Kiss and Don't Tell(129)

“I don’t know why I find that hot. I really shouldn’t.”

“Hot?” I ask, wiggling my brows.

Over the last week, Winnie has become more and more . . . open. I’ve clung to every word she says, every compliment, every teasing jab. It’s as though we’re back in Banff, but in fact, we’re two and a half hours apart. And that’s killing me.

“Yeah . . . hot.”

Hell.

I wet my lips and I’m about to open my mouth, when she yawns.

“Sorry.” She covers her mouth. “Been waking up early to work off all the tacos I’ve been eating. I’m exhausted.”

“You’re working out without me?”

She tilts her head to the side. “It’s not a Pacey Lawes workout. It’s just some light jogging around the neighborhood, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Sounds like fun to me.”

“Of course it does. Any physical activity sounds fun to you.” She yawns again.

“You’re tired. I’ll let you go,” I say, even though I could stay on the phone with her all night.

“Okay.” She rolls back on her bed and then curls to the side. She stares at me for a few beats and then says, “I miss you, Pacey.”

And that right there, that’s what I’ve been waiting for. That’s what all this time between us has been about, getting her to realize that I’m not the asshole who broke her heart. That I’m the guy she met in Banff, the guy who’s addicted to her, who wants to be with her, who misses her so goddamn much.

“I miss you, too, Winnie.” I give her a soft smile. “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Good night, Pacey.”

“Good night, babe.”

We hang up and I quickly pull up my text thread with the boys.

Pacey: It’s time.

That’s all I have to say. They’ll understand. And as the texts roll in, I know from their response that they agree.

Hornsby: Fuck yes.

Taters: Jesus Christ, about time.

Posey: Goodbye, blue balls.

Holmes: Go get her, man.





Chapter Twenty-Nine





WINNIE





“Aren’t you having a dinner date with Pacey tonight on FaceTime?” Max asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Uh, don’t you think you should at least put on a shirt that doesn’t have a hole in the collar?”

My fingers graze my old shirt from middle school. “Do you think I need to?”

“Uh, yes. Standards, woman. Weren’t you the one telling me how much you miss him this morning? How you wish you could see him? Well, not saying you need to make an effort with makeup, but a little class with the outfit couldn’t hurt.”

I chuckle. “If he truly likes me, then he won’t mind this outfit.” I bite the corner of my lip and say, “I told him I missed him last night.”

“What?” Max sits up. “You did?”

I nod. “It just came out. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I really miss him. I want to be with him but I don’t know how to cross the bridge. How to tell him that.”

“Uh . . . you just tell him. Trust me, I think the boy would do a backflip on the spot if he knew you wanted to get back together. He’s infatuated with you.”

“Did he say that to you?”

“Yup,” Max says. He picks up his phone and scrolls through it. “We’ve been chatting, you know. We’re friends now. He’s head over heels for you.”

“Then . . . why hasn’t he said that?”

Max shakes his head. “I love you, but you can be so oblivious.”

“What do you mean?”

“What was one of your biggest fears when it came to Pacey?” When I don’t answer, he says, “That it all happened so fast. Therefore, he knew to take his time. Let you adjust to talking to him, to your feelings. It’s why he slowly started talking to you, taking it one step at a time. He didn’t want to scare you. Looks as though it worked, because you’re now craving him.”

Stunned, I think back to how we started talking. Short, quick text conversations. They weren’t in-depth, but they did show me he was still around, that he wasn’t going anywhere. And then they grew into full conversations. Those text conversations grew into phone calls, which then turned into FaceTime dates every night.

“You’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” he says. “Trust me, it’s pained him. All he’s wanted to do is see you, be with you, but as he told me, he didn’t want to screw it up this time.”

“I don’t think he could screw it up.”

“You can, though,” Max says, his face still buried in his phone.

“How?”

He glances up at me. “Josh.”

“What about him?” I ask.

“Uh, isn’t that a loose end? I thought he was all about seeing you again.”

I shake my head. “He texted me about two weeks ago, asking if he could see me again, and I shut him down. Told him I appreciated his apology and that I would cherish the good times we had, but that . . .” I swallow hard and stare at my nervous, shaking hands. “I told him I was in love with someone else.”