Liars and Losers Like Us(50)
“Can I really say no to you?”
“Nope.” My smile widens.
“All right.” He jumps up. “I’ll be right back.”
He leaves and returns after a few minutes, the guitar slung over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“Stop. Just play something.”
“Requests?” He sits across from me, adjusting the strap over his shoulder and the guitar in his lap. I’d take a picture of him with my phone if it wouldn’t make me look like a creeper. My daydreams never could’ve come up with something this good.
“Can you play something of yours?”
He taps quietly on the guitar with a grin. “That’s pushing it.”
“Just a little something?” I stare him down again, this time adding a pouty smile. “Please?”
He starts strumming something kinda slow, hip, and mellow. “Only because I can’t say no to those little freckles by the corner of your mouth.” He fumbles a little, glances up at me, then back to his guitar. “This is something I’m working on but don’t have the lyrics sorted out yet.” He continues to play, his hands focused, fingers moving fast, back and forth across the strings and sliding up and down. His eyes rest on the movements of his hands, while I marvel at the shy confidence in his … everything.
I get up and sit next to him, admiring his profile, feeling almost drunk with his woodsy scent, his music, his just being here.
He slows down, “So?”
“I love it. It’s different but familiar in a cozy kind of wrap me up in blankets and—”
I lean in and kiss him, and he kisses me back. “Thanks,” he says. “You’re cozy.”
He sets the guitar on the floor and we’re kissing, like really, really kissing. The kind that feels like everything could just go on forever like this but then whoosh, there’s something different. The kind of kissing that feels like it should be something more, that it would only be right and perfect to be more. Because in spite of everything that’s so not right in my life, this feeling right now is so right. It doesn’t feel like I’m trying so hard to fit into his world. It’s like I just do, and he fits into mine. He’s this guy that really looks at me, and listens, and I care about what he has to say and what he thinks about.
My hands slide under his shirt and curve over the muscles of his back. I want to put my hands everywhere. I pull away, scrunching my eyebrows in. “Do you think about me?” I ask. “Like when we’re not hanging out?”
“Too much,” he smiles. “Way too much. You?”
“Same.”
He presses his lips against mine again and soon we’re on the floor and I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter where we are because I’m in Sean’s arms and as scared as I am to feel like this, I don’t want to let go of this feeling because it’s too safe, warm, and good.
****
“Care to tell me how sending a text that says ‘on my way’ constitutes as an hour and a half extension on your curfew?” My mom stands at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over her chest.
“Sorry Mom, I just lost track of time, I guess.” I make my way up to the top of the steps, avoiding eye contact. I grab the handle of my door.
“Whoa, stop right there. You’re not done here. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Do you think I can sleep when I know you’re out this late? C’mon Bree, have some respect. What do you think is going through my head when my teenage daughter is out until two in the morning?”
“Well I’m not drunk or high, Mom. I’m fine.”
“Yes well, that’s only one of the places my head goes. I was your age once too. And you know, I’m not dumb, there are other things you could be doing.” She raises her voice an octave when she says “other things.”
“Like breaking into houses?”
“Stop making a joke out of everything. This is serious and I’m tired. You know what I’m talking about. Sex. We haven’t had this conversation in a while.”
“No Mom, I wasn’t having sex.” I was almost having sex. Madly, passionately, wildly almost having sex. I rub the goose bumps off my arms. “Maybe we can talk about this some other time.”
“No, not maybe. We will. I’m going back to bed. This time to sleep. We can have a nice chat about this tomorrow, okay?” She hugs me quick and tight. “I love you. I’m glad you’re home safe. Now go to bed.”
TWENTY-ONE
Ding Ding! The doorbell rings me awake.
“Mooooooooooom! Dooooooor!” No answer. I check my phone for a clue and the time. 10:15. Saturday morning. No missed calls or texts. Kicking off the sheets, I yawn and jump out of bed to overly bright morning rays seeping through my blinds. I peer through the wooden slats. Sean’s car is in my driveway.
I rush into my bathroom and do a quick swish with mouthwash.
Ding Ding! I rush down the stairs, balancing my phone between my chin and shoulder as I throw my hair into a ponytail.
“Good morning,” I say to a face I wouldn’t mind waking up every morning to. “This is kind of a surprise.”
“I know, I hope that’s okay. I wanted to drop these off and—” He hands me a bouquet of yellow and purple gerbera daisies. His eyes skim my body from head to toe, then he studies my face, twisting his smile into a question: “I woke you up, didn’t I? I should’ve texted first. I’m sorry.”