my pocket and light one, tossing the pack over the distance between us.
Just like last time, she catches it easily, regarding it with a blank stare. Reluctantly, she lights her own.
“So,” I start, but she just shakes her head.
“Yesterday was my fault. I don’t even know how to explain my behavior, or what the hell even…” she searches for the words and lands on, “I don’t know what came over me, but it was my fault. It never should have happened.”
“I disagree,” I tell her, blowing a stream of smoke from the side of my mouth. “I think it was awesome, and I want it to happen again. Preferably pantsless, but, you know. However I can get it, count me in.”
Her cheeks turn pink and she ducks her head, eyes fixed to the toes of her boots. “It can’t.”
I force my feet to stay where they are, shoving a fist deep into my pocket. “But what if it can?”
Emotion flickers across her face and it’s too much—too fast—to catalogue it all, but there’s definitely conflict. Irritation. And if I’m not mistaken, sadness. “Trust me, Bass.” So softly that it’s almost a whisper, she says, “If I could, I would.”
My insides clench and I replay her words in my head to make sure I heard them right. “You would?” I clarify.
“Yeah.” She says this like it’s something grim and sad, but when her eyes flick up to mine, all I see is loss. “I think so.”
It takes everything, every ounce of strength and impulse control I have, not to lunge at her and take. If any other girl gave me a green light like that, no matter how muted, I’d be all over them. All. Fucking. Over. But I count in my head, mentally chanting ‘patience, trust, control’ over and over. When I feel like I’ve got it together, I ask, “What would it take to get you to trust me? To let me prove myself to you? To get another kiss like that?”
Her laugh is bitter, laced with the smoke that swirls around her head. “A fucking miracle, Wilcox.”
In an effort to lighten the mood, I try, “Well, I have been known to make a few girls feel like they’re walking on water.” She rolls her eyes, but I see it. It’s happening. Her lips curve just slightly, a small, exasperated smile that makes my chest feel utterly weightless. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like to be touched, you’re pretty good at it yourself.”
The smile disappears. “That’s different.”
“How?”
She shrugs, flicking her cigarette and watching the ashes tumble to the ground. “Because it just is.”
I want to know why, although I think I already do. It’s got to be a control thing. She wants it—maybe even needs it—and this is something neither she nor Reyn really get about me. They think I can’t handle not being in control—that I can’t hold back—but they’re wrong. I’ve held back for way lesser people than the girl currently standing across from of me.
“Sugar,” I say, willing her to meet my eyes. When she does, I hold her gaze, because I need her to know that this isn’t a fight. “Please, give me a chance. One chance.”
She looks up at the sky, groaning, “Sebastian, you don’t—”
“We can do it on your terms. We can play by your rules. If I fail, then I’ll leave you alone forever. Promise.”
She shifts on her feet, swaying back and forth, and my heart leaps into my throat at the awareness she’s considering it. I don’t push. I don’t beg. I suck a drag from my cigarette and play it cool—at least on the outside. On the inside, I feel like I’m either going to vomit or run like hell and pretend this never happened.
She finally sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll think about it.”
“Fuck, really?” I blurt, before instantly tamping it down.
“But if I let this happen,” she adds, pointing her cigarette at me, “and you screw up, then I’m holding you to that promise. And it has to be real. No more of this pushing and prodding bullshit. You’ll have to really fuck off.”
I nod, sure that she means it. One fuck up and I’m done—we’re done—and I’ll have to accept it. I watch as she walks away, turning the corner around the building. I’m aware that there’s only one option here; not screwing up.
14
Sugar
“What do you think of this?” Georgia asks, holding the poster up to the wall.
I’m on her bed, munching