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He presses his lips together and shakes his head.
“I should probably call it,” he says, looking out the door.
My stomach flips, but it’s not crushing. I don’t actually feel upset.
“Do you know where Pasha is?”
Caro snorts and it triggers Aly and I have to quell my own laughter to say, “I think you’re on your own.”
“Understood,” he says, a dark cloud passing over his face. “Do you think…” he starts again, pressing his lips together. “Would it be okay if Zeke stayed? He’s so out of it, I hate to move him.”
My stomach drops, and I feel the ache in a different way. The girls pretend they’re not eavesdropping, studying a soda bottle.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” I cross my arms over my chest and nod. Aly and Caro disappear, and as I walk him to the door, I realize so have most of our guests.
“It was good to hang out tonight,” he says.
I nod, holding myself tight, digging my fingernails into the thick skin around my waist.
“Yeah,” I say with a big, forced grin. “I’m glad you came.”
Freddy turns the handle on the front door, then hesitates.
“Just, go easy on him. Okay?” Freddy says, his words weighty.
“Yeah,” I say, not sure what he means.
Of course I’m not going to shame him over a hangover. We’ve all been there. But the way he’s holding my gaze, it’s like there’s more to it. I wait for him to carefully maneuver down the front steps before I close the door.
Back in my bedroom, Zeke lies on the edge of my bed. My pillow is across him, next to the wall. Even if I wanted to sleep somewhere else, I still need my pillow. My bed is plenty big for two, and it seems silly to make a big deal—we’ve done this before.
I crawl up my side, slowly, trying not to jostle him as I lay down, facing the wall, my back to him. It feels good to be close to him like this, absorbing his warmth, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breath. But it’s not fair. It’s not fair that I have to do this—be the mature one. That I have to be the girl who understands that the boy she’s in love with doesn’t feel the same, only wants to be friends.
In love?
The words ricochet around my head as calloused fingertips brush the back of my neck. I squeeze my eyes and pretend the shiver that rolls down my spine never happened. The mattress shifts and his breath is soft against my hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his lips so close they brush the shell of my ear.
I don’t say anything, and his fingers ghost over my shoulder, down my arm.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his fingertips sliding over my elbow and down my forearm, his fingers threading between mine. He presses his lips to my shoulder and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my stupid tears to stay put.
Because despite my pride, I will let my own fingers curl around his. I will let him press his nose into the crook of my neck. I will let him mold his body to mine and tell me he’s sorry for being an ass, that he’s missed me—that he’s missed hisfriend.
Because I’m weak. And I want to feel him hold me as I fall asleep, even if it’s just this once. Even if he’s drunk and it means nothing. Even if I wake up in the morning and he’s long gone and we pretend it never happened. Which is exactly what I need to do. I need to move on.
But for tonight, I place my free hand over our linked fingers and he lays with his face pressed into the top of my head, kissing my crown good night. And I fall asleep, held by the boy I might love, who, for tonight, holds me like he loves me back.
27
7/5, 5:52 PM
ZEKE: Thanks for letting me crash last night
FAYE: Sure. No problem.
ZEKE: It may not have been a problem for you, but Dale had questions when I got back
