Heart Bones - Colleen Hoover Page 0,49
“Okay, then.” He stands up, but leans over and kisses Sara. “Love you, even though you’re kicking me out.”
She smiles. “Love you too, but I have a sister now, so you have to share me.” She pats the mattress where Marcos was sitting and looks at me. “Come here.”
Marcos salutes me as he’s walking out of Sara’s bedroom.
“Close the door,” Sara says to Marcos.
I walk to her bed and sit on it. She pauses the television and then repositions herself on the bed so that she’s facing me.
“How’d it go?”
I lean against the headboard. “Your mother trapped me in the kitchen with ice cream and then talked to me about my sex life.”
Sara rolls her eyes. “Never fall for the ice cream trick. She uses it on me all the time. But I’m not referring to that and you know it. I saw you walking over to Samson’s house earlier.”
I debate telling Sara that we kissed, but that seems like something I should keep private for now. At least until I figure out if I want it to happen again.
“Nothing happened.”
She deflates, falling onto her back. “Ugh. I wanted juicy details.”
“There are none. Sorry.”
“Did you even try to flirt with him?” she asks, sitting back up. “It doesn’t take much for Samson to put his mouth on a girl. If it has boobs and it’s breathing, it’s good enough for him.”
My stomach catapults to the floor with that comment. “Is that supposed to make me want him more? Because it doesn’t.”
“I’m exaggerating,” she says. “He’s hot and he’s rich, so girls just tend to throw themselves at him and sometimes he catches them. What guy wouldn’t?”
“I don’t throw myself at people. I avoid people.”
“But you went to his house.”
I raise an eyebrow, but say nothing.
Sara smiles, like that’s enough for her to work with. “Maybe we should go on a double date tomorrow night.”
I don’t want to encourage her, but I’m also not sure I’m opposed to that idea.
“I take your silence as a yes,” she says.
I laugh. Then I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Ugh. This is all so confusing.” I drop my arms and slide down until I’m staring up at her ceiling. “I feel like I’m giving it too much thought. I’m trying to think of all the reasons why it isn’t a good idea.”
“Name a few,” Sara suggests.
“I’m not good at relationships.”
“Neither is Samson.”
“I’m leaving in August.”
“So is Samson.”
“What if it hurts when we end things?”
“It probably will.”
“Then why would I want to subject myself to that?”
“Because most of the time, the fun you have that leads to the pain is worth the pain.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had fun.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” she says. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
I turn my head and look at Sara. She’s on her side, her head held up by her hand. “I’ve never had feelings for anyone before. If that happens, how bad is it going to hurt when summer is over?”
Sara shakes her head. “Stop it. You’re thinking too far ahead. Summers are for thinking about today and today only. Not tomorrow. Not yesterday. Today. So what do you want right now?”
“Right now?” I ask.
“Yes. What do you want right now?”
“Another bowl of ice cream.”
Sara sits up and grins. “Dammit, I love having a sister.”
And I love that Sara didn’t even flinch when I mentioned ice cream. Maybe I’m not as bad for her as I thought. I might not be as bubbly and as happy as she is, but knowing she’s starting to enjoy food and doesn’t seem as worried about her weight as she did when I arrived makes me think I might actually have something to offer in this friendship.
This is a new feeling—the idea that maybe I’m worth having around.
THIRTEEN
The alarm on my phone goes off before the sun is even up.
I should probably cancel the damn thing, but there’s something exciting about watching the sunrise and getting a possible glimpse of Samson while it happens.
I crawl out of bed wearing the T-shirt I slept in last night. I pull on a pair of shorts just in case Samson is awake and on his balcony outside.
I’ve been awake for ten seconds and I’ve already thought of him twice. Denying him last night doesn’t seem to be working out for me.
I unlock my balcony door and slide it open.
Then I scream.
“Shh,” Samson says, laughing. “It’s just me.”
He’s sitting on the wicker outdoor couch with his legs propped up in front of him on the