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I pause because I should be able to add a hundred million stars to a hundred billion galaxies, but my train of thought floats away. Maybe I am drunk. “That there are...”
“A shit ton of stars.”
“Yes.” I point at him and my lips lift. “That. Do you want to know something else?”
“Sure.”
What makes my smile grow is how his blue eyes that are always frozen slightly thaw with this brilliant light that somehow represents laughter. Not the mocking type of those girls inside the bar, but the type that lends itself to warm fuzzies.
“The closest star to our sun is Alpha Centauri, but it’s not the brightest star.”
“It’s not?” Razor appears honest-to-God interested and I must be misreading him. No one is fascinated by my worthless knowledge. Not even Addison.
“Nope, that’s Sirius.”
“Gonna be an astronomer?”
“I don’t know what I want to be yet, but whatever I do, it won’t be in Snowflake.”
Razor reclaims some of the space between us but leaves room. He has this sexy sway as he cocks a hip against the tailgate, then lazily hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.
Razor screams confidence. The way he talks. The way he walks. The way he stands. It’s like he doesn’t care about anyone or anything and I wish I could be him.
“Then why the astronomy lesson?”
There’s a pain in my chest. The internal warning I’ve learned to live by. The one that’s kept me from being tortured. It’s the voice that has meant survival in the wild jungles of school hallways. Stay quiet. Stay unknown. Hide who you are. Keep yourself safe.
But tonight was for risks. I was supposed to break out of my mold and, for a few minutes tonight, I was a girl full of life. Maybe the clock hasn’t struck midnight yet. Maybe there’s some magic remaining in this night. “I came here hoping to be kissed.”
Razor’s face goes blank, and it’s clear out of all the things he was expecting me to say, that wasn’t it. He scratches his jaw and my lips twitch at his baffled expression. I confused a biker. There should be points to be won for this.
“Did that happen?” he asks in a low voice.
I shake my head. Sadly, no. I did dance, though. I danced and danced and danced to the point my feet hurt and it was tiring to smile, but when the guy eased close enough—his body practically on mine and the energy began to build—I lost the courage to raise my head and accept what I possibly could have been granted.
In the end, I wussed completely out.
“Why would you want to come here and do something like that?” he demands.
“People do it.”
“What?”
“Kiss.”
He nods like he understands what I’m neglecting to mention. That people at school and TV and books and movies show that people kiss just to do it and it’s normal and obviously I’m not normal. My lips squish to the side. I bet Razor’s beyond normal and has kissed plenty of girls.
Razor inches toward me and the thoughts of him kissing me reenter my brain. “I would’ve thought you’d be the type who only kissed someone she had feelings for.”
“Because I’m a prude? Because I’m weird?”
“No, because you come off as a person who thinks things through.”
“That’s me,” I say, heavy on the bitterness, “the logical one.”
Razor appears unhappy with my response, but his happiness isn’t my problem. But what he said, about kissing someone I cared for, that would be awesome—falling in love with somebody, but I don’t have hopes of that happening anytime soon. If ever.
Sadness becomes a weight as I admire Reagan’s borrowed dress. The dress is gorgeous and I love it, but Kyle was right. I’m playing dress-up, just like I did at orientation. I’m not being myself. Tonight was fun, but lik
