One More Step - Colleen Hoover Page 0,25

sides of my mouth and eyes.

First, his chest stiffens with the deep intake of air. Then a tiny dent forms between his brows.

“That kiss…”

My heart stops, and there’s no way he doesn’t see the hard knot that’s lodged in my throat. My eyes drift up until I meet his waiting stare. He doesn’t ask right away, and his shifting focus from one eye to the other makes me feel as if he’s reading me. There’s really no way to explain what that kiss was and all that it meant or was supposed to mean. Thinking about it now, I don’t think it was ever really about my crush on Caleb at all. It was about me finding a way to take chances before I missed them.

“You were aiming for my cousin.” He holds his breath and so do I. We’ve known this version of one another for the equivalent of an afternoon, but I care enough about his opinion of me not to lie. The slow breath I draw in through my nose as my eyes slit in guilty admission gives him the truth he deserves. His lips wrinkle and he nods; I’m not getting kissed today. I guess I should be glad that I took the one I did when I did, but I’d trade it so fast for the one I was anticipating a heartbeat ago.

“I should get you home. Cop’s daughter and all,” he says, feigning an amused laugh. He lowers my feet to the ground and releases me before stuffing his hands in his pockets and spinning to walk around the front of the car to the driver’s side. The passenger door is still wide open so I inside. When we both slam the doors shut, I give one more attempt to save whatever this was starting to become.

“You know, I’m a retired cop’s daughter. Totally not the same.”

An airy laugh ticks up his mouth, but the smile doesn’t stick. He turns the car on and adjusts the mirror that doesn’t need adjusting, then looks over his shoulder without making eye contact with me as his gaze passes by.

“He’s still got a gun, so…” Hudson’s joke is half-hearted.

Neither of us react, despite how funny and witty that was—he is—and the trip home is polite, but awfully quiet.

FOUR

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN my life on Friday afternoon before the dance and my life right this minute in the middle of the quad before first hour is lightyears. It’s weird to feel both proud and regretful of being bold. A significant piece of my heart wishes I could erase the last few days of rash decision making and go back to being the girl with just a single photo in her senior yearbook.

I can’t. And I probably shouldn’t. But watching Hudson and Caleb walk in sync through the main campus doors and turn opposite directions sure does boil everything to the surface.

“I saw the Mustang pull up,” Shay says as she stops beside me. I filled my friend in on my date last night. She’s a good listener when I really need one. I usually wait for her in the parking lot so we can walk in together, but I didn’t want to chance running into both Walsh boys at the same time, so we agreed that I’d get here early and wait somewhere out of the way.

“Yeah. I watched them both walk in, like a YA episode of the bachelor.” Nobody got a rose.

My punishment awaits in the form of an A.P. English test I’m about to bomb in first hour. I didn’t study, which is a first. And I didn’t read Othello over the weekend, though I suppose on some basic level I rather lived it, minus the murder plot of the winning suiter. Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic.

With slumped shoulders, I slide my feet along the grass to the walkway with minutes to spare before the final bell rings. My heavy backpack, weighed down with an old-school tome of the complete works of Shakespeare, slips down my arm and I catch it on my wrist. The grunt I let out is more of a moan, and I guess my woe-is-me demeanor pushes my bestie to the breaking point. She tugs my bag away from my arm and holds it hostage on the other side of her body. I’m too exhausted to argue. I didn’t sleep last night. I sat up and replayed the almost kiss and thought about the little tip that Caleb has always had a

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