Page 29

TWENTY-THREE

ruby

A thrilling and uncomfortable undercurrent of energy has been alive inside me in the eighteen hours since Lorenzo and I kissed—since I told him the truth and somehow, for once in my life, got exactly what I want.

As I wait for him to come over, I pour that energy into cleaning my small apartment: gathering laundry, dusting my bedroom, changing my sheets. As I’m vacuuming under the bed, I spot a dust-covered slip of hot-pink paper: Wythe’s comments that I hastily scribbled down.

I still don’t know why I did it. I was angry when I wrote it, but that’s not all.

Ever since she gave me shit for not working hard, I find myself liking Wythe.

Maybe I like anyone who sees promise in me.

My mind goes to the email I spotted and quickly deleted from my inbox this morning, a newsletter from the food sciences department with Shreya Wythe’s name in the headline.

I grab my phone, find the newsletter in my deleted folder, and read the short interview with Wythe.

Afterward, I compose an email to her before I can have second thoughts. I don’t assume too much friendliness because I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me. But I suspect she wants to. I check my spelling and grammar twice before hitting Send. Then there’s a knock at my door.

My whole body warms when I find Lorenzo standing there. I can’t stop smiling. And are those ... nerves? I’ve felt a lot of things for Lorenzo, but I’ve never felt nervous.

“Brought you something.” He holds out a small box with a bright yellow ribbon. His smile is faint and a little shy, a smile I’ve seen him give to others but never to me. My insides flutter.

“Gifts already?” I take the box and wave him inside. “Is this the sort of thing I’m supposed to open in private?”

“Nah, figured I’d work up to that.”

I hesitate just inside the doorway. Normally we’d head for my couch, but this isn’t normal.

There’s something new here that didn’t exist before.

There’s me and Lorenzo, and now we’re us .

Not the us that everyone has always known but the new kind, the kind that exists only when no one else is watching.

It was never intended to be a secret, but the secret is practically the best part.

I lead him into my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed. He follows me closely, then watches as I open the box.

“Kvikk Lunsj!” I cry, pulling out the four bars of chocolate wrapped in red, yellow, and green packaging—basically the best candy ever invented. “Where did you even find these?”

“The European market.”

“I’ve never seen them there.” I hold one bar up to my nose and inhale the sweet cocoa scent. I discovered Kvikk Lunsj on a family vacation to Norway years ago and have tasted them only a handful of times since.

“Must be your lucky day.”

I smile, a little self-conscious but in a good way. “So is this what it’s like being one of Lorenzo’s girls? Showered with gifts all day?”

“Is this what it’s like being one of Ruby’s boys? Led to the bedroom first thing?” His hand slides over the bed toward my thigh.

“Only the ones who bring me gifts,” I tease.

His eyes flare in mock shock, and he squeezes my thigh hard, tickling me. I jerk back, letting out an incredibly unsexy snort. Lorenzo laughs, and then I’m lying back on the bed and he’s looking down at me like he wants to roll right on top of me.

“What I wouldn’t give for two good shoulders right now.” He shoves a few pastel stuffed animals off the bed without breaking my gaze.

“Guess you’ll have to be the one on your back.”

I stack two pillows and he lies down against them.

He draws his finger slowly under my chin, and I can feel what’s going to happen next, but it doesn’t happen yet.

He hesitates and I stay where I am, gazing at him, anxious to do what we’re about to do—kiss and maybe more—but scared too.

He cups his good arm around my waist and pulls me close.

“Come here.” His voice has dropped an octave.

I straddle him, remembering the last time I did this and how certain I felt then.

Lorenzo draws one hand slowly from my shoulder to my belly to my thigh in a teasing threat to tickle me again, a flicker of a smile on his lips.

My body tenses, but it’s not about the tickling.

His eyes follow his hand, and I can’t get enough of the look in them as he watches himself touch my body.

Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Like he’s half expecting me to stop him at any second.

I cover his hand with mine and slide it slowly back up my body until he’s cupping my face, and when I lean down, he lifts his head and kisses me like he can’t wait that extra second it would take me to reach him.

I might be on top, but he’s setting the pace.

Soft and slow kisses; god, Lorenzo is the master of slow seduction.

His hand tangles in my hair on the side of my head, and I ache to feel that hand slide down my body and inside my shorts, but he grips his fingers tight like he’s using all his strength just to stay anchored there.

Lorenzo has always had the kind of self-control I could only dream of.

I focus on the sweet warmth of his mouth and the masculine feel of his jawline under his stubble.

For now it’ll have to be enough. Being with Lorenzo always makes me feel like we have forever.

A familiar ping of an incoming text sounds from Lorenzo’s phone. Then a second. He pauses. “Were we supposed to do something?”

My head is cloudy. “Something. But I don’t remember what.”

He reaches for his phone. “Oh, yeah. Dinner.”

I sigh unhappily. Pizza with Reeve and his newest conquest sounded fun enough when I agreed to it, but that was before making out with Lorenzo was on the table.

“Sorry.” His voice is a husky whisper.

I catch his arm before he can get up. “Wait.” His pulse beats under my fingers. “We could stay here.”

He gazes at me, clearly working through the possible interpretations of my words. “Yeah? And do what?”

I swallow the words I want to say as though just saying them is as dangerous as living them.

“Fuck?” he answers for me, voice low. A sexy smile tugs at his lips, making me throb. “Yeah, we could stay here and fuck. If that’s what you want.”

I picture it: this position but no clothes, my body gliding against his, sweat slicking our skin.

His eyes jump back and forth between mine, so I catch the second he answers his own question, the second he sees hesitation in my eyes.

Because I want him more than anything, but I am hesitating.

I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into with Lorenzo, and I can only imagine how deep I’d get myself in if we had sex.

“Come on, Hayes.” He nods toward the door before nudging me off him. “Let’s get dinner.”

We’re a secret, and I don’t just like that because it’s delicious.

I like it because it means that when we step outside, I know exactly how to act: just like I always have.

No hand-holding or kissing or googly eyes.

It’s a welcome break from wondering what’s okay and what’s not, and I’m far more comfortable pretending not to be interested in Lorenzo than I am in indulging my attraction to him. I have years of experience pretending.

We’re just inside the pizza place when Lorenzo gets another text. He smirks as he reads it. “Sounds like Reeve and Mrs. Reeve are going to be late.”

“What’s her real name?”

He shrugs. “For today? Mrs. Reeve.”

“I guess every girl at Shafer gets her one night in that role.”

“Every girl?”

“Every girl but me.” I reach out to squeeze his hand, then change my mind. We’re in public. “Should we wait to order?”

“He said not to. They’re probably fucking.” He slides his gaze to me on that last word, like he might be talking about them fucking but he’s thinking about us. Or maybe I’m projecting.

“How do you know?” I ask, trying to pretend I don’t notice the gritty way he said the word fucking and that it doesn’t throw me completely off-balance.

“Educated guess.”

If he was any other guy I was into, I’d be holding his hand right now, trailing my fingers up his forearm, slow and rhythmic.

He’d have no doubt I was picturing getting naked with him right now.

I don’t really do coy. But I don’t know how to act around Lorenzo or which of my thoughts I even want him to know, so I just stand next to him while he orders us a pizza from the counter.

We’ve gone from being strictly platonic best friends to best friends who kiss, but what other rules have we established? None.

“Don’t forget I’m going home tomorrow until Sunday to help my parents,” he says, mixing dressing into the Greek salad we’re splitting. “Come with me?”

“I’d have to drive separately—I have to work the garden Friday morning.”

“Then drive separately.” He looks at me an extra second and gives me a private smile. “It’ll be worth it.”

This invitation thrills me, but I try to play it cool. “Maybe if my parents are gone for the weekend.”

“Aren’t they always? Come up either way. You can hide out at my house.”

“And what would be the point of that? I can’t kiss you in front of your parents.”

“Look, at this point we could shower together and they wouldn’t suspect anything.

They think you’re too smart to fall for me.

” He takes a long drink of water while I watch the way his throat moves.

“So will you come up?” It’s a question, but is it really?

With the way his dark eyes dance, communicating the smile that’s not quite on his lips, I doubt it.

What am I doing pretending I wouldn’t drive to Alaska if it meant spending the night with him? I relent with a smile.

We’re still eating when Reeve walks in. He’s briefly apologetic, but there’s no cocky smile on his face.

“Nice hair,” I compliment him, admiring the blazing orange streak that cuts through his blond hair.

“Think so?” he asks. “I don’t know if orange is my color.”

“Where’s your lady friend?” Lorenzo asks. “Too worn out to join us?”

Reeve nods toward the window. On the other side of it, a girl I don’t recognize is chatting into her phone. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s always like that.”

“Actually,” he says, leaning over the table and helping himself to a slice of pizza, “we were talking.” He sounds proud of himself.

“You don’t talk to girls.”

“I do now.” He shrugs. “She’s got family shit going on.”

Lorenzo and I exchange a look.

“Don’t look so shocked, Ruby,” Reeve scolds. “Whatever this man told you about me, it’s all lies.”

“Not shocked, impressed,” I tell him.

He pretends to brush some dirt off his shoulder. “Yeah, well, you know.”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Reeve—whose name turns out to be Brooklyn—has joined us, and the secret Lorenzo and I share doesn’t seem so delicious anymore.

Not when I see the way Brooklyn squeezes Reeve’s bicep and he throws his arm around her, how open their affection is when they barely even know each other.

All I feel is envy. I want to be free to touch Lorenzo and kiss him on the cheek and stare at him without worrying whether anyone might notice my gaze lingers a little too long.

I want everyone to know he’s mine. But we agreed to keep this between us.

And, more importantly, I don’t even know if he is mine.

What am I actually doing? Am I a fool for jumping into this with no forethought about where it could go?

Or am I a fool for not telling him years ago I wanted to be with him?

It was so much easier than it should have been.

I’ve never dared to think he spent the same years longing for me that I longed for him, but what if I was wrong?

And then talk turns to football and Lorenzo’s recovery, and I’m reminded he’s not mine, not for long.

Lorenzo’s future is football, and I don’t want to go dreaming I might be part of that future when the reality is so uncertain.

This miserable little feeling lives inside me for the rest of dinner, small but hungry, swallowing my enjoyment of being out with my best friend and my anticipation of what’ll happen when we go home tonight.

Reeve and Brooklyn linger at the table while Lorenzo and I say goodbye and head out.

Just outside the door, Lorenzo slides his arm around me, a move he’s done a thousand times.

But it’s never made me feel whole like it does now.

I look at him, and nothing matters but this moment.

Not even our secret. I’m not going to spend my days scared about what might happen.

I kiss him right there at the window where Reeve and everyone else can see if they care to look.

I feel Lorenzo’s surprise, but then his lips soften against mine and all my misery is gone.

No, I don’t know what we are or what we’ll be a month from now.

I don’t know his future or mine or if ours will intertwine. But right now he’s all mine.