“Yes.”
“Oh, piss off. I’m not talking trousers. I only want under the blankets.That breeze is horrible.” He slides underneath, and now we’re lying side by side. In my narrow bed. Funny, but I never imagined my first sleepover with a guy being, well , a sleepover.
“Al we need now are Sixteen Candles and a game of Truth or Dare.”
He coughs. “Wh-what?”
“The movie, pervert. I was just thinking it’s been a while since I’ve had a sleepover.”
A pause. “Oh.”
“...”
“...”
“St. Clair?”
“Yeah?”
“Your elbow is murdering my back.”
“Bol ocks. Sorry.” He shifts, and then shifts again, and then again, until we’re comfortable. One of his legs rests against mine. Despite the two layers of pants between us, I feel na**d and vulnerable. He shifts again and now my entire leg, from calf to thigh, rests against his. I smel his hair. Mmm.
NO!
I swal ow, and it’s so loud. He coughs again. I’m trying not to squirm. After what feels like hours but is surely only minutes, his breath slows and his body relaxes. I final y begin to relax, too. I want to memorize his scent and the touch of his skin—one of his arms, now against mine—and the solidness of his body. No matter what happens, I’l remember this for the rest of my life.
I study his profile. His lips, his nose, his eyelashes. He’s so beautiful.
The wind rattles the panes, and the lights buzz softly in the hal . He sleeps soundly. How long has it been since he’s had a decent night’s rest? There’s another uncomfortable tug on my heart. Why do I care so much about him, and why do I wish I didn’t? How can one person make me so confused all of the
time?
What is that? Is it lust? Or something else altogether? And is it even possible for me to feel this way about him without these feelings being
reciprocated? He said that he liked me. He did. And even though he was drunk, he wouldn’t have said it if there wasn’t at least some truth to it. Right?
I don’t know.
Like every time I’m with him, I don’t know anything. He scoots closer to me in his sleep. His breath is warm against my neck. I don’t know anything. He’s so beautiful, so perfect. I wonder if he ... if I ...
A ray of light glares into my eyes, and I squint, disoriented. Daylight. The red numbers on my clock read 11:27. Huh. Did I mean to sleep in? What day is it? And then I see the body in bed next to me. And I nearly jump out of my skin.
So it wasn’t a dream.
His mouth is parted, and the sheets are kicked off. One of his hands rests on his stomach. His shirt has hiked up, and I can see his abdomen. My gaze
is transfixed.
Holy crap. I just slept with St. Clair.
Chapter twenty-one
Imean I didn’t SLEEP sleep with him. Obviously. But I slept with him.
I slept with a boy! I burrow back down into my sheets and grin. I can’t WAIT to tell Bridge. Except . . . what if she tell s Toph? And I can’t tell Mer, because she’d get jealous, which means I can’t tell Rashmi or Josh either. It dawns on me that there is nobody I can tell about this. Does that mean it’s wrong?
I stay in bed for as long as possible, but eventual y my bladder wins. When I come back from the bathroom, he’s looking out my window. He turns