Chapter 5 Grabby Hands #2
Butterflies wake in my stomach. Flutter their wings. Take flight.
And suddenly, I’m very interested in this plan of his. Because if I’m being really honest with myself, this isn’t the first time I’ve wondered about it. Kissing him. It’s been a recurring thought, a dream, often enough to be disruptive, ever since he saw me in this same dress three years ago.
Still, I decide to approach with caution. Beck is too important for me to mess this up.
“Like…how would that work?” I ask, not wanting to misinterpret the situation.
He still won’t look at me. “I don’t know. Like I kiss you on your hand or something?”
That won’t be enough, whispers a tiny voice in my ear. One that really wants to kiss Beck.
“Or,” I draw out the word, “I could kiss you for real. Like on the lips.”
Beck’s eyes snap open. “What?”
“I mean…” I take the crown from his hands and place it on his head, tilting it just enough to make him look a little dangerous. Just enough to make me think I can actually pull this off. “Just for teaching purposes, of course. You know. See what we’re working with.”
His expression is so stunned that I let out a tiny, breathless laugh. “Geez. You’d think I just suggested we rob a bank or something.”
“Robbing a bank sounds less dangerous,” Beck says.
“Does that mean you’re out?” I tease. “Too scared?”
The words surprise me. I don’t know why I’m pushing this so hard. He’s right, this is the worst, most risky thing I’ve ever suggested. And that includes the time I talked him into breaking into the country club at night so we could use their hot tub.
Beck studies me cautiously. “You think it’d be okay?” he asks. “Me kissing you?”
I aim for nonchalance, even though my heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest. “Of course. We’ve known each other forever.” I flap a hand between us. “You know nothing’s going to change how I see you. Not even a bad kiss.”
That part, at least, is true.
Beck nods, the crown slipping just a little as his eyes narrow thoughtfully. “You’re right.” He straightens. “We should do it.”
A long pause.
“How do we start?”
I giggle. “Well, it’s pretty simple. You put your lips on mine, and we kind of…I don’t know. Move them around.”
“Okay. Okay.” He nods like his head’s on a spring. “Got it.”
Then he just sits there. Staring at me.
Guess it’s up to me.
I scoot closer and rest my hands on his shoulders. They tremble, just slightly, which sparks a strange softness in my chest, followed by anxiety.
What am I doing? This is Beck. My Beck. This is stupid. A huge mistake.
I push those thoughts aside.
Slowly, I rise up off the table and bring my lips to his. I watch long enough to see it, the exact moment his eyes close. I watch him lean in, feel him bend toward me, lowering his head to meet mine.
We kiss.
For a heartbeat, nothing happens. His mouth is warm and hesitant at first, barely there, as if he’s afraid to do it wrong.
I adjust without thinking. Tilt my head. Press a little closer.
The change is instant.
Something in him softens, then deepens, and suddenly he’s kissing me back, not clumsy, not uncertain, but careful in the way someone is when it matters. His lips move against mine slowly, then more firmly, quicker, unraveling like he’s surrendering to something he’s been holding back for years.
My breath catches.
Heat blooms low and bright in my chest, spreading everywhere at once. This isn’t fireworks or sparks or anything sharp. It’s steadier than that. Fuller. Like slipping into a warm bath and realizing you’ve been cold your whole life.
My hands curl in the fabric at his shoulders, anchoring myself, because the world has gone very quiet.
The field. The school. Everything disappears except this, Beck’s mouth on mine, the way he leans in like he belongs here, the way my heart stumbles and then settles, like it’s finally found the right rhythm.
When we pull apart, it’s only because we have to breathe.
I stay close, foreheads nearly touching, my pulse still racing, my lips tingling, and I think,
Oh.
So that’s how it’s supposed to feel.
“Well,” he whispers against my lips, “was it…was I…okay?”
“Hmm?” I murmur, still floating, still lost in the warmth of him, the night, the magic.
“I mean,” he clears his throat softly and asks, “did I do it right?”
Reality rushes back in all at once. Cold and sharp. A fist to my face.
Because suddenly I remember this kiss wasn’t just a kiss. It was practice.
For Esther.
For later tonight.
For “maybe more.”
That lands heavy in my chest, souring the sweetness just enough to hurt.
I lean back, take a breath in and let it out.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile that feels steadier than I am. “You were fine.”
His shoulders loosen at that, relief flashing across his face, and that somehow makes it worse. Because he’s happy. Because he trusts me. Because this meant one thing to him and something else entirely to me.
He doesn’t see the way my hands curl tighter in my lap. Or how I swallow past the lump in my throat.
Of course he did it right.
He kissed me like he loved me.
And he does love me…just not like that.
Which was fine up until three minutes ago and now it feels a lot less fine.
“We could leave,” I blurt out. “Go home right now.”
So you can kiss me some more.
Confusion flashes across Beck’s face. “What do you mean?” He checks his watch. “It’s only ten-thirty. The dance lasts another hour and then there’s all the after-parties.”
“Yeah, but…” I’m scrambling. Desperate to come up with a plan. Something to keep him with me, away from Esther. I fake a laugh, high and too loud, “It’s all so boring. Right? We could go home. Watch a movie…”
My voice trails off because Beck is already shaking his head.
“No way. It’s our last prom, Gracie. We can’t miss it.”
Then understanding dawns on his face. Gentle. Thoughtful. Entirely wrong.
“Is it Jimmy?” he asks. “You can hang with my group if you don’t want to go with him.”
The fight drains out of me all at once. I slump, a sharp, sudden pain knifing into my chest.
“No,” I say quietly. “It’s fine. We’re all going to Miranda’s after this. There’ll be plenty of people there. I won’t have to see Jimmy.”
Beck relaxes. “Okay, good.”
He takes the crown off his head and hands it back to me. For a wild second, I want to fling it away. Throw it into the field for the cow to stomp on, but that’s petty. Childish. Impulsive.
Instead, I take the tiara and place it back on my head, adjusting it until it sits just right.
Beck helps without thinking, straightening it carefully. Then he smiles at me.
“You looked real pretty up there, Gracie,” he says softly. “When they gave it to you. I was proud.”
He squeezes my arm one last time. Familiar. Safe. Devastating.
“Let’s watch movies tomorrow, okay?” he adds. “We’ll be tired. We can spend all day on the couch. Have a marathon like we used to.”
I nod, barely holding myself together. Choking back the tears that threaten. I’ll let them fall later, once he’s walked away.
“Sounds good, Beck,” I tell him.
“Tomorrow.”
Gracie
Present
I chase Beck through the bar, past the pool tables, into the hallway that leads outside.
His legs are longer than mine. Plus he got a head start, so I barely catch up before he reaches the door.
“Beck, wait.” I grab him by his jacket and pull with all my strength.
He stumbles backward, nearly knocking me over, then twists free.
For a split second, his face is lit by the red emergency EXIT sign above the door, angry, wrecked, unguarded.
There’s no other light back here. We’re swallowed by shadow.
“Let me go, Gracie.”
“No.” I step toward him again, then stop when he retreats, putting distance between us like it physically hurts to be this close. I lift my hands, palms out, like I need to prove I’m not a threat. “I’m not stopping until you talk to me.”
He drags in a breath that sounds like it scrapes his chest raw. I’ve never seen him like this, furious and devastated at the same time.
“What’s there to talk about?” he snaps. “It’s pretty clear.”
“What Trish said isn’t true. I mean,” backtracking, “it’s true that I said it, but that’s not how I meant it to come out. I’m—”
Beck cuts me off. “I get it. You don’t have to explain. We’re friends, and that’s it…except.” He paces, raking his hands through his hair. “Maybe even that isn’t working anymore.”
My heart gives a sharp twinge. “What do you mean?” I cry out, worried this is it. The moment Kirsten warned me about. Where I lose him. As a friend. As the potential for something more. “We grew up together. Did everything together. Of course, we’re friends.”
Suddenly, he’s there. Right in front of me, walking me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. “You know how you were giving me shit earlier? For disappearing these last few months?”
I nod, nervous from the rage in his eyes, the recklessness rolling off him. He’s usually so contained. Controlled. I don’t know how to handle this version of Beck. “You told me. You were with Sarah.”
“Wrong.” Beck leans an arm on the wall, right next to my head. His breath ghosts my cheek, warm and unsteady. “I ended it with Sarah months ago. Couldn’t stand it, stringing her along.”
“What?” I shove at his chest, needing space. “Why? Why would you break up with her?”
“Because she wasn’t you.”
The words land like a blow.
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head. “Why didn’t you call me? Answer my texts?” My voice rises, and it’s a good thing we’re in a crowded bar because outside I’d be screaming at him. Shrieking.
“Jesus, Beck. I was worried about you. I had to call and ask your mom if you were okay. Do you know how humiliating that was?”
“I didn’t call because you were with Brandon.
Planning a future. Talking about a white dress.
” Beck bends down, bringing his eyes right up to mine, and I flinch when I see how they blaze.
“I’m never going to be able to watch you walk down the aisle to some other man, okay? Never. So don’t ask me to.”