“This is true …” She lifts her mug to her lips but doesn’t take a drink. “It’s going to be an adjustment for all of us.”
“But it’s for the best,” I remind her.
“Absolutely.”
“By the way, I’m staying at Adri’s this Friday night.” I have no idea if or when I’ll see August again, but I figure I should plant the seed now so she knows I might be gone.
“What are you girls going to do without each other in a couple of weeks?”
My mind wanders to August before it goes to Adriana.
“We’re just taking things one day at a time.”
“Will she come visit you at school?” Mama asks.
August’s sexy smirk fills my head.
“I don’t expect that, no.” My answer applies to both of them. Adri might come up and convince me to find some frat party to crash, but she’s got her own life back here. I don’t expect her to drive two hours to see me on a regular basis. That’s what FaceTime is for.
“Well then you’ll see each other on breaks,” Mama says.
“Yeah … I’m sure we will.”
“I can just tell she’s going to be one of those lifelong friends, you know? The ones who are there for you through it all. You’re getting your color back, you know. You’re sleeping better these days. And your eyes sparkle again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were falling in love with someone.” Mama chuckles.
Oh, god.
There’s no way …
I’m not falling in love with August—I barely know him.
My stomach somersaults in protest.
It’s lust. Hardcore lust. We have insane physical chemistry and he’s a distraction and release for me—that’s all.
“Speaking of Adriana, I should get ready for work.” I kiss Mama’s cheek and trek to my room. Plucking my phone off the charger, I find a text waiting for me.
ENEMY DEAREST—Tonight?
ME—I can’t. How about Friday?
ENEMY DEAREST—I don’t know if I can wait that long …
ME—You’re going to have to. I can’t keep sneaking out like this.
ENEMY DEAREST—Then I’ll come to you.
ME—You’re insane. I’ll see you Friday.
I catch my reflection in my dresser mirror—big, old, dopey grin and eyes lit like fireworks.
This isn’t love. Not even close. But I kind of worry that it might be something …
I just don’t know what that something is yet—or if I can tamp it down before it turns into something bigger than the two of us.
Chapter Twenty-Five
August
* * *
It’s half-past midnight when I park a block away from Sheridan’s house. Jogging up the sidewalk, I shoot her a message.
ME—Which window is yours?
ROSE GIRL—What?
ME—I’m outside your house. I told you I was coming over tonight.
ROSE GIRL—Omfg. You’re lying.
Her little blue Nissan is parked in front of her family’s bungalow.
She’s home.
ME—Is it the one with the flower curtains? And the lamp light on?
ROSE GIRL—My parents are home …
ME—Are they sleeping?
ROSE GIRL—Yes, but that’s not the point. You literally. Can. Not. Be. Here.
I rap on her window, light but audible enough. A second later the curtains fly open and she slides the lower portion up.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she yell-whispers.
“I told you—I can’t wait until Friday.”
“You have to go home.” She keeps her voice low, turning back to check the door.
“Help me up.” I climb up the siding. To my surprise, she pops out the torn screen, grabs onto my arms, and pulls me into her room, which is exactly the way she described it last night, only she neglected to mention the unicorn snow globe on her nightstand.
“You’re truly insane. You know that, right? One hundred percent. Certifiable.” She crosses her arms.“I cannot believe you’re here right now.”
I silence her with a kiss.
“Shh,” I remind her. Capturing her wrist, I lead her to the bed, but she resists.
“No,” she says, “it’s too loud.”
Fine. Floor sex it is.
I crush her lips with mine and part them with my tongue, tasting her spearmint toothpaste and soaking in the heat from her body. A minute later we’re on the floor, Sheridan grinding on my lap as I slide her pajama bottoms aside and she impales herself onto me. With every slow, intentional roll of her hips, she brings us closer to the edge. And when she’s almost there, she buries her face in my shoulder and rocks against me so hard the lamp on her nightstand shakes.
Quick and dirty, we finish in record time—for me personally—and she walks me to the window.
Her cheeks are flushed orgasm pink. For a second, the image of some drunk college douche trying to jam his pencil dick into her comes to mind, and a flash of heat crawls up my neck. In a couple of weeks, she’ll be free game. A pretty little freshman like her, with those perfect tits and those baby blue eyes would be ripe for the picking. She wouldn’t last two seconds at Bexler. The assholes I know would be stag-fighting for first dibs.