Finding Cinderella (Hopeless #2.5)(26)

I pause.

Did Holder just compliment my relationship with Six? I don’t know why I always want his approval so much, but hearing him say that fills me with this weird sense of pride. I turn around and take a step back to the window and lean inside. “I heard that.”

He looks at the window and sees me leaning inside, so he rolls his eyes. “Go away,” he says with a laugh.

“No. We’re having a moment.”

He cocks an eyebrow, but doesn’t respond.

“You’re my best friend, Holder.”

Sky shakes her head and laughs, but Holder is still looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“For real,” I say. “You’re my best friend and I love you. I’m not ashamed to admit that I love a guy. I love you, Holder. Daniel Wesley loves Dean Holder. Always and forever.”

“Daniel, go make out with your girlfriend,” he says, waving me off.

I shake my head. “Not until you tell me you love me, too.”

His head falls back against Sky’s headboard. “I f**king love you, now GO AWAY!”

I grin. “I love you more.”

He picks up a pillow and tosses it at the window. “Get the hell out of here, dipshit. ”

I laugh and back away from the window.

“You two are so strange together,” Sky says to him.

I pull the window shut, then turn around to face Six. She’s already in her bedroom, leaning out her window with her chin in her hands. She’s grinning.

“Daniel and Holder, sittin’ in a tree,” she says in a singsong voice.

I walk toward her and improvise the next line of the song. “But then Daniel climbs down,” I finish the rest of the sentence in a hurry, “and goes to Six’s window and climbs inside her bedroom and throws her on the bed and kisses her until he can’t take any more and has to go home and stroke his ego.”

She’s laughing and backing into her bedroom to make room for me to climb inside.

Once I’m inside, I look around and observe her room. I finally understand what she meant when she said my bedroom was more than just a room. This is like a secret glimpse into who Six really is. I feel like I could study this room and everything in it and find out everything I ever need to know about her.

Unfortunately, she’s standing at the foot of her bed and she looks a little bit nervous and way more beautiful than I deserve, and I can’t take my eyes off of her long enough to even study her bedroom.

I can’t help but smile at her. I can already tell this is about to be the best anniversary I’ve ever had. The lights are off, so the mood is already perfect for making out. It’s quiet, though. So quiet I can hear her breaths increase with each deliberately slow step I take toward her.

Shit. Maybe those are my breaths. I can’t tell, because every inch closer I get requires an extra intake of air.

When I reach her, she’s looking up at me with an odd mixture of peaceful anticipation. I want to push her onto the bed right now and climb on top of her and kiss the hell out of her.

I could do that, but why do the one thing she’s expecting me to do?

I lean in slowly. Very slowly . . . until my mouth is so close to her neck she more than likely can’t even tell if I’m touching her skin or not. “I have three questions I need to ask you before we do this,” I say quietly, but very seriously. I pull back just far enough to see her gulp softly.

“Before we do what?” she asks hesitantly.

I lift a hand to the back of her head, then pull back from her neck and position my lips close to hers. “Before we do what we both want to do. Before I lean in one more inch. And before you part your lips for me just enough for me to steal a taste. Before I put my hands on your hips and back you up until you have nowhere to go but onto your bed.”

I can feel her breath teasing my lips and it’s so tempting I have to force myself to lean in to her ear again so I’m not so close to her mouth. “Before I slowly lower myself on top of you and our hands become curious and brave. Before my fingers slip under the hem of your shirt. Before my hand begins to explore its way up your stomach, and I discover I’ve never touched skin as soft as yours.”

She gasps, then exhales a shaky breath and it’s almost as sexy as the fist bump.

It may even be sexier.

“Before I finally get to touch your boob on purpose.”

She laughs at that one, but her laugh is cut short when I press my thumb to the center of her lips.

“Before your breaths pick up pace and our bodies are aching because everything we’re feeling is just making us want more and more and more of each other . . . until I’m afraid I’ll beg you not to ask me to slow down. So instead, I regrettably tear my mouth from yours and force myself away from your bed and you lift up unto your elbows and look at me, disappointed, because you kind of wished I would have kept going, but at the same time you’re relieved I didn’t, because you know you would have given in. So instead of giving in, we just stare. We watch each other silently as my heart rate begins to slow down and your breaths are easier to catch and the insatiable need is still there, but our minds are clearer now that I’m not pressed against you anymore. I turn around and walk to your window and leave without even saying goodbye, because we both know if either of us speaks . . . it’ll be the collective demise of our willpower and we’ll cave. We’ll cave so hard.”