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“There’s a pizza in the freezer,” he informs. “I think I trust you enough to put it in the oven. We can eat once my hair is purple.”
I grab my phone, shoving it in my back pocket as I move toward the door. Finn stands up, and I’m reminded of his height again. It was easy to forget with him seated in front of me.
“Make pizza. Don’t burn down the apartment complex. Got it.”
“I’m trusting you, Ellie,” he says, turning to start the water as I walk through the door and close it.
I can’t wipe the smile off my face, pulling out my phone and finding Lennon’s name.
Me:Something happened
Her response is almost immediate.
Lennon:Spill, bitch. Don’t make me fly back home. You know I’m too poor for that.
I walk into the kitchen, find the frozen pizza, and start the oven before typing out my response.
Me:I kissed him. And I think I like him more than I like those homemade pop-tarts that taste like apple pie at the coffee shop we went to on Thursday.
Simon jumps up onto the counter, and I fight to protect the pizza by quickly unwrapping it, finding a pan, and shoving it into the oven before the thing even preheats. I add an extra two minutes to the cook time and hope it makes up for it.
Lennon:Shit. I don’t have the money to be a bridesmaid.
Me:Oh my god, would you just chill?
Lennon:Never
Fifteen
Griffin
Looking in the mirror, I wipe my hand across the surface to reveal exactly what I should have expected.
Purple hair.
I lean closer, trying to get a clear picture of what I’ve just done–or had Ellis do, rather. As it turns out, it’s not overwhelmingly purple. She was right that it wouldn’t be out there–just a subtle deep purple color that every single one of my friends is going to be sure to notice and give me shit for.
I rub the towel over my hair as my phone buzzes from where it sits on the counter. Answering the call, I put my phone on speaker and lean forward, running my fingers through the newly dyed strands in an attempt to appear somewhat presentable for the girl I just made out with in my bathroom.
“Where have you been?” Noah’s voice echoes off the walls. “You’ve answered next to no text messages since yesterday. I’m very close to filing a missing persons report.”
“I’m with Ellis.” I throw the towel over the hanger, then pull it back off to fold it and hang it appropriately. I pick my briefs up off the floor and pull them on before my jeans.
“You’re shitting me.”
Grabbing my T-shirt off the floor too, I look at my hair again. He’s definitely going to give me shit when he hears about this—or sees it—whichever comes first.
“I’m not,” I say. “I like her. She’s cool.” It’s the understatement of the century.
I kissed a lot of girls after I turned sixteen. It was before Storm died. But after I lost my brother, relationships took on more meaning—not just the family ones. I’ve dated three girls seriously since then, and I can’t remember a single kiss. Not after I sat in my bathroom with Ellis’s fingers trailing over my skin—her lips on mine. I can still feel her step closer when my palms met the back of her thighs—still feel the overwhelming desire to move my hands higher, and the paralyzing fear that doing anything more might cause me to fuck it all up. It was like standing on a bridge and waiting to jump.
And then she fucking straddled me.
“Well, I’m thinking we could go for dinner tonight at that bar off of High Street. Figured I’d invite Ryan.” I can hear something shuffle in the background, then the closing of a car door, the jingle of keys.
I briefly consider inviting Ellis, but hold back. I’m not even sure she wants to hang out with me anymore. Maybe I’m being too intense. “That should be fine.” I wince. This girl gave me money to plan her birthday, and I’m out here kissing her in my bathroom and letting her give me tattoos. She’s probably run off by now. “Hey, I need to go.”
“You guys aren’t–”
