Losing Hope

Chapter Fourteen

What you want to do tonight?

I read Daniel’s text and respond.

Sorry. Plans.

WTF, puss flap!? No! Me. You. Plans.

Can’t. Pretty sure I have a date.

Sky?

Yep.

Can I come?

Nope.

Can I be your date next Saturday, then?

Sure, babe.

Can’t wait, sugar.

I laugh at Daniel’s text, then clear the screen and find Sky’s number. I haven’t heard from her since she fell asleep on me last night, so I’m not even sure if she wants me at her house tonight.

What time can I come over? Not that I’m looking forward to it or anything. You’re really, really boring.

After I hit send, I get another incoming text from a number I don’t recognize.

If you’re dating my girl, get your own prepaid minutes and quit wasting mine, Jackass.

The only person I know with prepaid minutes is Sky. And she said her best friend bought her the phone, so I’m seriously hoping this text is from her friend and not someone else. I immediately text back, hoping to find out more.

How do I get more minutes?

As soon as I hit send on that text, Sky’s response comes through.

Be here at seven. And bring me something to eat. I’m not cooking for you.

Rude.

I love it.

She texted me again while I was at the grocery store, asking me to hurry. I really, seriously like that she wanted me here sooner. I like it a lot. I like her a lot. I like this whole weekend a lot.

Her front door swings open just moments after I ring the doorbell. She’s smiling as soon as she sees me and I curse under my breath because that’s just one more thing about her that I just fell in love with. She looks down at the sacks of groceries in my hands and arches an eyebrow.

I shrug. “One of us has to be the hospitable one.” I walk up the steps and ease past her, then make my way into her kitchen. “I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs, because that’s what you’re getting.”

“You’re cooking dinner for me?” she asks skeptically from behind me.

“Actually, I’m cooking for me, but you’re welcome to eat some if you want.” I glance back at her and smile so she’ll know I’m teasing.

“Are you always so sarcastic?”

I shrug. “Are you?”

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

“Do you?”

She grabs a towel off the bar and throws it at me but I dodge it. “You want something to drink?” I ask her.

“You’re offering to make me something to drink in my own house?”

I walk to the refrigerator and scan the shelves, but my options are limited. “Do you want milk that tastes like ass or do you want soda?”

“Do we even have soda?”

I peer around the refrigerator door and grin at her. “Can either of us say anything that isn’t a question?”

“I don’t know, can we?”

“How long do you think we can keep this up?” I ask, taking the last soda from the fridge. “You want ice?”

“Are you having ice?”

Dammit, she’s cute. “Do you think I should have ice?”

“Do you like ice?”

She’s quick. I’m impressed. “Is your ice any good?”

“Well, do you prefer crushed ice or cubed ice?”

I almost answer by saying cubed, but realize that wouldn’t be a question. I narrow my eyes and glare at her. “No ice for you.”

“Ha! I win,” she gloats.

“I let you win because I feel sorry for you,” I say, making my way back to the stove. “Anyone that snores as bad as you do deserves a break every now and then.”

“You know, the insults are really only funny when they’re in text form,” she says.

She stands up and walks to the freezer at the same time I turn around to walk to the refrigerator for the minced garlic. Her back is to me and she’s filling her cup with ice. She turns around when I reach the refrigerator. She looks up at me with those big brown eyes and those pouty lips and I take a step closer to her, hoping I make her flustered again. I love making her flustered.

I lift my arm and press my palm flat against the refrigerator and look her in the eyes. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

She immediately sucks in a rush of air and nods. I grin and move in even closer. “Good. Because you don’t snore. In fact, you’re pretty damn adorable when you sleep.” I don’t know why I told her she didn’t snore. Maybe I don’t want her to know just how long I actually stayed in her bed watching her after she fell asleep last night.

She tugs on her bottom lip, looking up at me hopefully. Her chest is heaving and her arms are dusted in chills and I wish more than anything I could just grab her face and kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I want air.

But I already told myself I wouldn’t, so I’m not.

That doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with her, though. I move my lips until they’re almost touching her ear. “Sky. I need you . . .” I pause for a second and wait for her to catch her breath. ”. . . to move. I need in the fridge.” I pull back and watch for her reaction. Her palms are flat against the refrigerator behind her like she’s struggling to hold herself upright.

Seeing her physical reaction to my proximity makes me smile. When I smile and she sees I was purposely teasing her, she narrows her eyes and I laugh.

She pushes against my chest and shoves me back. “You’re such an ass!” she says, walking to the bar.

“I’m sorry, but damn. You’re so blatantly attracted to me, it’s hard not to tease you.” I’m still laughing when I walk back to the stove with the garlic. I pour some into the pan and glance at her. She’s covering her face with her hands from embarrassment and I immediately feel guilty. I don’t want her thinking I’m not into her, because I’m positive I’m into her way more than she’s into me. I guess I haven’t made that very clear to her, though, which is a little unfair.

“Want to know something?” I ask.

She looks up at me and shakes her head. “Probably not.”

“It might make you feel better,” I say.

“I doubt it.”

I look at her and she’s not smiling and I hate it. I meant for this to be lighthearted; I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. “I might be a little bit attracted to you, too,” I admit, hoping it’ll help her realize that I didn’t mean to embarrass her.

“Just a little bit?” she asks, teasingly.

No. Not just a little bit. A whole helluva lot.

I continue to prepare the food and I’m doing everything I can to get it all started so I can sit and talk with her while it cooks. She just sits silently at the bar, watching me work my way around her kitchen. I love that she’s not modest when it comes to the way she watches me. She stares at me like she doesn’t want to look at anything else and I like it.

“What does lol mean?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. You typed it in your text earlier.”

“It means laugh out loud. You use it when you think something is funny.”

“Huh,” she says. “That’s dumb.”

“Yeah, it is pretty dumb. It’s just habit, though, and the abbreviated texts make it a lot faster to type once you get the hang of it. Sort of like OMG and WTF and IDK and . . .”

“Oh, God, stop,” she says quickly. “You speaking in abbreviated text form is really unattractive.”

I wink at her. “I’ll never do it again, then.” I walk to the counter and pull the vegetables out of the sack. I run them under the water and move the cutting board to the bar in front of her. “Do you like chunky or smooth spaghetti sauce,” I ask, placing the tomato in front of me. She’s looking past me, lost in thought. I wait to see if she’ll answer me when she catches back up, but she just keeps staring off into space.

“You okay?” I ask her, waving my hand once in front of her eyes. She finally snaps out of it and looks up at me. “Where’d you go? You checked out for a while there.”

She shakes it off. “I’m fine.”

I don’t like her tone of voice. She doesn’t seem fine.

“Where’d you go, Sky?” I ask her again. I want to know what she was thinking. Or maybe I don’t want to know, because if she was thinking about how she wants me to leave then I hope she continues to pretend she’s fine.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” she asks.

Relief rushes through me because I don’t think she’d ask me that if she was hoping I would leave. But I’m not about to promise her I won’t laugh, so I shake my head in disagreement. “I told you that I’ll only ever be honest with you, so no. I can’t promise I won’t laugh because you’re kind of funny and that’s only setting myself up for failure.”

“Are you always so difficult?”

I grin, but don’t respond. I love it when she gets irritated with me, so I don’t give her a response on purpose.

She straightens up in her chair and says, “Okay, fine.” She inhales a deep breath like she’s preparing for a long speech.

I’m nervous.

“I’m really not any good at this whole dating thing, and I don’t even know if this is a date, but I know that whatever it is, it’s a little more than just two friends hanging out, and knowing that makes me think about later tonight when it’s time for you to leave and whether or not you plan to kiss me and I’m the type of person who hates surprises so I can’t stop feeling awkward about it because I do want you to kiss me and this may be presumptuous of me, but I sort of think you want to kiss me, too, and so I was thinking how much easier it would be if we just went ahead and kissed already so you can go back to cooking dinner and I can stop trying to mentally map out how our night’s about to play out.”

I’m pretty sure it’s too soon to love her, but shit. She’s got to stop doing and saying these unexpected things that make me want to fast-forward whatever’s going on between us. Because I want to kiss her and make love to her and marry her and make her have my babies and I want it all to happen tonight.

But then we’ll be out of firsts, and the firsts are the best part. Good thing I’m patient.

I set the knife down on the cutting board and look her in the eyes. “That,” I say, “was the longest run-on sentence I’ve ever heard.”

She doesn’t like my comment. She huffs and falls back against her seat in a pout.

“Relax.” I laugh. I take a second to finish the sauce and start the pasta and do everything I need to do to get to a point where I can actually talk to her while I’m not trying to cook at the same time. When I finally get the pasta going, I wipe my hands on the dishtowel and place it on the counter. I walk around the bar to where she’s seated.

“Stand up,” I tell her.

She slowly stands up and I place my hands on her shoulders, then look around the room for a good spot to break the news to her that I’m not going to kiss her tonight. As much as I want to and as much as I now know she wants me to, I still want to wait.

And I know I told her I’m not mean, but I never said I wasn’t cruel. And I’m just having too much fun watching her when she’s flustered and I really want to make her flustered again. “Hmm,” I say, still pretending I’m looking for the perfect spot to kiss her. I glance into the kitchen, then take her by the wrists and pull her with me. “I sort of liked the fridge backdrop.” I push her against the fridge and she lets me. She hasn’t stopped watching me intently the whole time and I love it. I lift my arms to the sides of her head and begin to lean in toward her. She closes her eyes.

I keep mine open.

I look at her lips for a moment. Thanks to the peck I stole while she was sleeping last night, I kind of have an idea what they feel like. But now I can’t help but wonder what they taste like. I’m so tempted to lean in a few more inches and see for myself, but I don’t.

I’ve got this.

They’re just lips.

I watch her for a few more seconds until her eyes flick open when I fail to kiss her. Her whole body jumps when she sees how close I am and it makes me laugh.

Why do I enjoy teasing her so much?

“Sky?” I say, looking down at her. “I’m not trying to torture you or anything, but I already made up my mind before I came over here. I’m not kissing you tonight.”

The hope in her expression dwindles almost immediately.

“Why not?” she says. Her eyes are full of rejection and I absolutely hate it, but I’m still not kissing her. But I do want her to know how much I want to kiss her.

I bring my hand up to her face and trace a line down her cheek. The feel of her skin beneath my fingertips is like silk. I keep trailing down her jaw, then her neck. My whole body is tense because I’m not sure if she feels all of this the way I do. I can’t imagine someone like Grayson could be lucky enough to touch her face or taste her mouth and that he wouldn’t care if she was even enjoying it or not.

When my hand reaches her shoulder, I stop and look her in the eyes. “I want to kiss you,” I say. “Believe me, I do.”

So, so bad.

I remove my hand from her shoulder and bring it up to her cheek. She leans into my hand and looks up at me, her eyes full of disappointment. “But if you really want to, then why don’t you?”

Ugh. I hate that look. If she keeps looking at me like that I’ll lose every shred of willpower I have left. Which isn’t much.

I tilt her face up to mine. “Because,” I whisper. “I’m afraid you won’t feel it.”

The look on her face when I say it is a mixture of realization and regret. She knows I’m referring to her lack of response to other guys and I’m not sure she knows how to respond. She’s silent, but I just want her to argue with me. I want her to tell me how wrong I am. I want her to tell me she already feels like I do, but instead she just nods and covers my hand with hers.

I close my eyes, wishing she had responded any other way. But the fact that she didn’t just proves that not kissing her tonight is exactly what needs to happen. I don’t understand why she’s so closed off, but I’ll wait however long I have to. There’s no way I could walk away from this girl now.

I pull her away from the refrigerator and wrap my arms around her. She slowly returns the embrace by clasping her arms around my waist and conforming to my chest. She willingly leans into me and just feeling her want me to hold her is better than anything I’ve felt this entire year. All she did was hug me back, but little does she know she just knocked a whole lot of life back into me. I press my lips into her hair and inhale. I could stay like this all night.

But the damn oven timer dings, reminding me that I’m cooking her dinner. If it means having to let her go, I’d rather starve. But I promised to cook for her, so I release my hold from around her and take a step back.

The embarrassed and almost heartbroken look on her face is the last thing I expect to see. She drops her gaze down at the floor and I realize that I just disappointed her. A lot. All I’m trying to do is go at a pace that’s best for her. I can’t have her thinking that I’m going slow because it’s my choice. Because if she didn’t have whatever issue it is she has with guys, we wouldn’t be standing in this kitchen right now. We’d be back on her bed just like we were last night, only this time she wouldn’t be reading to me.

I grab both of her hands and interlock our fingers. “Look at me.” She hesitantly lifts her face and looks at me. “Sky, I’m not kissing you tonight but believe me when I tell you, I’ve never wanted to kiss a girl more. So stop thinking I’m not attracted to you because you have no idea just how much I am. You can hold my hand, you can run your fingers through my hair, you can straddle me while I feed you spaghetti, but you are not getting kissed tonight. And probably not tomorrow, either. I need this. I need to know for sure that you’re feeling every single thing that I’m feeling the moment my lips touch yours. Because I want your first kiss to be the best first kiss in the history of first kisses.”

The sadness is gone from her eyes now and she’s actually smiling at me. I lift her hand and kiss it. “Now stop sulking and help me finish the meatballs. Okay?” I ask, wanting reassurance from her that she believes me. “Is that enough to get you through a couple more dates?”

She nods, still smiling. “Yep. But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You said you want my first kiss to be the best first kiss, but this won’t be my first kiss. You know that.”

I don’t know how to break it to her, but she hasn’t been kissed before. Not like she deserves, anyway. I hate that she doesn’t realize this, so I take it upon myself to show her exactly what a real kiss feels like.

I let go of her hands and cup her face, walking her back against the refrigerator. I lean in until I can feel her breath on my lips and she gasps. I love the helpless, hungry look in her eyes right now, but it doesn’t compare to what it does to me when she bites her lip.

“Let me inform you of something,” I say, lowering my voice. “The moment my lips touch yours, it will be your first kiss. Because if you’ve never felt anything when someone’s kissed you, then no one’s ever really kissed you. Not the way I plan on kissing you.”

She exhales a pent-up breath and her arms are covered in chills again.

She felt that.

I grin victoriously and back away from her, then turn my attention to the stove. I can hear her sliding down the refrigerator. I turn around and she’s sitting on the floor, looking up at me in shock. I laugh.

“You okay?” I say with a wink.

She smiles up at me from the floor and pulls her legs up to her chest with a shrug. “My legs stopped working.” She laughs. “Must be because I’m so attracted to you,” she says sarcastically.

I look around the kitchen. “You think your mother has a tincture for people who are too attracted to me?”

“My mother has a tincture for everything,” she says.

I walk over and take her hand, then pull her up. I press my hand against the small of her back and pull her against me. She looks up at me with hooded eyes and a small gasp parts her lips. I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Well, whatever you do . . . make sure you never take that tincture.”

Her chest rises against mine and she’s looking into my eyes like everything I’ve said tonight meant nothing. She wants me to kiss her and she doesn’t care that I’m doing everything in my power not to.

I slide my hand down her back and slap her on the ass. “Focus, girl. We have food to cook.”

“Okay, I have one,” she says, placing her cup down on the table.

We’re playing a game she suggested called Dinner Quest, where no question is off limits and eating and drinking isn’t allowed until the question has been answered. I’ve never heard of it, but I like the thought of being able to ask her anything I want to ask her.

“Why did you follow me to my car at the grocery store?” she asks.

I shrug. “Like I said, I thought you were someone else.”

“I know,” she says. “But who?”

Maybe I don’t want to play this game. I’m not ready to tell her about Hope. I’m definitely not ready to tell her about Les, but there’s no way around it because my answer just dug me into a hole. I shift in my seat and reach for my drink, but she snatches it out of my hands.

“No drinks. Answer the question first.” She sets my drink back down on the table and waits for my explanation. I really don’t want to go into my screwed up past, so I try to keep my answer simple.

“I wasn’t sure who you reminded me of,” I lie. “You just reminded me of someone. I didn’t realize until later that you reminded me of my sister.”

She makes a face and says, “I remind you of your sister? That’s kind of gross, Holder.”

Oh, shit. That’s not at all what I meant. “No, not like that. Not like that at all, you don’t even look anything like she did. There was just something about seeing you that made me think of her. And I don’t even know why I followed you. It was all so surreal. The whole situation was a little bizarre, and then running into you in front of my house later . . .”

Should I really tell her how that made me feel? How I thought for sure Les had something to do with it or that it was divine intervention or a freaking miracle? Because I honestly feel like it was too perfect to be chalked up to coincidence.

“It was like it was meant to happen,” I finally say.

She inhales a deep breath and I look up at her, afraid of how forward that might have been. She smiles at me and points to my drink. “You can drink now,” she says. “Your turn to ask me a question.”

“Oh, this one’s easy. I want to know whose toes I’m stepping on. I received a mysterious inbox message from someone today. All it said was, ‘If you’re dating my girl, get your own prepaid minutes and quit wasting mine, jackass.’”

“That would be Six,” she says, smiling. “The bearer of my daily doses of positive affirmation.”

Thank God.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Because I’m pretty competitive, and if it came from a guy, my response would not have been as nice.”

“You responded? What’d you say?”

“Is that your question? Because if it isn’t, I’m taking another bite.”

“Hold your horses and answer the question,” she says.

“Yes, I responded to her text. I said, ‘How do I buy more minutes?’”

Her cheeks redden and she grins. “I was only joking, that wasn’t my question. It’s still my turn.”

I drop my fork onto my plate and sigh at her stubbornness. “My food’s getting cold.”

She ignores my feigned irritation and she leans forward, looking me directly in the eyes. “I want to know about your sister. And why you referred to her in the past tense.”

Ah, shit. Did I refer to her in the past tense? I look up at the ceiling and sigh. “Ugh. You really ask the deep questions, huh?”

“That’s how the game is played. I didn’t make up the rules.”

I guess there’s no getting out of this explanation. But honestly, I don’t mind telling her. There are certain things about my past I’d rather not discuss, but Les doesn’t really feel like my past. She still feels very much a part of my present.

“Remember when I told you my family had a pretty fucked-up year last year?”

She nods, and I hate that I’m about to put a damper on our conversation. But she doesn’t like vague, so . . . “She died thirteen months ago. She killed herself, even though my mother would rather we use the term ‘purposely overdosed.’”

I keep my eyes locked on hers, waiting for the “I’m so sorry,” or the “It was meant to happen,” to come out of her mouth like it comes out of everyone else’s mouth.

“What was her name?” she asks. The fact that she even asks like she’s genuinely interested is unexpected.

“Lesslie. I called her Les.”

“Was she older than you?”

Only by three minutes. “We were twins,” I say, right before I take a bite.

Her eyes widen slightly and she reaches for her drink. I intercept her this time.

“My turn,” I say. Now that I know nothing is off limits, I ask her about the one thing she didn’t really want to talk about yesterday. “I want to know the story about your dad.”

She groans, but plays along. She knows she can’t refuse to answer that question, because I just completely opened up to her about Les.

“Like I said, I haven’t seen him since I was three. I don’t have any memories of him. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“Your mom doesn’t have any pictures of him?”

She cocks her head slightly, then leans back in her seat. “You remember when you said my mom looked really young? Well, it’s because she is. She adopted me.”

I drop my fork.

Adopted.

The genuine possibility that she could be Hope bombards my thoughts. It wouldn’t make sense that she was three when she was adopted, though, because Hope was five when she was taken. Unless she’s been lied to.

But what are the chances? And what are the chances that someone like Karen would be capable of stealing a child?

“What?” she asks. “You’ve never met anyone who was adopted?”

I realize the shock I’m feeling in my head and my heart is also registering in my expression. I clear my throat and try to regroup, but a million more questions are forming in my mind. “You were adopted when you were three? By Karen?”

She shakes her head. “I was put into foster care when I was three, after my biological mother died. My dad couldn’t raise me on his own. Or he didn’t want to raise me on his own. Either way, I’m fine with it. I lucked out with Karen and I have no urge whatsoever to go figure it all out. If he wanted to know where I was, he’d come find me.”

Her mother is dead? Hope’s mother is dead.

But Hope was never put into foster care and Hope’s dad didn’t put her up for adoption. It all makes absolutely no sense, but at the same time I can’t rule out the possibility. She’s either been fed complete lies about her past, or I’m going insane.

The latter is more likely.

“What does your tattoo mean?” she asks, pointing at it with her fork.

I look down at my arm and touch the letters that make up Hope’s name.

If she was Hope, she would remember the name. That’s the only thing that stops me from believing in the possibility that she could be Hope.

Hope would remember.

“It’s a reminder,” I say. “I got it after Les died.”

“A reminder for what?”

And this is the only answer she’ll get that’s vague, because I’m definitely not about to explain. “It’s a reminder of the people I’ve let down in my life.”

Her expression grows sympathetic. “This game’s not very fun, is it?”

“It’s really not.” I laugh. “It sort of sucks ass. But we need to keep going because I still have questions. Do you remember anything from before you were adopted?”

“Not really. Bits and pieces, but it comes to a point that, when you don’t have anyone to validate your memories, you just lose them all. The only thing I have from before Karen adopted me is some jewelry, and I have no idea who it came from. I can’t distinguish now between what was reality, dreams, or what I saw on TV.”

“Do you remember your mother?”

She pauses for a moment. “Karen is my mother,” she says flatly. I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to push her. “My turn. Last question, then we eat dessert.”

“Do you think we even have enough dessert?” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

“Why did you beat him up?” she says, darkening the mood completely.

I don’t want to get into that one. I push my bowl away. I’ll just let her win this round. “You don’t want to know the answer to that, Sky. I’ll take the punishment.”

“But I do want to know.”

Just thinking about that day already has me worked up again. I pop my jaw to ease the tension. “Like I told you before, I beat him up because he was an asshole.”

“That’s vague,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “You don’t do vague.”

I know that I like her stubbornness, but I only like it when she’s not pushing me to bring up the past. But I also have no clue what she’s been told about the whole situation. I’ve made it a point to get her to open up to me and ask me questions so she can hear the truth from me. If I refuse to answer her, then she’ll stop opening up.

“It was my first week back at school since Les died,” I say. “She went to school there, too, so everyone knew what happened. I overheard the guy saying something about Les when I was passing him in the hallway. I disagreed with it, and I let him know. I took it too far and it came to a point when I was on top of him that I just didn’t care. I was hitting him, over and over, and I didn’t even care. The really fucked-up part is that the kid will more than likely be deaf out of his left ear for the rest of his life, and I still don’t care.”

My fist is clenched on the table. Just thinking about the way everyone acted after she died has me pissed off all over again.

“What did he say about her?”

I lean back in my chair and my eyes drop to the table between us. I don’t really feel like looking her in the eyes when I’m only thinking about stuff that infuriates me. “I heard him laughing, telling his friend that Les took the selfish, easy way out. He said if she wasn’t such a coward, she would have toughed it out.”

“Toughed what out?”

“Life.”

“You don’t think she took the easy way out.” She doesn’t say it like it’s a question. She says it like she’s truly trying to understand me. That’s all I’ve wanted from her all week. I just want her to understand me. To believe me and not everyone else.

And no. I don’t think she took the easy way out. I don’t think that at all.

I reach across the table and pull her hand between both of mine. “Les was the bravest fucking person I’ve ever known,” I say. “It takes a lot of guts to do what she did. To just end it, not knowing what’s next? Not knowing if there’s anything next? It’s easier to go on living a life without any life left in it than it is to just say ‘fuck it’ and leave. She was one of the few that just said, ‘fuck it.’ And I’ll commend her every day I’m still alive, too scared to do the same thing.”

I look at her after I’m finished speaking and her eyes are wide. Her hand is shaking, so I clasp my hands around hers. We look at each other for several seconds and I can tell she has no idea what to say to me. I attempt to lighten the mood and change the subject. She said that was the last question, then we get dessert.

I lean forward and kiss the top of her head, then walk into the kitchen. “You want brownies or cookies?” I watch her from the kitchen as I grab the desserts and she’s staring at me, wide-eyed.

I freaked her out.

I just completely freaked her out.

I walk back to where she’s seated and I kneel down in front of her. “Hey. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I tell her, taking her face in my hands. “I’m not suicidal if that’s what’s freaking you out. I’m not fucked up in the head. I’m not deranged. I’m not suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m just a brother who loved his sister more than life itself, so I get a little intense when I think about her. And if I cope better by telling myself that what she did was noble, even though it wasn’t, then that’s all I’m doing. I’m just coping.” I allow her time to let my words sink in, then finish my explanation. “I fucking loved that girl, Sky. I need to believe that what she did was the only answer she had left, because if I don’t, then I’ll never forgive myself for not helping her find a different one.” I press my forehead to hers, looking her firmly in the eyes. “Okay?”

I need her to understand that I’m trying. I might not have it together and I might not know how to move past Les’s death, but I’m trying.

She presses her lips together and nods, then pulls my hands away. “I need to use the bathroom,” she says, quickly slipping around me. She rushes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

Jesus Christ, why did I even go there? I walk to the hallway, prepared to knock on the door and apologize, but decide to give her a few minutes first. I know that was really heavy. Maybe she just needs a minute.

I wait across the hallway until the bathroom door opens up again. It doesn’t look like she’s been crying.

“We good?” I ask her, taking a step closer to her.

She smiles up at me and exhales a shaky breath. “I told you I think you’re intense. This just proves my point.”

She’s already herself again. I love that about her.

I smile and wrap my arms around her, then rest my chin on top of her head while we make our way to her bedroom. “Are you allowed to get pregnant yet?”

She laughs. “Nope. Not this weekend. Besides, you have to kiss a girl before you can knock her up.”

“Did someone not have sex education when she was homeschooled? Because I could totally knock you up without ever kissing you. Want me to show you?”

She falls onto the bed and picks up the book that she read to me last night. “I’ll take your word for it,” she says. “Besides, I’m hoping we’re about to get a hefty dose of sex education before we make it to the last page.”

I lie down beside her and pull her to me. She rests her head on my chest and begins reading to me.

I ball my hand up into a tight fist and keep it at my side, doing everything in my power not to touch her mouth. I’ve just never seen anything so perfect before.

She’s been reading for well over half an hour now and I haven’t heard a damn word she’s said. Last night it was so much easier to pay attention to the actual story because I wasn’t looking directly at her. Tonight it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to claim her mouth with mine. She’s propped against me with her head on my chest, using me as her pillow. I’m hoping she can’t feel my heart pounding right now because every time she glances up at me when she flips a page, I squeeze my fists even tighter and try to keep my hands to myself but my resistance resonates in my pulse. And it’s not that I don’t want to touch her. I want to touch her and kiss her so bad it physically hurts.

I just don’t want it to be insignificant to her. When I touch her . . . I want her to feel it. I want every single thing I say to her and every single thing I do to her to have significance.

Last night when she told me she’s never felt anything when she was kissed, my heart did this crazy thing where it felt bound, like it was being constricted, just like the lungs in my chest. I’ve dated a lot of girls, even though I might have downplayed that to her. With every single girl I’ve been with, my heart has never reacted like it reacts to her. And I’m not referring to my heart’s feelings for her, because let’s be honest, I barely know her. I’m referring to my heart’s literal, physical reaction to her. Every time she speaks or smiles or, God forbid, laughs . . . my heart reacts like it’s been sucker-punched. I hate it and like it and somehow have become addicted to it. Every time she speaks, the sucker-punch in my chest reminds me that there’s still something there.

A huge internal part of me was lost when I lost Hope, and I was convinced Les took the very last contents of my chest with her when she died last year. After being with Sky these last two days, I’m not so sure about that, anymore. I don’t think my chest has been empty this whole time like I thought. Whatever is left inside me has just been asleep, and she’s somehow slowly waking it up.

With every word she speaks and every glance she sends my way, she’s unknowingly pulling me out of this thirteen-year-long nightmare I’ve been trapped in, and I want to continue to allow her to pull me.

Fuck it.

I unclench my fist and bring it up to her hair that’s spilled across my chest. I pick up a loose strand and curl it around my finger, keeping my eyes trained on her mouth while she reads to me. I find myself still comparing her to Hope every now and then, despite my efforts not to. I’m trying to recall exactly what Hope’s eyes looked like or if she had the same four freckles across the bridge of her nose that Sky has. Every time I start to compare them, I force myself to stop. It doesn’t matter anymore and I need to let it go. Sky has proved that she can’t be Hope and I have to accept it. The odds of the girl I lost being right here, pressed against my chest, her strand of hair between my fingertips . . . it’s impossible. I need to separate the two of them in my head before I screw up and do something stupid, like refer to Sky by the wrong name.

That would suck.

I notice her lips are pressed into a tight, thin line and she isn’t speaking anymore. It’s a damn shame because her mouth is fucking hypnotizing.

“Why’d you stop talking?” I ask her, without looking at her eyes. I keep my gaze trained on her lips, hoping they start moving again.

“Talking?” she says, her top lip curling up in a grin. “Holder, I’m reading. There’s a difference. And from the looks of it, you haven’t been paying a lick of attention.”

The feistiness in her reply makes me smile. “Oh, I’ve been paying attention,” I say, lifting up onto my elbows. “To your mouth. Maybe not to the words coming out of it, but definitely to your mouth.” I slide out from under her until she’s on her back, then I scoot down until I’m beside her. I pull her against me and take her hair between my fingertips again. The fact that she doesn’t resist in the slightest only means I’ll be at war with myself the rest of the damn night. She’s already made it clear she wants me to kiss her, and I’ll be damned if backing away from having her pressed up against the refrigerator wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

Shit. Just thinking about it is almost as intense as when it was actually happening.

I drop the strand of hair and watch as my fingers fall straight to her lips. I don’t know how the last five seconds just occurred, but I’m looking down at my hand as it grazes over her mouth like I have no control over my limbs anymore. My hand has a mind of its own but I really don’t care . . . nor do I want to stop it.

I feel her breath against my fingertips and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to center my focus on something other than what I want. Because it’s not my wants that are important right now—it’s hers. And I highly doubt she wants to taste my mouth as much as I need to taste hers right now.

“You have a nice mouth,” I say, still slowly tracing it with the tips of my fingers. “I can’t stop looking at it.”

“You should taste it,” she says. “It’s quite lovely.”

Holy shit.

I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head to her neck, forcing my focus away from those lips. “Stop it, you evil wench.”

She laughs. “No way. This is your stupid rule; why should I be the one to enforce it?”

Oh, Jesus. It’s a game to her. This whole not kissing thing is a game to her and she’s going to tease the hell out of me. I can’t do this. If I give in and kiss her before she’s ready I know I won’t be able to stop. And I don’t know what the hell is going on inside my chest right now but I really like the way it feels when I’m around her. If I can drag whatever this is out to make sure she feels the same way, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. Even if it takes me weeks to ensure she gets to that point, then I guess I’ll wait weeks. In the meantime, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure her next first is anything but insignificant.

“Because you know I’m right,” I say, explaining exactly why she needs to help me enforce this rule. “I can’t kiss you tonight because kissing leads to the next thing, which leads to the next thing, and at the rate we’re going we’ll be all out of firsts by next weekend. Don’t you want to drag our firsts out a little longer?” I pull away from her neck and look down at her, very aware that there is less space between our mouths right now than between our bodies.

“Firsts?” she says, looking up at me curiously. “How many firsts are there?”

“There aren’t that many, which is why we need to drag them out. We’ve already passed too many since we met.”

She tilts her head and her expression grows attractively serious. “What firsts have we already passed?”

“The easy ones,” I say. “First hug, first date, first fight, first time we slept together, although I wasn’t the one sleeping. Now we barely have any left. First kiss. First time to sleep together when we’re both actually awake. First marriage. First kid. We’re done after that. Our lives will become mundane and boring and I’ll have to divorce you and marry a wife who’s twenty years younger than me so I can have a lot more firsts and you’ll be stuck raising the kids.” I bring my hand to her cheek and smile at her. “So you see, babe? I’m only doing this for your benefit. The longer I wait to kiss you, the longer it’ll be before I’m forced to leave you high and dry.”

She laughs and the sound is so toxic I’m forced to swallow the huge lump in my throat so I can make room to breathe again.

“Your logic terrifies me,” she says. “I sort of don’t find you attractive anymore.”

Challenge accepted.

I slowly slide on top of her, careful to hold my weight up with my hands. If my body were to touch any part of hers right now, we’d already be moving on to seconds and thirds. “You sort of don’t find me attractive?” I say, staring straight down into her eyes. “That can also mean you sort of do find me attractive.”

Her eyes grow dark and she shakes her head. I can see the dip in the base of her throat barely move as she gulps before speaking. “I don’t find you attractive at all. You repulse me. In fact, you better not kiss me because I’m pretty sure I just threw up in my mouth.”

I laugh, then drop onto my elbow so I can move closer to her ear, still careful not to touch any other part of her.

“You’re a liar,” I whisper. “You’re a whole lot attracted to me and I’m about to prove it.”

I had every intention of pulling away, but as soon as the scent of her hits me, I can’t pull back. My lips are pressed against her neck before I even have a chance to weigh the decision. But right now it feels a hell of a lot more like a necessity to taste her rather than just a decision. She gasps when I pull back and I can’t help but hope that her gasp was genuine. The thought of her actually feeling what I felt when my lips touched her neck makes me feel ridiculously victorious. It’s too bad I like a challenge, because that gasp just made me want to up my game. I drop my mouth back to her ear and whisper, “Did you feel that?”

Her eyes are closed and she’s shaking her head no, breathing heavily. I look down at her chest, heaving dangerously close to mine.

“You want me to do it again?” I whisper.

I want her to beg me to do it again, but she shakes her head no. She’s breathing twice as fast as she was sixty seconds ago, so I know I’m getting to her. I laugh that she’s so adamantly shaking her head no, while at the same time clenching the sheet next to her with her fist. I move closer to her mouth because I suddenly have an overwhelming need to take in some of the breaths she’s wasting. It feels like I need them more than she does right now, so I inhale at the same time my lips meet her cheek. I don’t stop there, though. I can’t stop there. I continue to trail kisses from her cheek, down to her ear. I pause and catch my breath enough to speak in a steady voice. “How about that?”

Again, she stubbornly shakes her head, but tilts it back and slightly to the left, allowing me better access. I lift my hand from the bed and bring it to her waist, keeping my eyes trained on her as I slip my hand under her shirt, just far enough to graze her stomach with my thumb. I watch for any kind of reaction from her, but she’s got a stern, tight-lipped expression on her face now, like she’s trying to hold her breath. I don’t want her to hold her breath. I need to hear her breathe.

When I drop my mouth and nose to her jawline, she releases her pent-up breaths just like I was hoping she would. I trail my nose across her jaw, inhaling the scent of her, then move down, listening intently to every single gasp that escapes her lips as if they’re the last sounds I’ll ever hear. When I reach her ear, four of my senses are in overdrive and one is seriously lacking—taste. I know I can’t taste her mouth tonight, but I have got to taste at least one part of her. I press my lips to her ear and she immediately brings her hand up to my neck, pulling me in deeper. Feeling her need my mouth against her skin rips my chest wide open and I completely give in, wanting to feel that need from her even more. I immediately part my lips and glide my tongue across her skin, taking in the sweetness of her and locking it in my memory. I’ve never tasted anything that rivaled perfection like she does.

Then she moans and holy hell. Everything I thought I previously knew about my desires or wants or needs becomes lost in that sound. From this point forward, my new and only goal in life is to find a way to get her to make that exact same sound again.

I bring my hand to the side of her head and completely let loose, kissing and teasing every inch of her neck, trying to find that exact spot that got to her a few seconds ago. She drops her head against her pillow and I take the opportunity to explore more of her neck. As soon as my lips begin to trail toward the rise in her chest, I force myself north again, not wanting to push it to the point that she asks me to stop. Because I absolutely don’t want to stop whatever this is we’re doing.

Her eyes are still closed and I drop my mouth to her lips, kissing her softly near the corner of her mouth.

And there it is. The softest, most delicate sound escapes her throat again. I can’t ignore the fact that another part of me wakes up with that sound. I continue kissing a full circle around the edges of her lips, impressed that I’m somehow able to find strength to pull back.

I have to stop for a moment because if I don’t, I’ll for sure break my one and only rule tonight—which is absolutely no mouth contact. I know if I kiss her right now it’ll be great. But I don’t want her to have great. I want her to have incredible. Looking at her lips right now, I know for a fact it’ll be incredible for me.

“They’re so perfect,” I say. “Like hearts. I could literally stare at your lips for days and never get bored.”

She opens her eyes and smiles. “No. Don’t do that. If all you do is stare, then I’ll be the bored one.”

Damn that smile. It’s painful having to watch that mouth smile and frown and pout and laugh and speak when all I want to watch it do is kiss me.

But then she licks her lips and everything I thought I just knew about pain actually starts to feel good compared to the way my heart is gouged out of my chest with that small tease. Jesus Christ, this girl.

I groan and press my forehead to hers. Having her mouth this close to mine sucks the self-control right out of me. I drop myself on top of her and it’s as if a rush of warm air swarms the room and encircles us. We both feel everything simultaneously and we moan together, move together, and breathe together.

Then we completely give in together. All four of our hands are frantically pulling off my shirt as if two hands can’t do it fast enough. As soon as it’s off, her legs lock around my waist and she pulls me tightly against her. I drop my forehead back to hers and move against her, finding a new way to force those tiny sounds from her mouth that have quickly become my new favorite song. We continue to move together and the more she gasps and quietly moans, the closer my lips move to hers, wanting to experience those sounds first-hand. I just need a tiny sample of what her kiss will feel like. A little preview, that’s all. I allow my lips to brush against hers and we both suck in a breath.

She feels it. She actually fucking feels this right now and I think I’m drowning in satisfaction. I don’t want to speed things up and I definitely don’t want to slow things down. I just want to keep things exactly as they are right now because it’s perfect.

I bring my hand to the side of her head and keep my forehead pressed against hers, my lips resting against hers. I love the feel of our mouths sliding together, so I pull back and lick my lips to create smoother traction. I straighten my legs out, taking some of my weight off my knees, not expecting the small shift to do what it does to her. She arches her back and whispers, “Oh, God.”

I feel like I should answer her, because it sure as hell seems like she’s referring to me right now with the way she throws her arms around my neck and tucks her head against me. Her arms are trembling and her legs are clenching my waist and I realize that not only is she feeling this right now, she’s doing everything in her power to fight it.

“Holder,” she whispers, clenching my back. I’m not sure if she’s wanting me to answer her or not, but I forgot how to speak so it doesn’t matter. I can barely even remember how to breathe right now.

“Holder.”

She says my name with more urgency this time so I kiss the side of her head and slow my movements against her. She hasn’t asked me to stop or slow down yet, but I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s about to do. I do whatever I can to intercept her plea because she feels incredible and I absolutely don’t want to stop.

“Sky, if you’re asking me to stop, I will. But I’m hoping you’re not, because I really don’t want to stop, so please.” I lift up and look down at her, still barely moving against her. She still hasn’t asked me to stop yet and honestly, I’m afraid to. I’m afraid if I stop, then whatever she’s feeling right now will disappear. That scares me because I know that with me, I’ll be feeling her for days after this. I love knowing that what I’m doing to her right now is having enough of an effect that she feels she needs me to stop before she passes an unexpected first tonight.

I reach to her cheek and stroke it with the back of my hand, wanting . . . no, needing for her to pass this first tonight. “We won’t go any further than this, I promise,” I say to her. “But please don’t ask me to stop where we already are. I need to watch you and I need to hear you because the fact that I know you’re actually feeling this right now is so fucking amazing. You feel incredible and this feels incredible and please. Just . . . please.”

I drop my mouth to hers and kiss her softly, immediately pulling back before that amazing connection turns into more than just a peck. Her lips feel so inconceivable perfect; I have to lift off her completely in order to regain my bearings. Otherwise, I won’t be able to hold myself at bay for another second. I look down at her and she’s looking back up at me, searching my eyes for an answer to a question she can only answer for herself. I wait patiently for her to decide where we go from here.

Her head begins to shake back and forth and she places her hands on my chest.

“Don’t. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

I remain still for a few seconds, repeating what she just said in my head several times until I’m absolutely certain she just told me not to stop. I slip my hand behind her neck and pull her forehead to mine. “Thank you,” I say breathlessly. I ease myself back down on top of her until we recapture our rhythm. She feels so incredible pressed against me, I don’t know that I’ll ever be the same again. This girl just raised the bar so far above all other girls’ heads, no one could ever come close.

I kiss her everywhere my lips have already touched her tonight, picking up pace with the timing of her gasps and moans. When I feel her body tensing around mine I pull away from her neck and look down at her. She digs her nails deeper into my skin, then tilts her head back and closes her eyes. She looks absolutely beautiful like this, but I need her eyes on mine. I need to watch her feel this.

“Open your eyes,” I tell her. She winces, but doesn’t look up at me. “Please.”

Her eyes immediately open beneath me when I say please. Her eyebrows crease together and she loses all rhythm to her breathing pattern. She’s fighting to breathe now as her body begins to tremble beneath me, all the while keeping our gaze locked together. All I can do is hold my breath and watch the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen unfold beneath me. When the loudest of her moans has escaped her lips, she can no longer keep her eyes open. As soon as she closes them, I drop my lips back to hers, needing to feel them against mine again. When she’s finally calm, I move my lips down to her neck and kiss it like I wish I could be kissing her mouth right now.

But seeing how much she needs me to kiss her mouth right now is making the wait even more important for me. Considering what just happened between us, it almost seems absurd to keep up the assurance of not kissing her. But I’m stubborn and I like knowing that the next time we’re together like this; we’ll be able to experience another first that’s likely to drive me even more insane than tonight has.

I press my lips to her shoulder and push up on my arm. I trail my fingers down her hairline and wipe away the loose strands from her face. She looks absolutely content and it’s the most beautiful, satisfying thing I’ve ever felt.

“You’re incredible,” I say, knowing that word is a severe understatement for what she actually is. She smiles at me and inhales a deep breath at the same time I do. I collapse beside her on the bed, needing to get off her immediately. My chest is completely alive right now and the only thing that I know could satisfy me is to be pressed against her again with my mouth on hers. I force the image of it out of my mind and attempt to cool myself off by matching my breathing pattern with hers.

After silently finding a stable enough point to touch her again, I move my hand closer to hers on the bed and wrap my pinky around hers. The sensation of her pinky in mine feels way too familiar. Way too right. Way too long overdue. I squeeze my eyes shut and attempt to deny my conscience the satisfaction of being right.

She’s Sky. That’s who she is. I only doubt this because of how she feels so familiar. Familiarity is hardly enough to convince me otherwise.

I hope my instincts are wrong, because if I’m right, the truth will destroy her.

Please, just let her be Sky.

My fear of being right keeps pushing through and I sit up on the bed, needing to separate myself from her. I need to clear my head of all this craziness. “I have to go,” I say, looking down at her. “I can’t be on this bed with you for another second.”

I’m being honest. I can’t be on this bed with her for another second, although I’m sure she thinks it’s for other reasons. Not for the reason I really need to separate myself from her—the fact that I’m terrified my intuition is finally right for once.

I stand and pull my shirt over my head and notice that she’s looking at me like I’m rejecting her. I know she probably thought I’d end up kissing her tonight, but she’s got a lot to learn when it comes to doubting my word.

I lean in close to her and smile reassuringly. “When I said you weren’t getting kissed tonight, I meant it. But dammit, Sky. I had no idea how fucking difficult you would make it.” I slip my hand behind her neck and lean in to kiss her cheek. When she gasps, it takes everything I have to release my hold and climb off the bed. I watch her as I walk toward the window and pull my phone from my pocket. I send her a quick text, then wink at her, right before I climb outside. I pull the window shut and back a few steps away. As soon as the window is shut, she jumps off her bed and runs out of her bedroom, more than likely to go grab her phone and check her text. Normally, her excitement would more than likely make me laugh. Instead I find myself staring blankly through her bedroom window. My heart feels heavy and my mind even heavier as the pieces of the puzzle slowly begin to fit together, right down to her name.

“The sky is always beautiful . . .”

The memory causes me to flinch. I brace my hand against the brick wall and inhale a deep breath. It’s almost laughable, really—the fact that I can sit here and entertain the possibility that this could actually happen after thirteen years. If it were true . . . if she really were her . . . it would ruin her. Which is exactly why I refuse to accept it without tangible proof—something I can actually touch that would confirm it. Without tangible proof, she’ll remain Sky to me.

I just want her to be Sky.