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“Not quite what I had in mind.”
“Oh, you mean like this.” Then he kisses my lips briefly, not even using tongue. He’s purposely toying with me.
“You’re getting warmer.”
He smiles and then slides his fingers in my hair and pulls me fiercely against him. My lips part in a gasp, and he uses that opportunity to slip his tongue inside my mouth. Our tongues dance together as we make out.
I’m not sure how long we sit on that bench with our lips molded together and our hands exploring outside our clothes before we finally break apart.
We get back to my house just in time for dinner and spend the rest of the evening hanging out with my parents and watching a movie.
My parents go to bed at 10 o’clock, like they do every night. I know that it usually takes my dad about 10 minutes to pass out, but my mom reads for about half an hour, sometimes longer if it’s a really good book. At 11, when I figure it’s finally safe, I tiptoe down the hall to Jack’s room. His light is off, but I can tell he’s still awake because he sits up when I come in.
“I was starting to worry you’d changed your mind.”
“Not a chance. I was just waiting to make sure my parents were asleep. We’ll still need to be as quiet as possible, so we don’t wake them.”
“Damn, I was hoping I could make you scream like you used to do when my parents were gone. That was insanely hot, by the way.”
I laugh quietly and slap him on the arm. A smile spreads across his face, and he pulls me down on top of him.We make love for the first time in months, neither one of us lasting long and then fall asleep in each other’s arms.
I sneak out long before my parents wake up, although I enjoyed sleeping next to Jack for as long as possible. I’ve missed the warmth from being wrapped in his arms. I was thankful he had the foresight to set an alarm.
The week flies by, and before I know it, or am ready for it, we’re back at the airport dropping Jack off. He’s flying home for a day before leaving for his football camp, where he’ll be for the rest of the summer. Jack pulls me to him in a close hug. He’s been distant and reserved all morning.
He squeezes me tight, and my chest feels constricted and heavy with the weight of my sorrow. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I’m trying desperately not to cry, but I can tell by the wetness sliding down my cheeks that I’m epically failing. He leans his forehead, his eyes looking deeply into mine.
“Paige,” he whispers, “I hate this. I don’t want to be away from you anymore.”
His voice is strained, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s trying not to cry. I haven’t seen Jack cry since we were little kids.
“I don’t want to be away from you either. But we’re making it work.”
“Paige,” his voice is filled with pain.
His eyes are filled with a sadness that I’ve never seen in him before, not even when I left Portland. I have a terrible feeling in my gut, but I don’t want to hear him say what I’m afraid he’ll say. Instead, I kiss him deeply.
I pull away, a little breathless, my heart beating profusely in my chest, hoping that he won’t break it.
“I love you. Text me when you get home, okay?”
He still looks pained, like he wants to say something, but he just nods his head and kisses me again briefly before turning around and walking straight into the airport.
He doesn’t look back.
It’s not until he turns the corner that I realize he never said ‘I love you’ back to me.
Sixteen
I’m sitting on the plane, staring at my phone, knowing my dad is expecting an update. He knew all about my plan coming out here to see Paige, but when it came time to do it, I chickened out.
I can’t do this anymore. It’s killing me only getting to see Paige for a week at a time here and there.
I’ve been losing focus with football, my practices getting increasingly worse. My coach sat me down and told me that if I was serious about football, I needed to get my head straightened out.
The plan was to come here, see her and break up with her in person – although that certainly wasn’t my original intention when I booked this trip – but I couldn’t do it. I saw her at the airport that first day and felt like the weight on my chest had been lifted for the first time since she left. My week with her was perfect, and I was feeling stronger than ever.
It wasn’t until she snuck out of my room early this morning before her parents woke up that the crushing sadness returned again. I was leaving. She was staying here. We’re fucking 17. How realistic is it to think we have a future together when we have to deal with long-distance for at least two more years?
