Crossing the Line (Pushing the Limits #1.1)(17)

Lila tilts her head and whispers against my lips, “I like you, too.”

Her kiss is soft and warm—inviting. We both explore, a hesitant dance as we glide over lines neither one of us imagined crossing. I let go of her hand to push the damp hair away from her face. My fingers trace her cheekbone, then drift to the nape of her neck.

My skin vibrates when a feminine sigh escapes her lips—a sound of approval, a sound of longing. Lila shifts and I take advantage by wrapping an arm around her body. She weaves her fingers into my hair and pulls me closer. My blood heats and so does our kiss.

I suck in her lower lip and in our next breath our tongues slide against one another. Hands—my hands, her hands—roam. Over arms, over backs, memorizing curves, lingering near shirt hems.

We kiss and touch and continue to kiss. With hearts beating hard and breath difficult to catch, we press our lips together one final time, then break away.

Yeah, we’ve crossed lines today, but there are some borders neither one of us is eager to breach. Lila’s eyes shining up at me confirm her approval of the new path we’ve chosen, and on this path we have time to explore, we have time to kiss, and we have all the time in the world to fall in love.

Lila

The entire sky erupted into hundreds of streaks of light. I never felt so alive. I wished that you were here with me or me with you. But I think you were. Call me crazy, but it was a moment, Lila, and I’m glad I shared it with you. Even if it was from a couple hundred miles away.

~ Lincoln

“I need a code name,” Lincoln says over the walkie-talkie I confiscated from my youngest brother’s room. It’s midnight and the two of us have been hunkered in our positions since nine.

If I squint and stare long enough, I can decipher Lincoln’s shadow fifteen feet in the air in the large oak tree near the front of the house. It almost looks as if the tree has a cancerous growth springing from it. For the first hour, I worried over how he dangled from the branch, but I soon discovered that Lincoln’s as comfortable with heights as I am at a sale at Macy’s.

“What do you have in mind?” I ask. Behind the row of bushes and up against the trunk of a weeping willow, I scan the midnight horizon. The sky’s clear. Beautiful white stars twinkle down on us, but there’s no moon tonight. A good thing, as Stephen and his traveling band of hyenas won’t see us. A bad thing, as it makes it hard for us to spot them.

“Something dangerous, like Razor or Blade.”

I hear the tease in his voice and accept the bait. “How about Abe? Or Honest? Those sound like perfect code names.”

“Har, har. How about you lay a president joke I haven’t heard before.”

It’s been like this for the past three hours—a comfortable steady stream of conversation. Earlier, Lincoln kissed me...and I kissed him back. Before coming out here, we spent a couple of hours wrapped in each other’s arms on my bed, alternating between talking and kissing.

My heart aches when I think of him leaving in the morning, but we have a plan and both of us are sticking to it.

“When did you know?” I ask. “That you had feelings for me.”

Static on the other side. Crap. Maybe I went too far.

“I don’t know,” he says. “It grew over time. I guess I first knew something was up when I wanted to scratch out Stephen’s name from your letters.”

I giggle, totally unashamed that I like that he was jealous.

“Honestly, though...You wrote me a letter back before school started and I took it with me on one of my climbing trips. At the top of the rock, I read your letter and realized you were the one person I wished I could share the view with.”

My lips tilt up with his words.

“What was the letter about?”

He chuckles. “Nothing. That’s the strange part. You’ve sent me letters about Echo and Stephen and Grace and your family and Florida and I loved those letters. I knew you were sharing your soul with me. But this one letter, you talked about lying in your backyard and watching the leaves in the trees blow. When I was done reading, I found a four-leaf clover tucked into the envelope. I knew then that I wanted to share the big moments with you, but more important the small. I want to climb rocks with you, Lila, then spend quiet time at the top sharing the view with you.”

Warmth curls around my heart. I want the same exact thing. “I sent you the clover so you’d have good luck with your admissions letter.”

“It worked,” he says. “And it’ll work again.”

“So I have to find you another clover?” I tease.

“Nope. I still have the first one tucked safely in my wallet. I like having something from you close to me.”

Overwhelmed, I feel my throat swell a little. He kept a gift I gave him. In his wallet. That is unbelievably sweet.

“How about you?” he asks hesitantly. “When did you know?”

“The night of the meteor shower,” I answer automatically. “And then the letter you sent after it.” I think of the hundreds of lights dancing across the night sky. “I knew you were watching. I know it sounds stupid, but I felt you with me, and then when you sent that letter describing that night...” I drop off, unable to find the right words to explain the emotion.

Lincoln rescues me. “I know. Me too.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds, both of us absorbing the moment. Finally, I clear my throat and ask, “How many hours is the University of Florida from you again?” We’re going to take turns driving back and forth to visit on the weekends and we’ll talk on the phone and we’ll Skype and, of course, write letters.