Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(37)

He doesn’t wait to be asked to sit before making himself comfortable on the sofa. “So, what should we do? Wanna stay in or go out? We could go see a movie or something.”

Right now, leaving this apartment sounds like the least desirable idea I’ve ever heard. I have zero desire to go traipsing around the city in the cold rain. “I’d rather just stay in.”

Will raises his gaze to search my face for the briefest of moments. Then he winks at me. “Sure, flower. We can stay in.” He pats the cushion next to him.

I don’t know what he thinks I meant by stay in, but I’m not entirely sure we’re on the same page. I join him on the couch, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and flipping on the TV as I sit. “We could watch a movie here.”

“Cool.” He raises his arm so it rests on the cushion behind my shoulders but doesn’t actually touch me.

“What kind of movies do you like?” I ask as I flip through the menu for something I haven’t seen.

“I’m not picky.” His voice is soft and silky, and at the same time he speaks, I feel the soft weight of his fingers, gentle on my shoulder. It’s like his signature move or something, I guess.

I do my best to ignore his hand on my arm and focus on picking a movie, but I can’t drag my attention away from him, from the way his hand keeps softly brushing the sensitive skin of my neck. His fingers are cold, but the sensation against my warm skin is nice.

We do eventually pick a movie, or he does. I don’t care what we watch; it’s going to be impossible for me to pay attention to it anyway with Will so close. He seems involved in the story line for the next hundred or so minutes, but we might as well have been watching a blank screen for all the attention I pay.

At some point I shift closer to him, or him to me—I’m not entirely sure, but I end up with my knees tucked to my chest and my body curled into his, soaking up his warmth. He, in turn, is wrapped around me like we belong together, like I belong to him. Eventually, the final credits roll, and I reluctantly lower my feet to the floor and sit up away from him.

He withdraws his arm and folds his hands in his lap. “So, how come you haven’t been at school?”

I’d been hoping he wouldn’t ask. Part of me itches to be able to spill the beans, to tell someone the truth about me, about my life. But I know that would be the worst decision in the history of bad decisions. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

He eyes me skeptically. “I’d started to wonder if you were avoiding me. Am I that bad a kisser?” The corner of his lip twitches. He’s teasing me.

I take the bait and laugh, but it’s little more than a tense sort of almost-chuckle.

“What’s wrong, flower? You can talk to me.”

I want to, more than anything. But I shake my head and drop my gaze to my hands where I’ve twisted them into a white-knuckled ball of tension.

We’re both silent for a long time, and when I can’t take the silence anymore, I climb off the couch and move to the window. He doesn’t follow, and I curl up on the seat there. The couch creaks, and rustling fabric tells me Will is crossing the room, stopping behind me. I cross my arms over my chest and stare out at the webbing of tiny snowflakes clinging to my window.

“Why won’t you let me in?” Will’s voice is little more than a whisper, but it echoes in my brain like thunder.

Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them away, afraid he’ll somehow sense them or see them in my reflection in the window. I can’t let him know how close I am to cracking, how badly I want to let him in. Telling him the truth about me would mean breaking the cardinal rule of jewel thievery: always maintain the facade. My false identity, my half truths and evasive answers are my only defense, the only way to keep people at arm’s length.

Will’s hand settles on my shoulder, and his thumb strokes a gentle circle against my sweater. He wants me to turn and face him, to look him in the eye and still deny him the details of my life. I know it. Just as surely as I know that if I do face him, I’ll spill everything, right down to the most minute details.

“Mari.” It’s a plea, and he’s not calling me flower. He must really mean it.

I summon every ounce of determination I possess to keep from throwing myself into his waiting arms. “Please, just go.”

“Mari,” he tries again, and I shake my head against his entreaty.

“No, Will. I don’t want this.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I purse my lips together to keep from recanting. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to be with Will.

Several quiet moments stretch between us, but eventually, he pulls his hand back, and I feel more than I hear him leave the room. A moment later, the front door to my apartment closes with a tight click.

Will is gone.

The emptiness left by his departure is suffocating. My chest tightens, threatening to collapse under the pressure. I fall onto my window seat and curl into a tight ball against the cushions. Tears pool in my eyes and threaten to spill over, but I don’t let them.

I should be able to suck it up, to get over him. After all, I’ve only known Will for a month.

But in that month, he’s insinuated himself into my life and my heart in a way I never imagined possible. I used to think I was so strong, a loner, but I don’t want to be a loner anymore. I want to be with Will. But being with him means telling him my darkest secret, admitting to what I was, what I am.