He looked so dejected and worried I couldn't resist. I let go of the door and slid across the seat. I leaned over him, bracing myself with one hand on the center armrest and the other on his door. I was only a couple of inches from his face before he figured out what I was up to.
He sucked in a sharp breath in anticipation, and warmth spread through me. Nice that I could still provoke that reaction.
I brushed his mouth lightly with mine, focusing on the details. His familiar clean-boy-and-laundry scent and the soft friction of his lips beneath mine.
Will surprised me then, leaning forward into the kiss and lifting his hand to the back of my head to hold me closer. His mouth moved fiercely over mine, and it was like he was pouring all the words he couldn't say, all the complications we couldn't unsnarl, all his frustration and fear, into this one moment.
And I couldn't think, caught up in the taste of him, the feel of his heat inches from me, but I couldn't touch him, not without falling… and I really, really wanted to. Both touch and fall.
My arms started to shake… No, wait, scratch that — all of me was shaking. But I didn't care. I wanted to stay here forever.
Then Ed coughed and mumbled something in his sleep from the backseat, startling both of us. I'd forgotten he was there.
I leaned back away from Will, my breathing all uneven and my heart pounding, and slowly eased back into my seat. I caught myself wondering what it would have been like to be Ally during the kiss. It had been intense as it was, but I
Will watched me retreat with a warmth in his gaze that suggested I wasn't the only one who'd lost track of time, place, and circumstances.
I bit my lip, which felt puffy and tingly; I was so tempted to stay.
But for how long? That thought alone was enough to dump a metaphorical bucket of cold water on my overheated emotions.
I looked away from Will and fumbled for the door. “I'll be right back.”
“Promise?” he asked as I climbed out.
I didn't know what to say, caught between what I wanted and what I could control. So I didn't say anything at all.
A long-established piece of wisdom from Ben's soirees was that it wasn't a party until someone was barfing in the bushes. Specifically, Mrs. Rogers's rhododendrons. Fortunately, Katee Goode was filling that role quite admirably — and kind of impressively — when I came around the corner.
Katee was a
I looked at the back of her blond head — plainly visible in the bright moonlight — bobbing above the greenery, and felt a sharp pang of envy. Katee would, in theory, put in another two years at Groundsboro and move on to college and then the rest of her life, where this moment would be a distant memory. She had her whole life ahead of her. I did not.
I felt my nails dig into my palms as I clenched my hands in fists. I, who'd never envied anybody anything — except maybe Lily for her family — envied the girl upchucking in the underbrush? No way.
It was pathetic.
Anyone dumb enough to come here and get that wasted, especially alone — a very sophomore, third-tier move — did not deserve to be envied.
Maybe. Maybe not. But it didn't change how I felt.
I sighed and kept walking.
Ben's backyard looked like it had at all the other parties I'd attended here. The food — chips of assorted varieties in plastic bowls, and pizza that was already mostly gone — was laid out on several card tables.
The keg was probably just inside the tree line at the back of the property, based on the steady flow of red-cup-carrying partyers coming and going from that general direction.
Most people had gathered on the open grass between the deck and the woods, dancing, talking in small clusters, and generally stumbling around. The outdoor floodlights were on, and someone, Ben probably, had stabbed the ground with those tacky bamboo torches at varying intervals throughout the yard. The flickering flames cast wild shadows across the faces of those standing near them. Music thumped hard from huge speakers near the deck — someone's iPod was plugged in, churning through a party mix that was mostly bass and nothing recognizable at that volume.
