I ignore this comment as I flick on the light for a second to make sure the coast is clear. When I’m sure it is, I go inside.
Surprisingly, Crosby follows me in and cuts the light switch back off. “But you said—”
But I don’t get to finish that sentence.
Crosby lays a deep, angry, claiming kiss on my lips. I know what’s going on here. He’s upset. He has every right to be. When he comes up for air, he talks to me like a changed man. Something is different about him.
He backs me up against the wall as he speaks. “You told me you were nineteen,” he says.
“I am,” I squeak. Fuck me. Why does my voice only squeak in front of this man? I am not a squeaker.
“Then what the fuck are you still doing in high school?”
I’m glad it’s dark because I have to bite back tears. “My parents held me back a year because my mother insisted. She said it would put me ahead of the pack when I started school. When I started kindergarten, they told me I could tell everyone I was a year younger just to fit in, even though the teachers knew.”
“Next question. Why did you let me think you were in college?”
“Because…”
“Because you thought maybe I wouldn’t fuck a 19-year-old who was still in high school?”
“No! Because I was scared you wouldn’t be interested in me. Because a lot of the nerds at this school graduate early, and I didn’t want you to think I was dumb. I don't want you thinking that I’m only at this school because of my daddy’s money.”
Crosby lolls his head back in disbelief but keeps his hands locked on the wall on either side of me. “What? Why would I think that? Why would you think that I would think that?”
His eyes bore into me but I can’t meet them. I look at the floor as if studying it for answers.
“Ridley,” he rattles out.
I don’t answer him. Instead I press my lips together in a firm line and switch my gaze to the ceiling.
Finally having had enough of me avoiding his gaze, Crosby grips my face in both hands. “Look at me. Answer me. Do you get to be the one to tell me what to think of you?”
I have to breathe in and out slowly to take the focus off the sting of moisture in the corners of my eyes.
“I want to know. Who gets to decide what I think?”
My breath comes out in a rattle when our gazes finally meet. “You do,” I whisper, squinting angrily. “Now let me get out of here.”
“No!”
I press my fists against Crosby’s hard chest but not forcefully.
He responds by coming closer. So close I’m sure he can hear my heart thundering in my chest.
“Eyes on me, princess. Listen to me. You are brave, and smart, and hilarious, and the best fucking kisser on the entire planet.”
“And a liar.”
He shrugs and looks up, as if he’s considering what I said. “Meh, I’d say more clever than deceptive.”
I hang my head and sigh, letting a tear fall behind my curtain of hair so he can’t see.
“And I love you. Now, kiss me,” he says.
I look up to meet his gaze and it’s almost too much. Every time he looks into my soul like that, I want to die of embarrassment or cry.
23