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I squash my selfish desires and reply.
Ava: You said you were curious. Don’t you know that curiosity killed the cat?
Connor: And a cat has 9 lives, so does that mean you owe me 8 more kisses?
I stare at the text, ignore the slow breaking of my heart. What I’d give for eight more greedy moments with him.
“Ava?” Mom calls from her bedroom and I drop my phone, along with all my delusions, and I go to her.
I’ll always go to her.
Because she’ll always come first.
First and forever.
TWENTY-SEVEN
connor
I’m leaning up against my car the day after the Just Once Kiss, looking down at my phone, rereading the past few days’ worth of text conversations between Ava and me. And without fail, I keep trying to scroll for more after the last one I sent. She didn’t reply, and I can’t help but overthink all the possible reasons. Maybe she’s playing games, or maybe she got distracted or maybe—and this is the conclusion of my own mind games—maybe she doesn’t want a repeat.
Maybe I’m a shit kisser.
A complete disappointment.
Sighing, I start writing a message to let her know I’m outside, but their front door opens, stopping me.
I wish for Ava.
I get Trevor instead.
He makes his way down the driveway and stops a few feet away. “You okay?” he asks, eyeing me dubiously.
I run my hand over my clothes, try to straighten out my thoughts. “Yeah, why?”
His eyebrows lower, his lips turned up in disgust. “Were you looking at porn?”
“No. What the fuck?” I mumble. “I was just studying some game tape,” I lie.
“I heard about your game. Congrats, man.”
I stand taller. “Thanks.”
“So, listen, my old man’s getting remarried…” he says, pausing when my eyes narrow. I remember what Rhys said about him walking out on them, and a flicker of anger fills my thoughts. “I know…” Trevor shrugs. “He’s not the greatest man out there, but he’s my dad, so I kind of have to be there.”
“I get it.”
“Anyway,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I’m going to be away for a few days…”
Hope replaces my anger.
“…so, I’m having a friend come stay with Ava while I’m gone.”
And hope dies in my chest. I point to myself. “I could stay with her.”
He chuckles, pats my shoulder and squeezes. Tight. “You could,” he replies. Then his eyes harden when they glare into mine, making sure I’m focused on his next words. “But you won’t.”
My lips purse. “Got it.”
