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women should look a certain, very specific way, who are the young girls such as Nora, with two races running through their veins, supposed to look up to?
I try to think of Nora as a happy teenager, and it brings a smile to my lips. “How were you as a teenager? I would have liked to know you then.”
She laughs, a small sound. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t have. I was wild, too wild for you.”
Too wild for me? Once again, I’m reminded that I’m not the life of the party. Since when is being tame so bad? Why is it that girls and women alike always want the drama and wild nights? Why are illegal street races and explosive arguments and gut-wrenching angst more fun than lying on the couch in each other’s arms and watching Netflix? What’s that thing everyone is saying?
Netflix and chill?
Yeah, that’s it. Why can’t women just be happy with Netflixing and chilling? Netflix has all the good shows and movies now anyway.
“I got in a lot of trouble, with my school, my parents. To say that they were embarrassed by me would be the understatement of the century.”
I study her, this wild, fiery woman. I drag my fingers down her bare back. Even her back is sexy—who would have thought a back could be so sexy? The soft line of ridges down her spine curve into her full ass, and I brush my fingers over it, gently squeezing a handful of her flesh. “Everyone has their own way of crying for attention.”
Her eyes change; little storms brew in the depths of them. “I don’t know if that’s what I wanted.”
I’ve offended her now.
Great.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” I draw small circles on her skin and hope that she doesn’t get up or move away from me. I like her body pressed against mine like this. I like the warmth of her enveloping me.
She sighs. Then licks her lips. “It’s fine. I mean”—she stares up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression—“I guess when I really think about it, I did want attention. My sister, Stausey, she has always been the center of my parents’ universe, and I was just a little speck in the abyss, not even bright enough to be a star.”
Not even a star? I look at her closely, contemplate the longing in her voice. I memorize her face, the little freckles on her forehead and the small scar near her chin. It’s so light that I never noticed it before. I thumb over it, wondering where it came from. My eyes follow up to hers and back down to her mouth.
I think about her bright laughter. Her fiery sass. Her blazing confidence. She’s certainly a star. If people were stars, she would be the North.
“And what about you?” Nora snuggles closer. “How were you as a teen? Wild as a boar?” She giggles.
I shake my head. “Hardly. I read a lot and just hung out with my friends.”
Nora’s fingers feel so good on me. “Did you have a lot of friends?”
“Nope. Like two.”
“Well, everyone at your school must have been too stupid to realize how great a friend you are.” She says that like it’s the surest thing in the world.
I chuckle. “That’s one way to look at it.”
Nora’s fingers climb up my neck to my chin. “It’s the only way. If I had a friend like you in high school, my life would have been easier. That reminds me”—she looks up at me while brushing over my facial hair—“you’ve been such a rock for Tessa these last few months. I’m so glad she has you.”
When I look away from her praise, she turns my chin back to her. “Seriously, you’re such a rare kind of person. I don’t think you realize how special you are. It sounds stupid and weird and corny, but special is too light a word for you.”
