Chapter 1 Everybody’s Favorite Guy #7
“No,” Walker said, keeping his eyes on the book. “I’m pretending to read.”
“Why?”
“Because we had a big day, and I’m giving you some space.”
I considered that. “What if I don’t want space?”
“I think you probably do.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked next.
“Sure.”
“Are you seeing anyone? In DC?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I guess I just haven’t met anybody I’m interested in lately.”
I nodded.
“Are you seeing anybody?” he asked me back.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
I scooted a little closer. “Same reason. Kind of.”
Walker nodded. But now he kept his eyes on me.
“Can I ask you another question?” I asked then.
“Shoot.”
“Do you ever miss me?”
Walker didn’t blink. “All the time.”
“Do you ever wish things had gone differently for us?”
“All the time.”
“If I asked you to kiss me right now, would you?”
Walker put his book down. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because we got like three hours of sleep last night. And you had to scatter your father’s ashes today. And ride in a gondola. And relive the worst thing I ever did to you.”
“You think I’m not in my right mind.”
“I think it’s been a very long day.”
“You’re worried about me.”
Walker nodded. “Frequently.”
“But what about you? Are you worried about you?”
Walker held my gaze and shook his head.
“Last night, after you fell and landed on top of me . . . did you think about kissing me?”
Slowly, Walker nodded.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I don’t deserve you.”
“What if I forgive you?”
“I don’t want you to forgive me.”
“What if I did it anyway?”
“That’s not what I came here for.”
“What did you come here for?”
“To apologize. And I guess just—to see you. I missed seeing your face.”
“Does any part of you still like me? You know—romantically?”
“I will like you romantically until the day I die.”
I felt those words like fireworks inside my body. “But you don’t want to kiss me?”
“I want to. I’m just not going to.”
“You’re not going to,” I summed up, “because of a mean thing you did to me almost a decade ago when you thought you were saving your best friend’s life?”
Walker nodded.
“Even if I’m not mad about it?”
“Are you not mad about it?”
“I’m weirdly not.”
“How is that possible?”
“Because I already knew all the bad stuff. What I didn’t know was the good stuff.”
Walker waited.
“I’ve always known what you did. I just didn’t know why you did it.”
“It doesn’t matter why.”
“It does. It might be the only thing that matters.”
“Are you giving me the benefit of the doubt?”
“You were sixteen. You thought your best friend’s life was at stake. You were trying to do the right thing. It’s noble, in a way, when you think about it.”
Walker shook his head. “I went way too far.”
I gave him that. “You could’ve calibrated it better.”
Walker gave me a wary look, like I’d be wrong to forgive him. “I really hurt you.”
“I’m not that fragile. And what you said is old news. What’s new news is that now I feel better. A lot better. So much better that here we are down in this basement bunk room, and all I can think about is how to get you to kiss me.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
But I crawled toward him. “What if I came over here . . . like this . . . and I . . . very carefully . . . did this?” I straddled his lap and sat on his thighs. “Does this hurt your torn meniscus?”
He shook his head.
“And what if I put your hands right here?” I lifted his hands and set them on my hips. “And then I put my hands here?” I crooked my arms behind his neck. “And then I came really close to you, like this?” I brought my face just inches from his.
“Lily, don’t.”
“Do you know what my takeaway from today is?”
“What?”
“I wasn’t wrong about you, after all.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m saying maybe we should get to finish what we started. Maybe the answer isn’t for us to just give up. Maybe we’ve missed each other long enough. Maybe, if you really feel so bad, instead of punishing us both by keeping your distance, you could come closer and try to make it up to me.”
I held his gaze. My mouth was so close to his, I could feel his breath tickling the peach fuzz over my lip.
“Shouldn’t you be more . . . angry?” Walker asked.
“I don’t want to be angry,” I said.
“This is so unfair,” Walker said. “I can’t win.”
“If you kiss me,” I said, “we both win.”
“Lily . . .”
But I brought my hand to the back of his neck. “If you kiss me,” I said, “I’ll forgive you.”
“I told you,” he said, “I don’t want you to forgive me.”
“Fine,” I said. “If you kiss me, I won’t forgive you.”
He looked tempted, he really did.
So I stayed right there. Hoping he’d give in to temptation.
And then . . . he did.
He brought those arms around me, and pulled me in, and pressed his mouth to mine.
Tentative at first, like I might have second thoughts.
But I kissed him back like a dare. Like each press and pull was demanding he do the same right back.
And before either of us knew it, there were no second thoughts—no thoughts at all—left.
We just got lost in the kissing. The kind of whole-self, whole-body, wholehearted kissing you only ever do when it’s no longer high school, and life has humbled you both, and you’re still impossibly infatuated, and now you know more than enough about heartbreak—and so you know better than to take any moment of grace for granted.
He kissed me like an apology.
Like we’d wasted too much time.
Like he was saying all the things he couldn’t say.
And I didn’t forgive him. Not yet. But only because he didn’t want me to.