14. PARIS
VANESSA
A gale of relief whooshes out of me as soon as Paris walks away to talk to his friend. I knew sharing a desk with him was a mistake when my intention in coming to the library was to have a distraction-free study session. If I’d known he’d be here, I’d have steered clear.
I watch him from afar, unable to resist getting my fill. There’s a sudden ache in my chest, and I try in vain to massage it away with my fist.
This is not good, Vanessa. You can’t jump off the edge when it comes to Paris.
I can’t stay here. When he disappears down an aisle with his friend, it’s my chance to leave without having to explain why I’m bailing, or worse, him insisting on giving me a lift.
Because of my sprained ankle, I can’t drive, and Heather is busy with cheer practice.
The plan was to get in a couple of hours of solid study and grab an Uber.
I shove my belongings into my backpack as fast as I can and pray that he won’t return before I can trudge my way out of the building.
Speed walking with crutches is a challenge, but I manage to escape unseen.
I move away from the library as fast as I can, just in case Paris decides to look for me before I request a car.
The loud boom of thunder is the only warning I get before the sky falls on me like a waterfall.
I search for cover, but the closest awning is the damn library building.
I keep moving toward the nearest street corner instead as the cold droplets of rain quickly drench my clothes.
My phone is getting wet too, so I try my best to shield it, but the crutches get in the way, and the damn thing slips through my wet fingers.
“Fucking hell.”
I drop them so I can bend down and rescue the device before it’s ruined. I’m completely soaked now, and what’s worse, the app says there aren’t any cars available.
“Vanessa!” Paris’s loud voice travels through the roar of the storm.
Shit.
I turn around and watch the maniac run after me in the downpour. “What?”
“You left.”
“Yeah, I decided to go home.”
When he stops mere inches from invading my personal space, I can see that he’s not amused.
“Is my company so unbearable that you had to run away in the rain?”
“I wasn’t run—”
“Bullshit. You were.”
Car headlights illuminate his face, highlighting all his sharp angles and the hard set of his jaw. Man, he’s pissed .
“If you’re so certain, then why did you come after me? That’s stalker behavior.”
“Stalker…” He rubs his face. “I came after you because I was worried. It’s late, raining cats and dogs, and I know you can’t drive with a sprained ankle. If that makes me a stalker, then fuck, I guess I am.”
Guilt makes me wince. I’m acting like a total bitch because I’m terrified of my feelings and how they’re impairing my judgement.
“I was about to order an Uber,” I reply meekly.
“No.” His voice is hard, leaving no room for argument.
Remorse gives way to irritation. “What do you mean, no ?”
“I’m taking you home. If after that you want to delete my phone number, block me, and never speak to me again, then fine.”
That would remove all the temptation and solve my problem, but it isn’t what I want. I should just accept his offer, but that’s not what comes out of my mouth.
“You’re not the boss of me.”
Why am I even fighting him? There aren’t any rides available anyway. But his attitude is making me so damn angry. I don’t like being told what to do, even if the one doing the telling is the guy I can’t stop thinking about.
“You’re lucky I’m not your boss.” He grabs my crutches from the ground with one hand and then takes my arm with the other. “Come on. I have to get my stuff from the library first.”
I plant my feet, refusing to budge. “I’ll wait here.”
“Yeah, nice try, honey.”
“I’m not your honey , jackass.”
I jerk my arm back, not really expecting to break free of his hold.
But we’re wet, and he wasn’t gripping me too tight.
I lose my balance with the momentum, and on reflex, put all my weigh on my right foot, which is a monumental mistake.
Not only does it not stop my fall, it also hurts like a mother. A yelp escapes my lips.
My back doesn’t meet the ground though. Paris catches me, wrapping my body in his arms and pulling me against him.
My pulse skyrockets, and any coherent thought flies out of my head.
I’m wide-eyed when I look up and meet his stare.
We don’t speak as we drink each other in.
Then comes the certainty that if we don’t break apart, I might attack his mouth.
“Why are you so difficult?” he whispers, inching closer.
“I’m not.” I drop my gaze to his lips for a second, and then go back to his eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles.
“Like what?”
He cups my cheek, making me shiver. “Like you want me to kiss you.”
“What if I do?”
“Well, then.”
His hand finds the back of my head as his lips claim mine.
Clutching his biceps, I surrender to his sweet invasion, regretting I didn’t succumb to him sooner.
The first swipe of his tongue against mine destroys the dam that was keeping all my feelings trapped.
They burst through in a violent and devastating flood.
I was a fool for believing I could ever move on from him.
He curls his fingers around a strand of my hair and tilts my head to the side as he deepens the kiss. It was fireworks kissing him the first time. Now, it’s a comet zooming across the sky, and I can’t get enough. If couldn’t forget him then, there’s absolutely no chance I’ll be able to now.
“Get a room!” someone yells in the distance.
We both ease back, but his arm is still around me, and his hand is in my hair. He rests his forehead against mine, and says, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to kiss you again.”
“If you say nine years, I’m gonna kick you in the shin,” I joke.
He pulls back. “Okay, I won’t say nine years then.”
I narrow my eyes to slits. “Is that how long?”
Now he really puts distance between us by releasing me. “I kinda don’t want to answer now.”
I’m back to being mad at him. He gave me the cold shoulder after Cory died, ignored me completely, never even mentioned the heartfelt poem and note I left in his mailbox when I couldn’t see him, and in high school, continued his streak of being a total jerk.
And now he’s claiming he’s been into me since then?
He was my first crush and first heartbreak.
I cross my arms. “You just did. Let’s go get your stuff.”
“Okay.” He retrieves my discarded crutches and hands them over. “Are you angry with me?”
“No,” I reply and then head toward the library.
He matches my pace and walks by my side, but he doesn’t utter another word.
There’s a palpable tension between us now, and I hate it.
I wish I could forget how much he hurt me in the past. I understood his silence immediately after his brother’s death.
He was grieving. And I could ascribe his later cruelty to being young and immature, but then he continued to be a complete tool toward me for most of college.
I know lowering my defenses around him will come back to bite me in the ass. And yet, my lips still tingle from his kiss, and I still yearn for more.