So we made plans of our own.
I rap on Waverly’s door at eleven o’clock that Saturday night. “You ready yet?”
Her door flings open a moment later. She’s in jeans and a hoodie, not exactly party material, but I don’t say anything because she’s still pretty damn fine. I press my finger against my lips and we tread lightly down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door. The second our shoes hit the grass we sprint for my truck like we’re being chased.
“Go, go, go!” She yanks her seatbelt across her chest the second we get inside, peering over her shoulder to make sure all three houses are still black.
They are.
I shift into neutral and push the truck to the end of the street, starting it up and peeling around the corner. By the time we’re halfway to Liberty’s place, Waverly tugs her sweatshirt off and tosses it aside, revealing a low-cut, lace trimmed tank top that hardly covers the top of her breasts.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I can’t stop staring. Fuck, I’ve seen her naked, but I’ve never seen her dress like this.
“What? You like?”
Months of fucking the shit out of her has evidently turned her into a saucy minx. “Yeah, I like. But I don’t like that other guys might like.”
“You’d get jealous? Over me?”
She’s surprised, and I’m surprised that she’s surprised. I thought it was obvious.
I’m falling for her.
“Cover up,” I say.
“No.”
I reach behind the seat of my truck and pull out a gray and blue flannel shirt. “Wear this.”
“No.” She says it harder this time, not budging. “I wore this for you.”
So there we have it. She’s dressing for me and I’m getting jealous over her. We’ve been in each other’s pants for months, unable to keep our hands off each other. She’s in my thoughts, motivating my actions, and invading the air I breathe.
I love every god damn minute of it, too.
We pull up to Liberty’s, cars parked up and down the street and filling the parking lot of her dad’s shop. I take her hand as we walk in, not because I’m trying to be romantic, but because I want every drunken jackass in that party to know from the second they see her, she’s off-limits. As long as I’m fucking her, she belongs to me.
And it’s true. She’s mine from now until the end of summer when we go our separate ways. It’ll be hard knowing she’ll be off to college, probably fucking the first jackass who gifts her a wicked smile because that’s what attention-starved girls do when they get out from under their parents’ thumbs. But I try not to think about that too much.
We show ourselves in, like everyone else seems to be doing, and bump into the plastered hostess.
“Heyyyyy!” It’s Liberty, swaying back and forth, with an armful of beer. “You get a beer! You get a beer! You get a beer!”
Music blasts from speakers behind her, nearly drowning out her voice. Kian’s behind her, smoking a joint. People stare at us with dead-eyed, glassy stares, and a few guys check out Waverly. I squeeze her hand tight and take a couple beers from Liberty’s arms.
“I can hardly hear myself think,” Waverly yells into my ear, “but I love it.”
She takes a swig of beer as we find a couple empty folding chairs in the kitchen. The apartment’s so tiny, though, we’ve barely escaped the noise. I find a stack of playing cards amongst the mess of stale, broken chips and crunched beer cans that line the counter.
“Wanna play a game?” I raise a brow. “A drinking game?”
She nods, smiling, gazing at me from across the table. The party is loud and chaotic, but we may as well be the only ones here.
I shuffle the deck and go over the rules, a simple game of War, modified for drinking. By the time we get through the first shuffle, we need more beers. Three rounds later, and we’re both buzzing. The room’s a little off-kilter, and I feel a stupid smile on my face that won’t go away no matter how hard I try.
“Hey, what’s your name?” A drunk guy stumbles into the kitchen to grab another drink, his gaze fixed on Waverly. “I’m Jared.”
“I’m Liberty’s cousin,” she says, forgoing her name.
Smart girl.
I stack the deck of cards. “And I’m Liberty’s cousin’s boyfriend.”
She doesn’t shoot me a look or make a face. She owns it just as much as I do.
“Let’s get some fresh air.” I rise up and nod toward the balcony slider, and she follows.
We slip outside to a humble balcony with an iron railing, a grill, and a couple of plastic chairs with a blanket thrown over the back of one. A soft summer breeze whips her hair across her face.
“Hope this is better than Zion’s pathetic excuse for a dance.”
She turns to me, her creamy skin glowing against the moonlight. “This is perfect, Jensen. Really.”
My palms glide up and down her arms, warming her up and pulling her into my space. The scent of her shampoo is sharp against the tepid air, and it fills my lungs with each breath. Twinkling stars dotting a midnight sky is a million times better than pastel fucking pseudo-prom decorations.
“School starts in a month,” she says, pressing her cheek against my chest. Her arms slip under mine. Her father doesn’t know it yet, but she’s leaving the nest matter what. I’ll see to it personally, if I have to. They’re set to talk about college again next week, but something tells me he hasn’t changed his mind. “And then what happens?”
“I go to L.A.” I rest my chin on top of her head. “And you come with me.”
She’s silent.
“Because fuck if I can imagine walking away from you and never looking back.” It’s the closest thing to “I love you” I’ve ever said in my entire life.
Waverly lifts her face to mine, our mouths hanging in limbo as our eyes catch. “You know that’s not realistic.”
“Disagree.”
“I have a scholarship to Utah. I should go there.” Her eyes search mine, but for what, I’m not sure.
“Mark’s not going to let you,” I say. “You know that. He’s wants you to get married. You’re safer running off with me.”
She rakes her fingers through her hair. “I’ve been walking a straight line all summer. Going above and beyond. I’ve proven myself to him. He can’t deny it. He said we could talk about it next week. That’s a good sign.”
“I don’t trust him.” I unclench my fist long enough to brush the hair from her eyes. “He’s been too… happy lately. He’s been laying low. Off your case. It’s not like him. Something’s up.”
“You’re just being paranoid.”
I shake my head. “I’m telling you, something’s up.”
“He hasn’t brought up the arranged marriage thing since that night with Bruce Waterman.” She says it like it’s a good thing, but that’s what concerns me. “Maybe he’s changed his mind?”
“Okay, so let’s say he lets you go,” I say. “You don’t think when you’re all finished with school, he’s not going to try to marry you off to some polygamous asshole? I’m sure he’s been saving up your dowry since you were barely out of diapers.”
“We don’t do dowries.” She fights a smile. “If he lets me go away for school, that means he trusts my judgment. If he trusts my judgment, he’ll let me pick my own husband.”
“Do you realize how completely and utterly idiotic this conversation is right now? It’s not normal.”
“Nothing about my life has ever been normal, Jensen.” I pick up on the despondent quiver in her voice, getting the distinct urge to quell it with a kiss before the waterworks start. I press my lips against hers, lingering for a moment. “Still think you should come with me to L.A. I’ll take care of you, but, you know, not in the husband sort of way. More like the sexual sort of way.”
She slaps my chest with her fist and smiles. “Let’s just enjoy what we have right now, okay? A few more weeks of this.”
“And then what?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not your girlfriend; you’re not my boyfriend. It’s not like we’ll be breaking up.”
But it is. It’s exactly like that.
“Besides,” she adds, “we couldn’t be together, even if we wanted. We’re family.”