You'd Be Mine(36)

Are we doing this?

He pulls back with a groan, and I know without a doubt we aren’t doing this.

His face is pained, and he runs his hands through his mussed hair. His mouth is the exact shade of my lipstick. He licks his lower lip and then wipes a hand across his mouth as if to erase me.

“Annie, you’re—” He swallows. “You have so much … I’m not—” He stops, taking another step back and curses to himself.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask and then immediately feel stupid. The heat slips from my face. Of course I did. “Oh my gosh. I totally forgot about Lora.”

He looks up at me. “Who?”

“Your girlfriend, Clay. Jesus.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Lora’s not my girlfriend. She’s … an old friend. I get lonely on the road, I guess, and we have a history. We aren’t anything, really. No. You did nothing wrong, Annie. Kissing you, that was … it was a lot of things. Good things, but also bad because I’m wrong for you and you don’t want to be like me. You’re so much better than a tour piece. I mean, Jesus, Annie. You went to church this morning.”

I clasp my hands behind me to keep from reaching out and lean back against my door again. “So?”

His eyes widen. “So? So you’re a good person. A good g—”

I raise my hand. “Don’t say it.”

He slumps. “Well, you are!”

“I’m eighteen, Clay.”

“Can you please stop calling me that? Clay isn’t my real name. It’s Jefferson. I can’t—” He struggles with himself, waving his hands around uselessly as though hoping to catch on a word. “I’m trying not to be Clay Coolidge right now. Okay? I’m trying to do the right thing.”

I don’t know how to respond. This feels bigger than I am, but I can’t figure out how. “Okay, fine. I’m eighteen, Jefferson.”

“Are you a virgin?”

Suddenly I’m very aware we are in public. “Maybe we should talk in my room.”

“No!” He catches himself and lowers his voice. “No. That’s my point. I can’t go in there with you. I can’t be alone with you right now.”

I roll my eyes and slump against the door again. “I don’t see what my virginity has to do with anything.”

He rolls his eyes right back, but his face is relaxed. “It has everything to do with everything.”

I exhale loudly. “So that’s that, then. You don’t want me.”

“Oh, I want you. Never doubt that. But now isn’t the right time. So I’m going to turn around, walk through that door”—the corner of his mouth twitches—“and pretend to sleep while replaying that kiss until I give up and drown myself in a cold shower.”

My cheeks heat, and despite my annoyance, I smile, feeling bolder with his confession. “Save some cold water for me.” I tug my key card from my pocket and turn to my door, leaning my forehead on the cool, painted metal. At the click, I turn to see him watching me, still standing in the hallway. “Night, Jefferson.”

His eyes darken, but he seems pleased, and that’s enough for me.

saturday, july 6

columbus, ohio

Kacey and I sit in our bus trailer, dipping homemade gingersnaps into a tub of Cool Whip while our gran fusses at the tiny stove, warming up some vegetable soup she brought from home. She and Pop came up last night and are sharing a hotel room with Kacey’s mom in town. I figured I wouldn’t see any of them until tonight, since travel is hard, but Gran and a far more reluctant Pop showed up at our door bright and early this morning with a picnic feast planned. Aunt Carla begged off with a headache we’ll call “Pop’s Back Seat Driving” and promised to catch up with Kacey after the show.

“Gran, it’s a hundred degrees out,” Kacey says. She licks her Cool Whip before double dipping her cookie in the plastic container of fluff.

“You look jaundiced. You need more vitamins in your diet. This is the quickest way to get veggies.”

I snicker, and Kacey shoots me a daggered glare. “I don’t have scurvy, Gran. I eat my veggies. I’m just suntanned.”

My grandma grunts to herself, stirring once and tapping her wooden spoon on the side of the pot before laying it on top of a folded paper towel on the counter. The screen door opens, streaming yellow light before closing with a smack. Jason hops up the stairs in one bound and sniffs loudly.

“Is that the famous Rosewood family recipe I smell?”

My gran preens under his flattery, and Jason leans over to kiss her cheeks. “Grab yourself a place setting, young man, and I’ll bring this outside for you kids to enjoy at the picnic table.”

A timer dings, and she pulls a sheet of hot rolls from the pocket-sized oven.

Kacey whispers, “I didn’t even know that thing worked.” I didn’t either. Not that I would’ve taken the initiative to check. My culinary skills reach as far as buttered toast and memorized Chipotle orders.

“Grab the cold meat tray out of the icebox, Kacey. Annie, make yourself useful and grab the jar of sweet pickles I packed. I think it’s in my handbag.” Only my gran would unashamedly admit to carrying pickles in her purse. In short order, we’re all sitting out in the sun with a full homemade Sunday picnic, looking for all the world like it’s just a typical summer weekend, which I guess it is.