She sets the wine bottle on the wood floor between us. “So … about earlier and all the days before earlier …”
I stare at my plate, piling the last piece of sausage and cheese onto the last cracker, fearing where this conversation is headed.
“I get a lot of hair on me at work. And it’s messy and itchy. So, I remove my clothes before going inside.”
I nod slowly, my face feeling an unusual amount of heat. “Okay.” Yes, that’s the best I’ve got.
“I figure it’s like seeing someone in a bikini—you know, bra and panties. You’re seeing the same amount of skin. It shouldn’t be a huge deal, right?”
Nothing. I’ve got nothing. I continue to work the slow nod. She’s right. Same amount of skin, but there’s a psychological element of knowing it’s not a bikini. It’s her bra and panties. Maybe it’s a guy thing, but silk and cotton lace have a different effect than polyester and spandex. I know it’s stupid, but I don’t make the rules. I’m just genetically wired to follow them.
“So we’re good?”
I chuckle, finally glancing over at her, mesmerized by her freckles and how much more prominent they seem with the sun illuminating her face. “We’re good.”
“Good,” she whispers before dragging her teeth along her bottom lip.
“No Gabe equals wine for dinner?” I hurry up and find something to say, something to distract me from her lips. After four and a half weeks, I find more than just her lips distracting.
“Yes. I don’t drink around Gabe. I’m not sure why. I just don’t. I mean … I know Kyle and Emily consumed alcohol around him. They had this huge bar in their basement stocked with every kind of alcohol you can imagine. I just don’t want to be impaired in the slightest bit if anything were to happen to him.”
“You do realize he could break a bone or cut his head while at a friend’s house. And if they called, you’d be in no shape to meet them at the hospital with wine running through your veins,” I say just as she takes another sip of wine.
She spits it back into the glass and coughs. “Oh my god! You’re right! What was I thinking?”
“I’m kidding.” I laugh. “He’ll be fine.”
“Kidding?” She glares at me. “You mean you’re trying to make me feel inadequate and bad about myself. That’s what you’re doing. Not. Cool. Buddy!” She shoots out of the chair and dumps the contents of her glass into beach grass on the other side of the railing with her back to me.
“Gracelyn. I’m sorry. I really was just kidding—”
Her body shakes.
Shit.
I made her cry.
“Please don’t …” I rest a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to turn toward to me.
She’s … not crying. She’s laughing.
“I’m kidding. Kidding is fun. Right?” The smile on her face stretches to her eyes. “But …” She points at me. “The look on your face is priceless.”
I try to act like I knew she was joking, but I didn’t. “You’re pure evil.” My head inches side to side in total disbelief. She reminds me of Jenna in so many ways it renders me speechless. “I want to kiss you,” I think I say those words aloud, but I’m not sure.
I definitely think them. Did I mean to say them? I’m not sure about that either.
All amusement vanishes from Gracelyn’s face. I’m out of practice and not just at kissing. I’m out of practice at everything related to anything beyond friendship. We can’t be more than friends because of geographical challenges and … she’s done with men.
“I’m not going to kiss you.” I clear the frog from my throat and take a step back. “And since I’m not going to do it, I probably should have kept that thought to myself.”
“You’re leaving,” she whispers.
I nod.
“And I’m …” Her brows draw together.
“Done with men.” I finish for her.
“Yeah.”
Sliding my hands into the back pockets of my faded gray shorts, I twist my lips to the side, feeling as high, as awkward, as alive as I did the night I asked Jenna out on our first date. “Then it’s settled. I won’t kiss you.”
Gracelyn rubs her lips together, making me want to kiss her even more. “I should go.”
Taking her cue, I move back one more step to give her space to grab her wine bottle. She retrieves the bottle and shuffles her bare feet to the porch steps.
“You don’t have to go.” I feel like my uncontrolled kiss confession just drove a wedge between us. With a little less than two more months here, and Morgan and Gabe finding a close friendship, I don’t want it to be weird.
Gracelyn rests her hand on the railing, dropping her gaze to the ground. “I do. Or else …”
I wait. She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t move.