Wild Swans - Jessica Spotswood Page 0,46
is really soft. A little thrill runs through me at my bravery. I am in Connor’s apartment. Sitting on his bed. I’ve never been in a boy’s bedroom before, unless you count Alex’s. But Alex still uses his old brontosaurus sheets sometimes, and his walls are covered with posters of his baseball heroes. This feels so much more grown up.
“Oh. I guess I just assumed… How did you break your nose?”
“I got my ass kicked.” Connor shoves his hands in his back pockets. “I was bullied a lot in middle school.”
“For what?” I can’t imagine him being unpopular.
“Always having my nose stuck in a book. Raising my hand too much in class. Not being black enough—but not being white either. It was bullshit, but I was short and skinny, and I wore glasses, and I talked like an English teacher’s kid. I was an easy target.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “What changed?”
“I got my nose broken, and Dad took me to the gym and taught me how to box. Next time somebody hit me, I hit him back harder. I got suspended and Grams gave me hell for it, but kids left me alone after that.” He shrugs. “Then I transferred into Duke Ellington for high school. It was okay to be different there. Or maybe there were just more kids like me.”
“Middle school sucks. Girls can be pretty vicious too. Not so much with physical fights, but gossip. For me it was all about how my mom was a crazy slut and didn’t even know who my dad was.”
Connor sinks down next to me on the bed. “You’re not your family, Ivy.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for crying. And for snapping at you. I get so mad when people assume things about me, about my family. I shouldn’t have assumed it’s always been easy for you. I’m just…jealous. That you’re so focused.”
He shrugs off the praise. “When I was getting shoved into lockers every day, I decided I was going to become the black J. K. Rowling and those middle school assholes would all be sorry. Then in high school I started writing poetry instead of Harry Potter fanfic, so I’m pretty sure I’m not going to end up rich and famous. Oh well.”
Now I totally want to read his Harry Potter fanfic. “Which Hogwarts house are you?” This is one of my favorite questions. Claire is absolutely Gryffindor; Abby is Hufflepuff.
“Ravenclaw,” he says without hesitation. “You?”
“The Sorting Hat says Ravenclaw, but I think I’m probably Hufflepuff.” I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. Hufflepuffs: loyal and kind and hard workers, but not exactly setting the world on fire.
“No way. You’re totally Ravenclaw,” he insists.
I like the way he sees me. I like that he thinks I’m enough. Just me. Just Ivy.
I lean in, then hesitate because I want to be really clear on this. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”
Connor grins, and for a second I get a glimpse of that shy, nerdy kid he used to be, and I am utterly smitten. “Yeah.”
This time we both lean in. His mouth presses against mine, and his arm goes around me, resting on the curve of my hip. I run my hands up over the smooth muscles of his forearms, over his biceps, and he shudders a little beneath my touch. We kiss and kiss, and eventually fall back onto the bed, our legs tangling together.
He kisses his way down my neck, and it tickles, but in a delicious way. When he moves the spaghetti strap of my sundress aside and presses a kiss to my shoulder, it’s my turn to shiver. He pauses. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I say, and he kisses my shoulder again. I trace his side, under his shirt, and he sits up and pulls the shirt off in one swift motion. Shirtless Connor is as hot as I imagined: all lean muscle and the Millay tattoo over his heart. I push him back until he’s lying down and I’m leaning over him, tracing the words with my fingertips. Then I stop and read the lines just above his waistband. I explore those too, and the curve of his abdomen, the jut of his hip bones, until he grabs my hand and rolls me over so I’m beneath him.
He braces himself on one forearm, kissing me deeply. I like the weight of him, the feel of us pressed together. It’s his turn to skim a hand up over my