Until May (Until Her/Him #11)(24)

“That’s weird, right?”

“Very,” he concurs as the bell rings, letting us know that we have five minutes to get to our rooms.

“Are you going to be in the auditorium for lunch?” I ask Toya, and she nods. “All right, I’ll see you guys later.” I leave the staff room and walk down the hall, smiling at kids as I pass.

I spot Mark, a senior who helps me out in the library first period every day, down at the end of the hall with his girlfriend, Jenna, the two of them in an argument about something. Knowing I’ll have the chance to ask him if things are okay in a few minutes, I unlock the door, and I swear my soul sighs from the smell of books. There is something about the scent of paper and ink that makes me feel at home, and I wish I could bottle it up. I flip on the lights, then head to the main desk and tuck my purse into the bottom drawer before turning on the computer system.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mark greets as he opens the door, with his backpack over one shoulder.

“Is everything okay with you and Jenna? It looked like you two were arguing,” I say, and he sighs while dropping his bag to the floor and taking off his letterman jacket, the same one that all the guys on the football team wear.

“Yeah, she was pissed that I didn’t pick her up this morning.” He falls into one of the chairs at the counter and runs his fingers through his dark hair. “Did you hear about Coach?”

“I did.” I give him a sympathetic look, because I know all the kids love Zach, especially the boys he coaches.

“It’s fucking crazy that happened on school grounds and no one saw anything,” he says, and I raise a brow, because even if I don’t mind when people curse, school isn’t an appropriate place to use that language. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, but I agree; it is crazy.” I roll over the cart stacked full of books that need to go back in their place. “Hopefully, someone will come forward.”

“Yeah, hopefully.” He stands and towers over me as he takes the cart. “Do these all need to go back?”

“I can do it if you have homework you want to work on,” I say because he uses this time most days to catch up on schoolwork.

“Nah, I can’t sit,” he says, and I nod in understanding, and watch him push it away before I take a seat at the desk. I send an email to Zach from my school account so that it’s less personal and just tell him that I hope he’s okay and offer to help if he needs anything.

As the day carries on, I think about Zach and what happened to him this morning. But overshadowing him and everything else is that, no matter how many texts I type out and delete to Aiden, I still can’t seem to find the right words to apologize to him.

_______________

WITH A BOOK in my hand, I lie on my back on my couch and flip the page of the book I’m reading, with a warm feeling in my belly that has nothing to do with the soup I just ate. I love reading, but seeing the couple in a romance book months or years after the story has ended and finding them happy—or happier, because they added to their family or accomplished a dream—is like the epilogue icing on an already delicious cake. When I read the last sentence, I close my eyes and rest the closed book on my chest with a happy smile on my face, then jerk up when my doorbell goes off.

It’s not late, but it’s after six in the evening, and as far as I know, no one was planning to come visit. I walk barefoot across my wood floors, and Cooper follows, his nails clicking along beside me.

With the glass on the door covered with a sketched film, I can’t make out who is on the porch from the end of the hall, but as I get closer, my pulse kicks up a notch. When my fingers land on the handle, Aiden’s eyes meet mine through a clear sliver in the glass, and I lick my lips before swinging the door open.

We both stand there, staring at each other for a long time, neither of us speaking, and the longer he stays silent, the more nervous I become.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, then shake my head. “I… I was going to message you that, but I just couldn’t find the right words, and everything sounded so lame, so I just didn’t. I should have and I should have known you aren’t Mike it’s just—”

My words are cut off, and I gasp when his hand shoots out and wraps around the back of my neck so that he can pull me against his chest. Just when I tip my head back to ask him what he’s doing, his mouth lands on mine, and I whimper from the contact of his warm lips that are firm yet soft. My hands fall against his chest, then my fingers dig in, clenching the material of his shirt. And his hand slides farther up my scalp to tangle in my hair, using his hold to place my mouth just where he wants it, before he touches his tongue to mine.

I’ve been kissed, but never like this. My nipples pebble, and the space between my legs throbs with an urgency that scares the heck out of me.

“Apology accepted,” he grates out when he rips his mouth from mine, and I shiver from his warm breath dancing across my cheek as my lashes flutter open.

“Oh… Okay, good,” I say, sounding breathless to my own ears, and he chuckles while walking me backward into my house without loosening the hold he has on me. When he kicks the door closed behind us, I put pressure on his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stay away.” His hand slides forward, and his thumb skirts the edge of my jaw. “So I came to talk to you.”