“I meant that too. Do I need to do it again to prove it?”
“No.” She held up a hand as if to ward him off. “You don’t.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it,” he said, grinning, loving the way it made her blush even more. “I could tell you liked it.”
With visible effort, she drew herself up and said, “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
“Why? Too real for you? You only like sex when it’s in books?”
She bolted up to her feet, arms slamming down to her sides, hands balled into fists. In a tight voice, she said, “I’m trying really hard to be patient with you.”
“So don’t be. Doesn’t it ever get old being so damn perfect all the time?”
He expected a sharp retort, but instead she stared at him, gaze softening, filling with sadness. She sat back down, hard, like her legs were tired, and that was when Aidan joined her, sitting down close beside her on the cold stone of the wall.
“It gets old,” she said in a low voice. “Not being perfect, because I’mnotperfect.” She rubbed at her forehead with two delicate fingertips, brows crimping together. “But looking out for Mom, and Erin, and work, and school, and…all of it. I don’t mind it, not at all. But sometimes I wish…” She trailed off, biting at her lip.
A strange impulse hit him. He wanted to touch her; and not in a sexual way – well, he did, but that wasn’t the urge that overcame him now. Now, he didn’t fight the desire to lay a hand on the back of her head, cupping gently, delighted by the silken texture of her pale hair.
She glanced at him, startled.
“Sometimes you wish you got to do something fun? Just for you?” he guessed.
Her smile was faint. “You’re a fantasy, you know that?”
He lifted his brows in questioning surprise.
“Just because you’re a quiet, mousy kid who studies all the time, it doesn’t mean you aren’t still terribly feminine. It doesn’t mean you don’t have a violent crush on a bad boy who refuses to cover his tattoos up at school.” She smiled again, pretty and wistful. “You were my schoolgirl fantasy, and I can’t even say why. I’m not sure that ever went away, even though I know better.”
He wasn’t sure what to do with the bombardment of sentiments her words brought on. Mixed shock, gladness, and then the gut-punch of her “knowing better.”
“Ouch,” he said.
“I haven’t been fair,” she continued, “letting you come see me every afternoon. You make me feel sixteen, and all fluttery” – she gestured to her chest – “and in that sense, I’ve been using you. Just like I think you’ve been using me,” she added, tone gentle. “We’re not being honest with each other.”
He sat, staring at her a moment, smelling the coconut of her shampoo as the breeze blew the blonde lengths toward his face.
“I’m sorry.What?”
“We’re using–” she started.
“No, I heard. I just wanna know why you actually believe all that bullshit you just said.”
It was her turn to stare.
“Sam,” he said, a tightness in his chest, in his words. He’d been able to talk every girl he’d ever casually wanted into his bed. And here was this one, who he was suddenly so hungry for, and she wanted him, too, but goddamn her self-control, she was pushing him back. “If you want me, and I want you, I don’t understand what the problem is.”
She studied him. “I used to think being wanted was enough. But now I’m not so sure.”
She started to rise, and he latched onto her wrist, keeping her at his side. “You won’t even try?” he asked.
The wind pulsed around them, stirring her hair, and he knew by the light in her eyes that she didn’t misunderstand, and that she was considering. She cracked the seal on her imagination and let herself wonder: taking her glasses off, his fingers knotting in her hair, his mouth bruising hers, the salt taste of damp skin.
“Some days,” she whispered, vibrating with restrained energy, “when it feels like the shit won’t stop coming, the only thing I want in the world is for us to try.”
He didn’t resist when she shook off his grip and stood.
She walked away without looking back.
