Page 35 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

The first thing my bleary eyes land on when they open are airy curtains over a daylit window that does not belong to me.

Despite that and my drowsiness, I know where I am, and it’s a place I’m happy to be.

I roll onto my back from my side, rub at my eyes, blink a few times, feel the cool air of the room on my arms because I’m just in my t-shirt now, not my hoodie. Then I look beside me in the bed to where Maggie is curled up and facing me under the edge of the same blanket that’s covering me, her eyes closed and bangs ruffled away from her forehead a little; her scar is in full view, tempting to my fingertips like always.

What a girl.

What a well-spent night—those kisses, our truths, the varied topics of conversation we visited and lighter kisses we shared until we were so tired we fell asleep together.

Together.

We’re together again. Together for real.

This is the most real we’ve ever been. I ended up having true feelings for her when we dated in high school, but we all know that relationship still wasn’t built as strongly as it should’ve been. It’s different this time. It’s better in every way.

I’m so ready to move on from what was and throw my arms around what is, what can be.

I was so ready for it yesterday after the thing with Kyle that having to spend time away from her was the strangest form of torture. She wouldn’t stay out of my thoughts or off my lips or hands. I had trouble concentrating on other things, even conversations with Paxton that I was in the middle of. As much as I wanted Maggie to do what she needed to do with her friends, it had been hard to let her go, and the more time we spent apart, the more it felt like my very skin was restricting me, as well as the walls of Pax’s place while we gamed, and the empty air around me once I was at home and waiting for her to be able to call me. It was driving me insane. In fact, by the time she did call, I already knew hearing her voice wasn’t going to be enough. I needed to see her again. I needed to quit holding back and finally tell her I didn’t want to pretend anymore.

Even though I didn’t believe she’d shoot me down, I also didn’t totally rule out that possibility. She and I have been in a delicate place lately. So when I asked if I could come back over here, I was already prepared for her to say no to my confession or to ask me to leave. I knew what I’d say next. I knew the arguments I’d make in favor of us. And I knew that if I had to, I would beg her to give me this chance; if I was with her when I did it, I would literally get on my knees. I would do anything in order to prove myself to her.

Still would. Anytime. In any situation.

There’s not much I wouldn’t do to show her how serious I am about her.

The deep truth of that does something warm to my chest.

Just like seeing her did—goddamn, seeing her at the door in the middle of the night after the day we’d had together and apart, with everything on my mind…yeah, it did a number on my chest. Then being let into the apartment, walked to her room, closed in, looked at so open-heartedly with those eyes….

I had to kiss her. I had to do it better than I did at the park, better than on my couch—better than I ever have. There was no resisting that just like there was no resisting being honest with her.

And she didn’t shoot me down. Didn’t push me away or hesitate. She just gave every single bit of it back to me; she kissed me, embraced me, agreed with me, said yes to me.

Now we’re here.

We didn’t touch the past, which I’ve decided is okay. We’ve decided it’s okay. Some part of me has been wondering if we need to talk about it just to try to really get over it—God knows I’m as sorry now for what I did as I ever was, and maybe she…you know, maybe she’s sorry too…but maybe she’s still hurt and she doesn’t want to discuss it and that’s why she agreed to leaving it all behind. If things look good from here without us reopening those wounds, then why bother? We don’t want to end up ruining this with all that. We want to hold on to this.

I can’t wait to hold on to her. Can’t wait for her to hold on to me.

Momentarily, I think back to Kyle and how I also can’t wait to see if he leaves her alone. I hope I didn’t fuck things up worse by saying what I said—and yet I knew I couldn’t keep any of it in. In spite of the logical things I knew about handling the situation, it felt so much like the way to take care of her in those moments was to make clear to that guy that he needs to give up on her before he pisses me off past the point of return.

Part of me feels stupid about it.

The rest of me, though…the rest of me remembers the look that came to his face. His remorse was genuine, as was his aversion to things escalating the way I promised they will if he doesn’t go away. He said he doesn’t want trouble and…honestly, I believed him. Still do.

Maybe we really have seen the last of him.

Maybe the thing that brought me and Maggie back together is gone and now there’s nothing for us to think about but us.

I’m optimistic.

At last, I roll to face her. I sluggishly seek out one of her hands beneath the blanket, enclose it in mine, and shut my eyes again.

Mmm. Comfortable.

More than comfortable, truth be told. Falling asleep alone the night before last was worse than I expected. I missed having her beside me. Missed how she felt, how her breathing sounded. And God knows I couldn’t get my many desires for her out of my head—I couldn’t stop wishing I could kiss her again, touch her, make her laugh more, and…

…well, I shouldn’t think about the rest of that stuff right now, for more than one reason, not the least of which is that I can hear one of her friends starting to bang around in the kitchen.

I guess she picks up on that, too, because she suddenly takes a swifter breath and starts stirring.

But I reopen my eyes and find that before she even tries to open hers, she notices I’m holding her hand and lazily flexes her fingers around it. A soft, sleepy smile touches her lips.

It makes me smile, too, before I lightly shift closer to her, slowly lean my face to hers, alert her without words that I can’t keep my own lips to myself. Can’t care about a little morning breath or her nearby friend or whatever time it is.

I kiss her, and like the other morning, she kisses me right back. Doesn’t interrupt us with another gasp of shock, though. Just lets her mouth move with mine in the sweetest, most languid way.

I remember my tongue delving past those soft lips last night, remember the way it felt for her to hold on to me as tightly as I was holding on to her. Everything I gave to her, she gave right back to me.

The tentative arch of her against me has me registering that I’ve stopped holding her hand and started slipping mine down her back. I find bare skin because the bottom of her shirt is twisted up some, and now we do take a quick breath out of our kiss—her body comes towards mine even more, instinctive and soft…she’s so damn soft and warm. I pull her in even more, shift even closer, silently beg her to mold to me and melt me and make even more of an addict out of me.

And she does, with her palm fitting to the side of my neck and then slipping up into the back of my hair, her lips meeting me again, her leg grazing mine like she wants to drape it over. All of it makes my pulse skip hard, but the dips and curves and lines of our bodies coming together doesn’t change these new kisses we share; they’re still slow and sweet. They’re savoring.

So is my hand as it drifts up just under the back of her twisted shirt, then over her waist and stom—

She makes a quiet noise and recoils a little bit. Her lips leave mine and her hand leaves my hair for my shoulder.

Worry and regret hit me hard.

I break our silence with a scratchily murmured.

“I’m sorry.”

I fumble to tug at her shirt and cover her bared skin with it.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to, uh, rush or…. I just…. But I should’ve asked before I….”

For a few moments, she only breathes unevenly. Then she murmurs scratchily, too.

“It’s just that I wonder if—if you’d prefer not to touch me like that until I’ve been exercising for longer. I’m…not as skinny as I used to be. Not that I was ever skinny-skinny, but….”

The words run in circles in my head, surprising and confusing.

I’ve had my eyes closed up to now, so I open them so I can catch her gaze. She looks back at me, but self-consciousness is all over her. She swallows hard.

My heart rate picks up not only with dislike for her being mean to herself but also from how hazily lovely she looks and from the words climbing up my throat.

I sit up on my forearm, then lean over enough to kiss the corner of her lips, and her cheek, and her jaw. Her breath catches and her fingers find better purchase on my shoulder—as I go towards her ear, I feel her body curving to mine once again like she can’t stop it.

That turns me a little breathless.

My voice nears a whisper as I say.

“I think you’ve forgotten that you’re my ten.”

She makes another quiet noise, but it doesn’t come with another withdrawal.

I slip my fingers into her hair and comb it back, following the shape of her ear.

“I loved how you looked years ago and I love how you look now. I totally support you working out, but I also don’t care about a number on a scale or sizes of clothing or any of that. I don’t actually care if you exercise or don’t. None of it changes that you’re my ten.”

She huffs out a breath. Her hand goes from my shoulder to underneath my arm, then to my back, then up between my shoulder blades. I try to stay steady as she inches into hugging me to her, but I can feel her trembling and her soft chest and her lips dusting over the bit of my neck she can reach, and I’ve never felt any kind of kiss there from her before, and I want so badly to let all of it carry me away. I want to kiss those lips again, hold her again, be part of her breaths again.

I have one more thing to say, though, so I say it.

“Stop me from touching you if you don’t want me to do it, not ’cause you think I don’t wanna do it. I always wanna do it.”

I feel the clumsy stamp of her lips to my neck now and I shiver, return the kiss just below her ear, then confess.

“If I had my way, I’d never fucking take my hands off of you. They’d live on your body, Maggie.”

The way she shifts and pulls and angles has me shifting, pulling, angling with her—in short seconds, her sweet mouth is taking mine and I’m so fucking good with being taken.

And with being rocked by another shudder when her hand goes down my spine.

And with being partly tugged over her as she topples onto her back from lying on her side, her one leg finally curling around mine.

I have to let go of a moan. Have to brace myself not just to keep from crushing her somehow but also to be able to take her mouth right back.

After her own moan leaves her, her lips slip from mine and she says.

“I always want you to touch me too. Always wanna touch you. I don’t like how my body feels, but I…but you make me feel….”

When she doesn’t keep going, I whisper.

“What? As beautiful as you are?”

The heat in her cheeks radiates onto mine.

“I don’t know. I just know that when you touch me, it’s something so good.”

Serious satisfaction touches me.

Still, I’ll never stop trying to get her to see herself the way I see her. I’ll never stop trying to help with her self-confidence. Everyone deserves to love the skin they’re in. And Maggie really has always been the best thing I’ve ever laid eyes on; it was true even when I was my most furious and heartbroken because of her. Her weight and shape definitely never caused that to waver.

I tell her.

“Well, you should be aware that you’re damn beautiful,”

and then I add teasingly.

“but it’s okay if you disagree with me on that for now. You can’t be right all the time.”

As I go in to kiss her anew, her laughter is shy and raspy against my lips, her smile uncontrollable. It makes me smile, too, before the kiss overtakes us. Her mouth presses and pulls with mine as her arm around me tightens.

A couple minutes ago when my hand started exploring her skin and started this whole conversation, I hadn’t been feeling bold. I’d just been going along with her flow, our flow. But now a rush of boldness does come over me—I want her skin under my palm again and I want my skin under hers, so I untangle my fingers from her hair and start to invite her to get beneath my shirt and—

“Maggie?”

We start apart at the new voice and its accompanying knock on the door.

“Are you awake yet?”

I think Joy asks.

My sharp exhalation collides with Maggie’s.

She turns her face towards the door and calls with remarkable composure.

“Not quite. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay.”

I don’t want to greet the day outside this bedroom, but with our moments alone interrupted, I have to admit.

“I don’t even know what time it is.”

Maggie gives me a little smile.

“I don’t either. And I don’t wanna find out.”

Her eyes drift over my face with gentle, almost lazy longing.

“Friendsgiving, though.”

“Yeah.”

God, I’m used to this already—to waking up with her being the first thing I encounter and to this closeness that’s vulnerable and smoldering and easy all at once.

More banging noises come from the kitchen, making both of us sigh. As damn good as all this is, I could definitely do without the interruptions.

“In case you forgot,”

she says softly, unwinding her hug of me to lay curled fingers to my cheek.

“you’re my ten too.”

I had forgotten she returned that sentiment to me, and I’m glad to be reminded.

I slant down to her lips again.

“Thank you.”

“Thank y….”

For long, slow moments, our kiss is more important than words.

Then I shift to whisper near her ear again.

“By the way, I really am gonna give the thank-you money back to you, and I don’t wanna hear shit about it.”

Her laugh-laced, eye-crinkling grin is contagious.

But it does make me think of noise, which makes me think of her friends, which makes me lean back and ask.

“So, is my presence gonna be announced to your friends here in a minute or do you wanna sneak me out?”

I love it when this girl’s cheeks go pink.

I don’t love the prospect of having to tiptoe out the front door, though. I didn’t want to wake Joy and Emma during the night when I was so hung up on telling Maggie I want to be with her for real, but now that that’s settled and it’s a new day, I don’t care who—

“I don’t wanna sneak you out,”

she answers.

“I’m happy you’re here, and they’ll be happy I’m happy. But even if they wouldn’t be, I still wouldn’t wanna hide you.”

A smile of relief comes over me.

She worries her lower lip with her teeth and asks.

“What about you? Would you rather they didn’t know you’ve been here?”

I brush my thumb over that lip.

“Nope. Show me off, Green Eyes.”

She gives a soft snort of amusement, but I notice relief about her too.

“Okay. Are you gonna show me off, too, Blue Eyes?”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

Nevermind that we’ve been acting like a couple in public for some time already. We both already know we have. This agreement still means something, because this is genuine now.

I don’t know how to describe how good that makes me feel.

I get one last good look at her before I tsk and say.

“All right, let’s get up, I guess.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Then she pauses in the middle of moving the blanket back, sweeps her gaze over me, too, and looks…just…bright. With that expression on her face and her hair tumbling over her shoulders and her cheeks still a little pink and her side of the bed rumpled where she was just lying, she’s a certain kind of flawless.

I swear she’s thinking much the same about me.

Our eyes meet and we share one last smile before we get moving.

And I decide I actually don’t mind greeting the day, because doing that means carrying on with her.