She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(19)

“Better,” he says, always so cocky. Then, he holds his hand out to me. “Kenny, you’re gorgeous.”

“Ha,” comes my nervous laugh, but I link my fingers with his and hold on tight, because this moment, the one with my eyes on his and our fingers joined, this is one I don’t ever want to forget, no matter what happens.

“April asked me to take pictures,” Gia says. We nod and pose, laughing when Macy wants to pose in one with us.

When we finally say goodbye, Gage opens the door, but I turn to Gia and reach out, giving her a one armed hug. She blinks, uncertain, like me. We share some things… but this feels like more. Today, we aren’t foster children under the same roof. Today… we felt like sisters.

Then, I walk out and hold onto Gage, shuffling to his truck until he cites time change because I’m going so slow. Swinging me up, he carries me the last few feet, depositing me in the passenger seat.

When he goes to buckle me, I grab his cheeks because I can. He raises a brow, always a challenge. And, then, I press my lips to his… warm, sure, perfect.

+ + +

There are three things I know after I’ve been at the dance for an hour: I haven’t been missing anything, I’m now certain heels are modern day torture devices, and I am definitely in love with Gage Christensen.

I even like some of his friends.

We’ve been dancing, much to my dismay, because Gage apparently loves to dance. And everyone knows this. Everyone but me, that is.

“That’s not a move.”

He shakes his hips, turns and grabs mine to wiggle back and forth. “Sure it is. Everything I do is a move. I’m athletic—light on my feet.”

“And so humble.”

The smile that’s been blinding me since we left gets even larger. “Know who you are, Kenny. And let everyone else know it, too.”

His words hit me a little. They don’t hurt… but I wonder if I’ve been honest, really let him know who I am. He knows I’m a foster kid—that however great the home I live in is, it’s not mine, nor will it ever be. The people who raise me get a paycheck from the state to do so until I turn eighteen. The sister I hugged when I left tonight… she and I are not blood related. We’re tragedy related—two girls whose parents couldn’t put down the bottle long enough to raise their children.

“Kenny, what’s wrong?”

I look up and realize we’ve stopped dancing, and that Gage is holding onto me, looking at me with concern.

Before I can tell him there’s something about me he should know—like the fact that my mom killed a family in the town I used to live in—Cam sidles up. Behind him, a guy wearing a white oxford and blue pants smiles.

“Well, hey there, beautiful people. Fancy meeting you here.” He opens up a little, and motions to Mr. Blue pants. “This is Greg.” And then he beams, and lights up the world. “My date.”





Chapter 18


Week 6, Part 2: I’m an Idiot

Gage

Cam introduces us to his date, and we all talk for a bit. I try not to smother Kenny, try to keep playing it cool and only hold her hand, but the look she gave me earlier has my stomach in knots and my mind racing.

We don’t have to be here together. I made a joke out of the way I asked her, but then she said what she did, and I had to tell her something. Still, it wasn’t everything. I want it all with Kennedy Russo, and I’m not sure how to ask her.

More like I’m scared out of my mind that she might reject me. Her expression from earlier isn’t doing anything for my confidence.

After a minute, I excuse myself, pressing a kiss to Kenny’s temple despite my raging nerves. I can’t stop myself—she’s here, she’s mine, and I need to touch her.

Walking toward the restroom, I shake off the feeling of unease, joking with guys who stop me along the way. When I walk into the bathroom, there are a few guys in there, some by the mirrors, some by the urinals. I recognize all of them.

“Hey, twelve-gauge, your girl’s looking good tonight.” I nod at Lorenzen, our pitcher, and walk over to the sinks to talk. A conversation about stats and batting percentages in a dirty bathroom seems like a perfect way to get my head on straight.

When he holds out a flask, I hesitate. It’s not that I haven’t had a drink or two before; it’s just not my usual style. Especially when I’m in charge of driving. “Fireball,” Lorenzen says, interpreting my hesitation as an inquiry of beverage choice. “Tastes like cinnamon.”

I don’t have to take it—he wouldn’t care if I said no—I’ve said it plenty of times. But, instead of saying it again, I take the flask, because the panic is still floating around inside of me, making me question how long Kenny’s going to stick around now that our project’s done. Two pulls and fifteen minutes of baseball talk later, I feel a little steadier.

When I go to find Kenny, she smiles and I’m not shy about wrapping my arms around her from behind and swaying with her, even though she’s standing near the edge of the gym, talking to Cam and his date.

She turns to smile at me over her shoulder, and I lean down to press my lips to hers, a statement to both of us about what this is to me.

I feel her pull back a bit, turning so she can press her hand to my chest. Cam laughs, saying something as he and Greg disappear. I barely acknowledge them, my eyes only for Kenny.