If I Tell - By Janet Gurtler Page 0,54

licked his lips. I stared at them. Moist. Pink. They looked so very, very kissable. Compassion shone in his eyes. For me.

I wanted him to kiss me. And I wanted to kiss him more than I’d wanted anything else in my life. My whole body ached, pleading me to do it. Be brave for once. Kiss him. I leaned forward. Jackson’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move back. I held my breath and kept moving until I touched his soft lips with my own.

The kiss altered my body chemistry. His lips were softer than I’d imagined. Light. I breathed him in, his delicious smell. Tentatively I pressed harder on his lips, and he kissed me back. Almost on its own, my tongue darted out, and I nibbled his bottom lip. My insides quivered, thrilled with the sensation.

And then he pulled away.

Jackson jerked back, ending the moment with a horrible gasp.

My eyes sprung open at the sudden painful parting, as if he’d ripped a Band-Aid off a stinging wound. He jumped up from the couch, glancing around the room like a trapped convict. My body instantly flooded with humiliation even as my lips shook with loss. My head swam. I couldn’t speak.

He hadn’t wanted to kiss me.

“Man. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Jackson said, reaffirming my horror. He practically ran to the kitchen to get away from me. “Play some more. I’ll get us a drink. Play.”

I touched my lips and lowered my eyes, swimming in shame. In the kitchen Jackson clanked glasses around and babbled. I listened without answering him, feeling empty but horrified. He must think me incapable of friendship with a male. He knew about me and Nathan at Marnie’s party, and now, when he’d offered his friendship and the sharing of music and his awesome guitar, I’d pounced all over him. What was wrong with me? Did I really have a need to mess everything up? I remembered what Lacey had said about screwing up friendships.

With a deep sigh, I placed his guitar down beside me on the couch and stood as Jackson walked around the corner holding two glasses filled with ice and water. Probably he wanted to dump it over my head. Calm down my hormones or something.

“Hey. What’s up?” he asked, glancing at his guitar.

I swallowed a lump. “I, uh, put your guitar down carefully. Don’t worry. I love it. It’s awesome, but, um, I have to get going.” I stared at the ground. “I kind of forgot I was supposed to help my grandma with some stuff tonight.”

“You were?” He walked forward and put the glasses down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You’re sure? Let’s have a drink of water first. Talk about this. We need to talk.”

I bit my lip and forced a smile. “No. No. It’s okay. Really. I’m late. I totally forgot. I have to get going. My grandma is really strict. She’ll kill me if I’m any later.” I wrung my hands together nervously. “Um. I love your guitar. Thanks for showing me.” I coughed. “Uh. I’ll get my cell from my backpack and call a cab.” I grabbed my guitar case from the floor.

Jackson waved his hand in the air, dismissing me. “Jaz. We really need to talk.”

No. I didn’t want to do that. Not at all. I didn’t need more humiliation. “No. No. I have to go. Now. I’ll call a cab.”

He crossed his arms. “Forget it. I’ll drive you home.”

I nodded, embarrassed. Truthfully, I didn’t have much cash on me or else I would have insisted.

Jackson reached over and grabbed his guitar from the couch. “I’m sorry…I want to tell you…I have to…”

“No, no,” I interrupted. I so did not need an explanation of why kissing me revolted him. I forced a smile. “It’s fine. I just have to get home.” I took my guitar and hurried to the hallway and slipped on my shoes. I opened the door and stepped out into the main hallway, not wanting to be alone with him for another second. I slung my backpack over my other shoulder, clutching the strap close to my chest.

“Shit. Just a sec,” he called and rushed to his room with his Martin. When he came out of the apartment, I dashed toward the elevator as he locked up. I pushed the button and he joined me. I wished I could shrivel up and disappear into a layer of wrinkles, unrecognizable as my seventeen-year-old self and like one of the old