all right. Have a good day, Shorty.”

I dragged myself out of bed to give him a hug. “You too.”

He made a face. “Get out of here, Morning Breath.”

“You get out!” I pushed him to the door.

*

“Clara, can you slather me?”

I squinted up at Patrick. “Can you not say ‘slather,’ though?”

He handed me a giant bottle of generic brand sunblock. “That’s what it is. Would you rather I say ‘rub’?”

I got up and tugged on my baseball cap and sunglasses. “I’d rather not have to do this task.” Patrick turned his freckled and bony back to me. His shoulder blades were sharp and delicate like bird wings.

The community pool was unusually crowded today. It was in the high nineties and scorching hot on the concrete. We had spread out layers of towels, but the heat still managed to seep through and I got the distinct feeling that, from space, we looked like little rotisserie hens gathered around a blue rectangle.

“Babe! Get in the water!” Felix shouted from the edge of the pool.

Cynthia made a face from under her giant umbrella. She had alabaster skin that turned into a third-degree burn upon contact with the sun. Between that and her inability to walk more than half a mile without complaining, I was pretty sure she was meant to live in a Victorian attic.

“I just showered this morning,” she said with a sniff.

“So did I—who cares?” Felix said, exasperated.

After I finished smearing sunblock on Patrick, I put in my earbuds to avoid hearing the inevitable testy couple fight ahead.

When I swiped my screen to pick my music, I noticed a few missed texts.

Want to come over and hang out by the pool? Rose.

And then Hamlet:

I had fun last night. Hope you did, too.

What are you doing today?

I have the day off, too!

Didn’t even give me a chance to answer any questions. His texts were as enthusiastic and rapid-fire as real-life Hamlet.

I looked around at the kids screaming in the pool as sweat and sunblock mingled together in one delightful skin soup. Heard Felix and Cynthia shouting at each other. Saw Patrick already dozing off next to me.

Guilt about ditching these guys chipped away at me with each word I texted.

To Rose: Yeah sounds cool. Could I invite Hamlet?

She replied: O M G I’m gonna need the dirt later.

I sent her a thumbs-up emoji. Then I texted Hamlet: Hi. I had fun too … I’m going to Rose’s place to hang out at her pool. Want to come with?