Page 93 of Saints & Sailors

My lips parted and I didn’t know what to say.

In the next second I didn’t have to speak, because Dreux closed the tiny gap between us and his lips were on mine.

My eyes snapped shut and I could’ve sworn my heart exploded in my chest. His full lips moved in sync with mine. Soft. Gentle. Chaste. Slow. His hand was on my chin as he tipped my head back to deepen the kiss. His tongue snaked into my mouth and I could taste him as chills danced across my skin. He kissed in such a commanding way I had no choice but to surrender.

I couldn’t hear the music blasting or the people around us. I could no longer feel the night air. All I could feel was this moment as I was completely and utterly consumed by Dreux St. Julien.

All too soon he pulled away and I felt my face morph into a frown as I opened my eyes.

Dreux pressed his forehead to mine. “Just so you know, my favorite blonde is you.”

My frown melted as I felt the corniest smile take over my face.

I didn’t know what to say, or how to express how much I liked hearing that I was his favorite. How much I wanted to be his favorite.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to say anything. Dreux’s arm came around me and he pulled me close. I rested my head on his chest and the night went on.

We didn’t talk about it. After the Ferris wheel, we ate more fried food, played a few more games, and then Dreux took me home. He walked me all the way up to the front door and bid me a goodnight, a warm glow in his eyes and a soft smile on his face.

And then I spent the entire weekend replaying the moment over and over on a loop. Between tasks and answering the phone at Angela’s, all I could think about was Dreux’s lips on mine. What it would it feel like to do it again. To have his arms around me. Would I feel suffocated or safe?

I considered Dreux and it was more than obvious: I’d always feel safe around him.

One kiss and I was already a wreck.

“Will you be okay if I head out?” Scott poked his head into my room.

It was Wednesday evening, and I was sitting cross-legged on my bed rereading the passage from Steinbeck and listening to a classic rock mix.

It was only eight and we’d already eaten dinner. Plus, after almost a month of living with the guy, it was safe to say he had no social life. It was all about me if he wasn’t at work.

“No, you’re good.” And then, because I was feeling playful, I studied his heathered black tee and dark jeans. I wiggled my brows. “Is it a date?”

Scott paused, his eyes brightening as he let out a quiet “Oh.” He scratched awkwardly at his neck. “I’m just heading over to Larry’s for band practice.”

“Oh.” Still, I was curious. “Do you date?”

Scott peered at the carpet. “Not right now. My priority and focus is you.”

I wondered if he’d had a girlfriend at any point after my mother. For the longest time, it was just the two of us, my mother and me, until she met Richard and gave him a chance. Sometimes I thought she was caught up in the newness of dating and too quickly fell for the guy since he was the first after Scott.

They had their moments, but my mother was more low-key despite being from an upper-class world. I could tell Richard would’ve rather she played into the trust fund baby or socialite role as he took her around his rich friends. But my mother was down to earth and humble.

Scott was either thirty-seven or thirty-eight—I had to get the small things about him down—way too young to be closed off. We were still figuring each other out, but I wanted Scott to be happy. To not be alone. To be loved.

“I’ll be eighteen in April, Scott, don’t let me hold you back,” I teased, only half serious.

Something like sadness crossed Scott’s eyes as his shoulders took a dive. “You’re not going to college, right?”

I knew it was ideal, but I couldn’t see myself there. I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time or money. “As of now? No.”

Scott nodded, looking away from me as he focused elsewhere around the room. “You plannin’ on going back to LA then? To be with your mom?”

He wouldn’t look at me, not wanting to see me reject him if I did.

I missed LA. I missed my mother. I missed the sun. My friends. Hanging out in bars and debating music.

But Meadow Grove was nice, too. When I’d first met Dreux and discovered he listened to pop music, I thought it was a joke. Now, we argued over which Harry Styles album was the best. Really, they were all good, and my favorite thing to do was lie back and listen to them with him while obsessing over the lyrics.