Page 100 of Forbidden to Fall

I led him through the kitchen and to the door at the back that led to my apartment.

“I still have your sweats,” I said as we took the stairs. “So, we can both be dry.”

I probably should’ve let him go home, but I wasn’t ready. Not yet. I needed this so much more than sleep.

My apartment had always felt small—it was really just a kitchen, a table for two, a sofa, a bedroom, and a bathroom—but with James’s 6’2 figure, it felt more like a dollhouse than ever. I grabbed his folded sweats from the top of the dryer where I’d kept them to stop myself from wearing them on a nightly basis.

When I came out, James was at my small bookcase, looking at the collection of yearbooks I’d saved from elementary school all the way through senior year.

My stomach flipped at the realization that he was in my apartment. Right now.

He turned as I came in, smiling in a way that made breath hard to come by.

“Here you go.” I handed him his sweats. “But I want those back.”

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping them,” he said. “Where should I change?”

I showed him to the bathroom, then all but ran to my bedroom. He’d change a whole lot faster than I would because I desperately needed to do something about my hair and makeup, which I was terrified of seeing.

It wasn’t quite as bad as I’d feared, thankfully, but I didn’t have time to do anything but towel-dry my hair and run some serum through my curls, hoping for the best. I slipped on my own sweats, which weren’t nearly as comfy as James’s.

When I got back to the living area, one of my yearbooks was open on his lap.

I didn’t invite people to my apartment for obvious reasons. Seeing James here, looking so comfortable in the sweats we’d shared, did things to my heart that his kisses hadn’t.

“Do you want something warm?” I opened my cupboards. “I’ve got chicken-flavored ramen, a can of chili, and”—I moved a can of tomato sauce—“beef-flavored ramen. So, really, anything you can dream—if what you dream is beef chicken ramen chili.”

James just smiled at my nervous hostessing, then motioned me over.

I shut the cupboard and happily walked to the couch.

He took my hand and pulled me down next to him. “Beef chicken ramen chili sounds really good. But I just want to be with you. Is that okay?”

I nodded. It was all I could manage.

In a move reminiscent of our night under the stars, he slipped a hand around my waist and pulled me closer.

I was even more willing now than I’d been then.

He let out a little sigh, then leaned his head on mine.

Unable to suppress an intensely euphoric smile, I leaned my head on his shoulder as he started to turn the pages of a yearbook from Autumn Ridge Elementary. He stopped on the page where my third-grade class was and pointed to the picture of me.

I’d taken my bright red hair out of Mom’s nice but uninspiring braids and done my best with the pink mini brush in my backpack. The results had been catastrophic, but I hadn’t known how to braid, and time had run out.

“That was a rough picture day,” I said.

“You’re adorable.”

“So adorable, I can hardly stand it,” I said, turning the page with force.

I kept going until we reached James’s sixth-grade class. I pointed at the picture of him—first row, second from the right. He had a thin but boyish face and was smiling with only his lips in a way that was simultaneously awkward and endearing.

He pointed to a red dot over his picture. “What’s that?”

“Stray pen mark.” I tried to turn the page.

He stopped me. “There’s one over Lyle’s picture too.” He pointed to it.