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My arms twine around her automatically, hugging her to my body. The warmth is nice. But it’s nothing in comparison to the feel of her pressed against me.
It’s bliss and agony.
My body is reacting to the close proximity, and there’s no way she can’t feel it. I shift so my mouth is right next to her ear.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “It’s been a while.”
“I knowexactlyhow long it’s been.” She pauses. “I’m not a cheater, either.”
My hold on her tightens.
I didn’t think Cassia asked for a break because she wanted to hook up with other guys, or that she would. But it’s been a nagging doubt in the back of my head all summer. My first glimpse of her in two months was laughing with another guy. Knowing nothing happened lifts a weight I didn’t know I was carrying.
Finn suggests playing 21—again. For someone terrible at math, he sure does love it.
I tilt my head back to stare up at the stars, my cheek pressed against Cassia’s hair. It feels right, holding her like this. It feels like a lot less time has passed than the months it’s actually been since we shared this easy connection.
Commotion echoes around us, but I’m oblivious to the activity, focusing on the woods instead.
I’ve always appreciated how nature simplifies things. How it strips away distractions and boils down to what really matters. Always preferred being outside to staying indoors. Sitting here feels similar to the old basketball court. It’s a snippet of peace amidst chaos.
I alternate between tracing patterns in the stars above and watching flames burn the pile of sticks down to nothing. It’s late and I’m exhausted. But there’s no inclination to move.
In groups of two or three, everyone else heads to bed. Finn is the last to leave, nodding at the bucket beside the stone circle. I nod back before he heads toward his tent.
“We can clear a group, huh?”
My head jerks at the sound of Cassia’s voice. She’s not asleep, like I assumed.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Nope. I am comfortable, though.” She shifts so I can see a little more of her face. “Were you going to wake me up or carry me to bed?”
“Probably just wait for you to wake up. I’m comfortable too.”
She huffs a laugh and then slides off my lap, moving forward and raising her arms above her head to stretch. Cool air rushes between our bodies, the loss of her touch physically painful. The temperature has dropped significantly since I gave her my sweatshirt.
“Cassia?”
“Yeah?”
I clear my throat, chickening out. “We should get to bed.”
“I’m not tired.”
She stands, my sweatshirt hanging to her mid-thigh.
My brain is still processing whatthatcomment means when she pulls my sweatshirt off—taking her t-shirt with it. The pile of fabric lands in a heap on my lap. Goosebumps rise on her skin, the moonlight barely enough illumination to see the raised texture. The dark blue material of her bikini looks black in the limited light, contrasted against her pale skin.
“Thanks for letting me borrow that.”
My tongue feels too big for my mouth. Words are a jumble in my head.
She’s gorgeous.
She’s always been gorgeous, and I’ve never been able to find the right words to convey that to her. To explain that any insecurities she has about Grace or any other girl mean nothing, because all I see is her.
“You can keep it,” I manage to choke out.
