Page 41 of I Would Stay Forever (Parkhurst Prep #2)

twenty-seven

Safe to say, my brain was gone for the rest of the night and all through the next day.

I went to every class, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing I was taught.

I kept up in conversation with my friends but forgot what we talked about as soon as I walked away.

I went to volleyball practice but I couldn’t even remember stepping on the court before I was walking off it.

I lingered by the bleachers for longer than I should have, just staring at the spot that Dean and I had been in yesterday.

I could practically feel his lips on mine as I stood there, remembering the taste of his gum and the feel of his hands on my hips, pulling me in closer.

Before I knew it, my heart was pounding for reasons completely unrelated to the workout I’d just done.

It was because of these imaginations that when I walked out of the school and saw him alone on the football field, I was sure I was seeing things.

I blinked, squinting into the early evening sun, certain my imagination had gone rogue again.

But no—Dean was actually there near the fifty-yard line, tossing a football lightly from one hand to the other.

His hoodie was off, slung over the goalpost, and his white T-shirt clung to his chest, the late September sun sinking behind him and turning everything gold.

My heart did a somersault. Then another.

He looked good. Too good. His helmet was discarded on the grass beside him, his dark hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the edges.

The sleeves of his practice shirt were rolled up, revealing those arms—stupid, ridiculous arms that I’d felt wrap around me yesterday when he pulled me in, when he kissed me. Gosh, had that really happened?

I should’ve turned away. I should’ve just walked to my car and gone home like a normal person who wasn’t secretly kissing her older brother’s best friend behind everyone’s back.

But instead I found myself walking toward him, as if pulled by some invisible string.

My trainers crunched softly on the artificial turf as I walked.

He saw me when I was halfway there. A crooked smile crossed his face like he wasn’t surprised. As if me showing up out here was an every day occurrence.

I stopped a few feet away, trying to appear chill despite the fact I was practically vibrating out of my skin. I was still in my volleyball shorts and a loose hoodie, hair pulled up in a messy bun that had definitely stopped being cute after practice.

“Hey,” I said. Without responding verbally, he tossed the football to me.

I caught it instinctively, though I immediately noted how strange it felt in my hands.

I’d played rugby a few times in P.E. when I was a kid, which was the closest I’d ever come to playing American Football, but I’d never taken to it.

“You ever thrown one of those?” Dean asked.

I looked down at it like it was a live grenade. “I’m from London, Dean. We played the real kind of football—the one with our feet.”

When I looked up again, his eyes were glinting and I got the distinct sense I’d walked right into his trap, even though I wasn’t sure what that trap could be.

“So you’re saying you’ve never held a real football before?”

“I told you, this isn’t ‘real’ football.” I tucked the football under my arm so I could make air quotes around real. “But if you’re asking if I’ve ever held one of these, no I haven’t.”

Dean laughed, the sound low and easy, and suddenly I felt a rush of pride for making him do that—for being the reason he sounded so unguarded, so real.

“Alright, British girl. Let me teach you a thing or two.”

“I already know the important parts.” I tossed the ball back to him, throwing it the completely wrong way—holding each pointy end and throwing underhand. Dean snorted but he managed to catch it all the same. “You run around and tackle each other until someone scores.”

“Wow, you’ve got it. You should be our new game announcer.” He walked up to me, holding the ball out for me to grab it again. “Here. We’ll do a quick warm-up. You throw, I catch.”

“I don’t recall saying I wanted to play.”

He wiggled the ball at me. “Humor me.”

With a dramatic sigh, I took it and tried to mimic how I’d seen players hold it—fingers on the laces, elbow bent.

I wound up and tossed it. The ball spun sideways and hit the ground several feet short of him.

My earlier throw had been leagues better and it wasn’t even how it was supposed to be done.

Dean didn’t even try to catch it—just burst out laughing again. “Okay, okay. That was… not the worst first try I’ve seen.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Seriously,” he said, jogging to retrieve it. “There was this kid in freshman year who threw it backward. At least you’re better than that.”

When he came back to me with the ball, I grabbed it from his hands and turned to run.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he called.

“Scoring a goal!”

He groaned. “Touchdown. It’s called a touchdown.”

“Whatever! Watch me, I’m about to make football history.”

“You don’t even know where the end zone is.”

He chased after me, and I shrieked, laughing as I tried to dodge him, but I didn’t stand a chance. His arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me clean off the ground. I flailed, the football slipping from my fingers and rolling across the grass.

“Put me down!” I laughed. He spun me once before we both lost balance and tumbled to the grass, me landing squarely on top of him.

“You’re cheating!” I gasped, kicking gently at his shin.

“I’m tackling. That’s legal.”

“We weren’t even playing for real!”

“I take all my games seriously.”

His hands still held my waist, my hair falling in a curtain around his face as we both gasped and laughed and tried to catch our breath.

His eyes were close—closer than they’d been all afternoon.

Close enough that I could see the little flecks of gold in them, the crease at the corner from squinting into the sun.

I felt almost like I could count every eyelash and freckle on his face.

The laughter slowly died from my throat and before I knew what I was doing, I brush my hair aside and lowered my face to his.

It wasn’t like yesterday, not really. That kiss had been charged and sudden.

This one was slower. Surer. The kind you sink into, that makes you forget where you are or the millions of reasons you shouldn’t be doing it.

His hands tightened on my waist, and I felt his body shift beneath mine, the tension in him unraveling all at once like he’d been holding his breath too.

His mouth was warm, his kiss deepening just slightly, like he couldn’t help it, like he’d wanted this just as badly.

I let one hand press against his chest, not to push him away but to anchor myself to something real. His heart was pounding as fast as mine, which only made me want to kiss him harder, to somehow melt further into him.

His hand slid up, gently brushing my back beneath the hem of my hoodie, and I shivered—not from cold but from the touch itself, from how careful he was.

How patient. He could’ve pulled me in hard.

Could’ve rolled us over. Could’ve done a million things boys with big reputations and strong arms usually did.

But he didn’t.

I pulled back just enough to look at him again, my breath catching when I saw the way he was looking at me. Like I was something important. Like maybe I wasn’t just his best friend’s sister. Maybe I wasn’t just a mistake he couldn’t help making. Maybe—just maybe—I was something more.

He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but I pressed my finger gently to his lips.

“Don’t,” I whispered, not because I didn’t want to hear it but because I didn’t want to break whatever spell we were in. I didn’t want words to ruin the silence that was holding us, fragile and perfect.

He nodded, just a little. My finger stilled against his mouth, his lips parted under my touch.

For a beat, neither of us moved. The wind blew past us, blowing my hair every which way. Some seagulls called in the distance. The hum of cicadas in the trees filled the air. It was like it was just nature and us existing in the world right now.

I slid sideways, rolling off of him and onto the turf instead so we were laying side by side.

The world spun for a second before settling again, and I took a deep breath of fresh air, feeling more alive than I had in weeks.

I probably would have stayed there in that silence for hours if my phone didn’t start ringing, breaking through the quiet moment.

Another day, I might not have answered it, but the call from Imogen on Sunday was still fresh in my mind and if I didn’t answer now, I would wonder whether something had happened.

I mumbled an apology to Dean as I gave the phone a passing glance, seeing Ainsley’s name on the screen, then swiped the “accept call” button.

“Hey,” I said. I hadn’t talked to either of the twins since driving them to school this morning, when Imogen told me she’d get a ride home from a friend instead of waiting until after my volleyball practice. “What’s up?”

“We’re leaving for Sebastian’s football match in half an hour,” she said. “Mum’s driving me and Imogen, but we’re bringing Nora with us so there won’t be much room in the car. Were you planning to drive with us or are you meeting us at the school?”

She was speaking so quickly that I could barely keep up, my mind spinning from all the words she was saying. Sebastian’s match? I pulled my phone away from my ear with a frown, glancing at the date on the screen. How had I completely forgotten it was Wednesday?