One of Us Is Next(43)
I mean, I could be dead in six months. What’s the point in holding back?
Luis moves toward the stove and turns the burner down. He picks up a timer from the counter and twists it slightly. “This needs five minutes to simmer.” He goes back to his station, wiping his hands on a towel, and I make up my mind. I move toward him until the space between us is nearly closed and put my hand on his arm. If nothing else, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages. My pulse starts thrumming as I ask, “What should we do for the next five minutes, then?”
Luis goes still, and for one horrifying second I think he’s going to burst out laughing. If he does, I won’t have to worry about cancer because I’ll die on the spot. Then his mouth curves in a slow smile. He glances down beneath lashes that are so long and thick, they almost look tangled. His hands circle my waist. “I don’t know. You have any ideas?”
“A few.” I bring one hand to the back of his neck and lean into him, sliding my fingers into his hair. It’s softer than I expected, and his skin is warm from the stove and the bright lights above us. I pause to catch my breath because it’s almost too much, the way every nerve in my body is buzzing with sensation when nothing’s even happened yet.
Then Luis kisses me, his lips a gentle press of heat against my mouth. Soft and almost sweet, until I wind my arms around his neck and pull him closer. He kisses me harder, picking me up in one smooth motion and putting me on the counter behind us. There’s no place for my legs to go except…around his waist. The softest groan escapes him as he slides his lips along my jawline and down to my neck. My hands find their way under the hem of his T-shirt, and every scattered thought that was still bouncing around in my brain dissolves when I feel his muscles contract beneath my fingertips. We keep kissing until I lose all sense of time and place, and the only thing I want is more.
A sudden noise brings me back to myself. Someone’s whistling off-key, and heavy footsteps are coming our way. I pull away from Luis, face burning when I realize how far up his shirt my hands have gotten, and the intentional way I’ve twisted the fabric. I was seconds away from yanking it over his head.
Luis’s eyes look drugged until he registers the noise. Then he frowns and disentangles from me, moving toward the door. “What the hell?” he mutters. I hop off the counter, weak-kneed, and try to smooth my hair. A second later Manny bursts into the kitchen, still whistling.
“What up, L?” He holds out his hand for a fist bump that turns into a shoulder punch when Luis doesn’t respond. “Why are you still cooking?”
“I’m making something for Maeve,” Luis says. His voice isn’t nearly as friendly as it usually is when he talks to his brother. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh hey, Maeve.” Manny catches sight of me and waves. “I forgot my gym bag, and it’s got my wallet in it. Damn, that smells good. Did you make extra?”
Luis stares, arms folded, as Manny crosses over to the bubbling pot on the stove and peers inside. “Dude,” Luis says. “Read the room.”
“What?” Manny asks, giving the ajiaco a stir. The timer goes off just then, making me jump. “Is it done?”
“I should go,” I say abruptly. My cheeks are still burning, my head spinning. I can’t believe I just threw myself at Luis after everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. I mean, I can, but still. I’m both a walking cliché and a terrible friend. “Thanks for everything, Luis, but I’m still not hungry and I should probably just…go.”
Manny glances between Luis and me and seems to finally catch on. “Oh hey, no. Stick around. I’m just gonna grab my wallet and head out,” he says, but I’m already through the kitchen door. I pull my laptop bag off the chair where I left it without breaking stride, and head for the exit. I’m probably both a jerk and a wimp for leaving, but it’s too much to process all at once; embarrassment and guilt on top of the sort of intense physical attraction I wasn’t sure I was even capable of until just now. At least I finally know what all the fuss is about.
What all the fuss is about. Oh my God.
The memory hits right as I push through the front door. I’d said that to Bronwyn, when I was telling her about my disastrous night with Knox. “I wasn’t disappointed,” I told her. “Just relieved. The whole time we were kissing, I didn’t feel anything. All I could think was I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”
I’d said it here. At my usual table, in public. Where anyone could have heard.
I’m an idiot.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Phoebe
Thursday, March 5
Today is shaping up to be a better-than-average day.
For one thing, Emma is sick. It’s not like I’m happy about her being locked in the bathroom puking her guts out, but breakfast is a lot less tense without her glaring at me. Plus, now I have the car and can offer Jules a ride. I’ve been walking to and from school lately to give Emma space, which means Jules has been either taking the bus or getting a ride from Monica. And I miss her.
The second reason today sucks less is this: for the first time in weeks, I feel like the Truth or Dare game isn’t hanging over my head. I know it’s still out there, but not having to worry about it buzzing across my phone is a huge relief. I never realized that out of sight, out of mind could be so powerful. When I get dressed I reach for my favorite skirt, which I haven’t worn for a while because it’s also my shortest skirt, and the familiar swish of fabric around my legs makes me feel more like myself than I have for a while.