Page 52 of Get Over It, April Evans

It felt like amoment.

A few minutes later, the laughter faded, and Daphne waited for April’s expression to shutter, for her to sigh, clear her throat, and go back to being the April that Daphne expected—perfectly nice at this point in their relationship, sure, but reserved. Cautious.

And April did sigh. She did clear her throat as she stared up at the ceiling, her fingers laced over her stomach. But then she turned on her side, wet hair slicked back, and propped herself up on her elbow, head resting in her hand.

She didn’t say anything at first.

She just looked at Daphne, and Daphne looked back, her breathing suddenly shallow and quick. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, April’s eyes dark as she studied Daphne’s face. Daphne expected to start squirming, or maybe even start laughing again, but for once, she found she didn’t mind the scrutiny. Didn’t mind studying April right back, finally allowing herself to reallylookafter days and days of forcing her gaze away.

And now that she could, she saw that April was like a painting—intricate and layered and lovely. Fathomless eyes, smooth skin and round cheeks, a thin top lip over a fuller bottom one, both curvinginto barely noticeable dimples at the corners. A work of art, really, and Daphne felt as though she could look forever and still not have her fill, still not truly capture the whole picture.

Daphne wondered what April saw when she looked at her.

April’s gaze slid down to Daphne’s mouth, then back up, and Daphne’s stomach fluttered.

No, not fluttered.

Swelled and then crested and crashed, like a tsunami just offshore.

She wasn’t sure what to say or do, but she wanted…shewanted, and she didn’t know what to do with that feeling. It was wild and reckless and possibly just plain stupid, but she couldn’t seem to get the feeling to calm down either, like an involuntary response—fight, flight, or freeze.

But this was April. And that fact—the two of them, existing together at all—already felt like stepping into a minefield, tiptoeing through danger.

“Thanks for helping me back to the cabin,” Daphne said.

April shrugged. “It’s what friends do.”

“Are we friends?” Daphne asked, smiling.

April laughed. “I think that’s at least partially accurate.”

“I’m glad,” Daphne said. “I haven’t got many of those.”

“No?”

Daphne shook her head. “I had a best friend in college. Vivian. But I’ve…” She trailed off, a knot in her throat.

“You’ve what?” April asked.

She was inches away, and her question sounded so earnest, Daphne felt herself relax. She blew out a long breath.

“I’ve been a bad friend.” Daphne sighed, looking toward the ceiling. “Vivian was my roommate all four years of college and one of the first queer friends I ever had. We never dated or anything, but she really helped me navigate…I don’t know. Theworld. It was overwhelming. So much freedom after so little. I was a mess for a while. Most of my first year, really, and Vivian was there for all of it. She helped me ask out the girl I was crushing on sophomore year, and she was there after I couldn’t relax enough to let the same girl under my shirt and preemptively broke up with her.”

“Ouch,” April said.

Daphne smiled. “Yeah.”

“And now?” April said.

“I don’t know. After I met Elena—”

“The Devil herself, yes, go on,” April said.

Daphne grinned. “The actual Devil? Seems a bit hyperbolic.”

“Potayto, potahto.”

“A Disney villain, maybe,” Daphne said.