Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(76)

“Me neither. I mean, we just can’t. We can’t do this to Nick.”

“I know.” Her voice cracks. “I know.”

It actually hurts to look at her. “Abby, I’m so—”

“Just don’t. Okay? It’s fine. We’re fine.” And even though her eyes are wet, her smile lights up her face. “This is totally my fault, and I get that, and just . . .” She turns around, leaning her back against the railing. “I don’t know, Leah. Maybe you should get back to your date.”

“Abby.”

“It’s fine! We’re good. I just need a minute.” She presses the corners of her eyes. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”

I nod quickly. And holy fuck. I am dangerously close to sobbing. I can’t even form words. I just cut down the ramp and flee back down the path, without a backward glance.

Of course, I’m back at the pavilion approximately ten seconds later, but I’m nowhere near ready. I can barely breathe, much less speak. It’s weird, but all I want to do is lie on the ground. Sleep in the dirt. I don’t even care about the dress.

It just sucks, and it sucks harder because it was so painfully close to being wonderful. Imagine if the kiss in Athens wasn’t an awkward mistake. If I were a little less stubborn. If Abby were a little less clueless. What if she’d never dated Nick at all? What if we were out and happy and as famously in love as every other obnoxious Creekwood couple?

Maybe Abby would have talked me into trying out for the play. Maybe I’d have spent a little less time watching the action from the back of the auditorium. Maybe I’d have spent more time making out in the back of the auditorium.

Instead, I’m standing here watching prom happen from twenty feet away.

My eyes land on Simon and Bram at the edge of the pavilion, in their jacketless tuxedos, leaning against the railing. They’re not dancing—just standing—and I can only see their backs. Simon’s arm is hooked around Bram’s waist, their bodies so close they practically blur together. And Bram’s hand sweeps smoothly over the nape of Simon’s neck.

Sometimes watching them makes my throat hurt.

The song changes again, and I instantly recognize the opening bars. Stevie Wonder. Mom’s song. Awesome, because what I really need right now is to feel Mom peering over my shoulder.

Except. I don’t know. It kind of feels like a sign. Like a whispered secret message: don’t overthink this.

Stop obsessing. Don’t overanalyze. And don’t cry.

But it’s hopeless.

My hands fly to my face, but these are full-body sobs. I can barely catch my breath. Because here are Simon and Bram, with their arms around each other, and they’re so fucking brave in ways I’ll never understand. And now we’re about to graduate, and all I have to show for it is the saddest crush of the century.

And God. It would be so sensible to wait until college. To let Nick bounce back to normal. To let Garrett down gently. Let the dust settle. Let our friends know. Dip our toes in first, and let everything evolve slowly. We could ease into dating in a couple of months, if we wanted.

But I don’t want to wait for months. And I don’t feel like being sensible.

Don’t overthink this.

Suddenly, I’m running, almost tripping over my dress, hair falling in my face. And it’s reckless and stupid, and probably pointless, too—because I doubt she’s even where I left her. I bet she disappeared entirely. I bet she— “Leah?” Abby says.

And then I barrel straight into her.

“Oof.”

“Wow.” She grabs my shoulders to steady me. “Are you—” She stops short. “Leah, you’re crying.”

“No I’m not.”

“So, you’re going to stand here gushing tears, telling me you’re not crying.”

“Yes,” I say. Then I take a deep breath. “No.”

“Okay—”

“Because I’m not just going to stand here.”

The whole world stops, and I can hardly hear the music. All I hear is my heartbeat. I cup my hands around her cheeks.

“I’m going to do this,” I say softly.

And then I kiss her.

Really fast.

And now she’s gaping at me, her eyes huge and startled.

My hands fall. “Oh God. You were—”

“No.” She cuts me off. “Don’t you dare freak out.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.” She smiles, and then takes a deep breath. “Let’s try this again.”

When I nod, she pulls me closer, threading her fingers through my hair.

My heart thumps wildly. “My hair’s a mess.”

“Yup. And it’s about to get worse.” Her thumb grazes my ear. “So much worse.”

And suddenly, her lips are on mine, and my hands are on her waist, and I’m kissing her back so fiercely, I forget how to breathe. I feel like a campfire, like I could burn for days. Because the thing about Abby is that she kisses like she dances. Like she’s totally there. Like she’s handing you her heart.

She pulls back, resting her forehead on mine. “So, this is happening,” she says.

“I think so.”

She exhales. “Wow.”