A Cross-Country Christmas(55)

“Okay, I’ll help you. Just be quiet, okay?”

He shushed again in response.

She pulled the door open and helped him through, closing it as quietly as she could behind them. “Where’s your room?” she whispered.

He pointed to the stairs, and she shouldered as much of his weight as she could as she led him over and up. They were doing fine until he stumbled and knocked a framed photo of a young Will in a baseball jersey smiling at the camera off the wall. It clattered to the floor, and they both froze, but remarkably, nobody appeared in the hallway. No lights flipped on.

“Sorry,” he hissed.

“Just keep moving.” She pulled him up the stairs and down the hallway, past a closed door, where she assumed someone was sleeping. At the end of the hall, she followed his point through an open door, deposited him on the bed, then plopped down next to him, slightly out of breath. She flipped on the lamp beside his bed and looked around the room.

The walls were plastered with baseball posters, framed cards—some signed—and there were three autographed baseballs displayed in glass boxes on his dresser. She knew Will loved baseball—it was like he was born to play. She’d gone to lots of his games, towed by Spencer, secretly loving every minute. How many times had she watched him in rousing victory, then watched him head off with the rest of the team to a party she wasn’t invited to and wouldn’t dare show up at?

And now, here she was, the only one with his attention. It made her feel special.

A misguided feeling, but she didn’t care. Not in the moment.

He rolled over closer to her and sat up. She realized, in her periphery, he was looking at her, fully awake despite his intoxication.

“You’re pretty great, Lauren Richmond.” He gently reached up, hesitated a beat, then brushed her hair back away from her face, grazing her skin as he did. Her breath shuddered at his touch.

She dared a glance in his direction and found him studying her. Her mouth went dry.

“Why didn’t I see you before?” It seemed he was honestly asking. He was suddenly clear. No slurring, no wavering.

She laughed, nervously. “I’m easy to miss.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re not. You’re just way too good for most guys.”

“That’s not true,” she said.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked abruptly.

She felt her head shake a ‘no.’

He smiled a half smile. “So, nobody will get mad if I kiss you?”

She thought of Spencer. He would get mad, but he didn’t get a say, no matter how much he thought he did. She shook her head again, and Will took her face in his hands and kissed her so softly it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He moved from her lips to her neck to the soft spot just below her ear, then pulled back to look at her again. “You really are beautiful, Lauren.”

She’d never been one of those dopey girls, the kind who squealed and swooned, but in that moment, that’s exactly what she became.

Will slowly pulled her body into his. She didn’t put up a fight.

She fell, headfirst, into the moment. She’d dreamed of this for as long as she could remember, using her fantasies about Will as a way to escape the bad parts of her life. Without knowing it, he’d comforted her. Gave her something good to get lost in for a while.

And now, he’d seen her—he’d seen her, and finally, he’d realized they were perfect for each other.

He reached over and turned off the lamp, then leaned back, drawing her toward him. All her defenses unraveled right there in that room. His lips, soft and full, searched hers, as if he’d found something worth exploring. As if he had an insatiable desire—for her.

Lying there beside him, his arms wrapped around her, relishing the way his lips felt on hers, Lauren left her own body for a minute and let herself believe that this could happen—they could actually make this work. Everything she’d been hoping for was finally, finally coming true.

They kissed so fully, so intensely and for so long, they pushed each other away to catch their collective breath. Seconds later, she kissed him again. She liked kissing him—loved kissing him. She didn’t ever want it to end. She smiled against his lips and said, “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of this. Me and you, together. We would be so good together, wouldn’t we?”

He kissed her again, this time soft and sweet, running his hand down her cheek, her neck, his eyes so bright they practically lit up the dark room.

“I’ve always had a thing for you,” he said. “Always wondered what it would be like if something happened between us.”

“Really?” She touched his cheek, lost in him. “Me too.”

“Good.” Another kiss.

“But I can’t sleep with you,” she said. “That’s okay, right?”

His brow furrowed. “Yeah, of course.”

She kissed him again. “Good, because you’re drunk and I’ve never—” She chose not to finish the sentence.

They laid there in the dark for a long moment, their breathing, the only sound that cut through the silence.

“I would just want it to mean something,” she said.

“Me too, Lo,” he said.

They lay like that for several minutes, the black of the room making it impossible to see anything other than outlines.