I can’t afford to pretend or assume. I need you to tell me.” My hands flex from outstretched to fists and back again. My legs tingle, either ready to collapse or to carry me on a marathon. And still, Abby stands out of arm’s reach and rocks, and stares, and lets that one tear run down her cheek and fall into the small divot on her neck above her collar bone. It’s lit by the stars, like a diamond gliding along her smooth skin.
“Why did you break up with Hayden, Abby?” My mouth quivers in anticipation, and the longer she stands facing me, her mouth unable to say the words, the more I want to reach inside her and pull them out.
She finally shakes her head.
“You know why,” she repeats.
I shake my head, prepared to say I don’t, but words fail me as she takes one step, followed by another, until she’s nearly standing with her feet on top of mine.
Her tiny frame fits under my chin, and as I glare down at her she raises her face to the sky, her hair sliding out of her face like ribbons, her bare shoulders covered in bumps from the cold air. Clouds are beginning to move in, killing the only light we have, but before the stars are completely gone, I run the back of my fingers along the side of her bare neck, over her shoulder and down her arm. I lift her hand in mine, doing the same with the other as I duck low enough to tuck my head underneath the sweatshirt that tethers her arms together in the sleeves. Her hands rest on my shoulders and she steps up on my feet, her lips soft and fragile, timid and scared. Open. Ready.
My head falls to rest on hers just as she lifts her chin, and our lips touch just barely. Electric. It’s as if I’ve been stung.
“Why did you break up with Hayden?” I repeat again, this time only a whisper, my lips brushing against hers as I speak.
Her head tilts an inch or two to the right.
“You know why,” she breathes, and that’s enough. Because I do.
Our lips connect as if they’re starving for the life only we can give to each other. I lift her up and she wraps her legs around me while I walk us both back into the garage, our mouths never once breaking their hold. This is how I’ve wanted to kiss her since the first time she shot me down. I’ve dreamt of this kiss during our late-night talks with June and Lucas. I stared at these perfect lips and imagined what they taste like.
Honey and peaches.
Her skin is cold, so I smack my palm against the garage door control, closing it behind us. I set her down on the hood of my mom’s van long enough for her to toss her sweatshirt from her arms and for me to run my hands up her jaw and into her hair.
We pause to breathe, teeth clinging to each other’s lips as we peel apart, chests heaving and fingers clawing into our clothing. Abby lifts her chin, her eyes flitting upward to meet mine under the haze of her long, thick lashes. She’s classic pin-up, even dressed down. The girl was born to be a star, and it makes me so angry that her father is trying to chip away at her brightness.
She studies me with a serious face, lips parted enough to take needed breaths, her breasts lifting with each intake of air. I glance down at them just enough, the allure impossible to ignore. Abby reacts by lifting her chest higher and sliding closer to me, her knees parting until I stand between them.
Her nervous lips grow more confident, sneering at me as she lifts her chin enough to give me her neck. Like a hungry vampire, I take the bait, pulling her body against me, opening her legs wide, and running my hand down the length of her hair until I’ve found enough to grip and pull her head back with a gentle tug. She whimpers when I do, her hands grabbing the loops on my jeans and pulling me close to feel how hard I am for her. I grunt at the sensation and the idea of being so ready against her softest parts.
I dust kisses along her jaw and neck, and she arches as I move lower, her breasts pushing up toward me, begging me to taste