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The right time must be one hell of an elusive bastard because Will still hasn’t delivered on his promise. Three days have gone by, all of them a blur, and we’ve barely spoken once. Turns out it’s a lot harder to sneak him into my room with Kendrick on the other side of the wall.
He’s been texting me.
A lot.
Asking why I’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Why I sweep past him in the halls. I’ve been turning a blind eye to his existence, dead set on ignoring his lingering stares when I walk into the room. Let’s just say if he hasn’t figured it out by now, it doesn’t bode well for us.
Willy Wonka: Upstairs bathroom. Five minutes.
I sigh at Will’s text and get dressed, slipping on a pair of high-waisted jeans and a crop-top hoodie. I tie my blonde hair into two loose braids as a finishing touch—thought I’d try something new. Winter and I are going to the movies with the guys in an hour. Then I’m covering Ethan’s afternoon shift at work. Late payment for my getaway with Will two months ago.
I pad out into the hall, inspecting the vicinity and tiptoeing toward the bathroom. I slip inside to find Will waiting for me, leaning against the sink. Silence drifts between us. He smiles, looking painfully beautiful, as always.
“Lock it.” He gestures to the knob with his chin.
I oblige.
In response, he cuts across the room, anchoring me to the door and ravaging my lips with an openmouthed kiss I return right off the bat. His tongue pushes past my teeth as he finds one of the blonde braids cascading down my shoulders and swirls it around his index.
“Fuck. Love the schoolgirl look, by the way.” His voice is packed with lust, his lips remolded by a mischievous smirk. I come to my senses just as he’s angling my chin for more.
I mash my palms to his chest, keeping him at a safe distance.
His smile wears off.
“What’s wrong?”
I peel our bodies apart, wriggling out of his hold. His features pinch with worry.
“Do you really have to ask?”
He nibbles on his bottom lip, knowing damn well what I’m getting at. We were so happy just three days ago. He seemed so sure. Like there wasn’t a doubt in his mind as far as telling Kendrick went. He even asked me to prom. Convinced me my brother would know about us by then and now…
Now we’re hiding in a bathroom.
And that speaks volumes.
“Will, you promised we’d tell him.”
“I know.” He exhales.
“It’s been three days.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… not the right time.”
“Don’t you get it? It’s never going to be the right time. He’s going to be just as pissed whether we tell him now or in two months. The quicker we rip the bandage off, the quicker he’ll get over it. Because he will get over it. Unless, of course… you changed your mind.”
He clamps his mouth shut, obviously conflicted. His lack of a reply hits me where it hurts.
“Got it.” My gaze strays to the bathroom tiles. I turn away, but he beats me to the door.
“I didn’t”—he cups my face—“change my mind. I didn’t. I’m never changing my mind about you. Fucking never, okay?”
I refuse him the eye contact he seeks.
“I’ll talk to him. I promise. No more lying,” he relents.
He kisses me once more, and I feel my pain decreasing at his touch, my body softening under his fingertips, and it scares me shitless. Because I know a few more minutes of that kiss—who am I kidding, a few more seconds—and I’ll be right back to where I started.
