Chapter Twenty-Eight
Be Poe-sitive.
No.
Piper and I slept over at Esha’s last night after the guys left, and when I woke up to the sound of Piper retching, my first thought was still about the damn midterm. I thought about it even when I went to hold her hair back as she puked.
I probably should’ve kept that thought to myself and just worried on my own about how badly tomorrow’s going to go.
Instead, I texted Hayes. Just to see if he was awake.
I thought maybe he’d tell me everything was going to be okay, and that I’d believe it.
Instead, he asked if I wanted to practice one more time.
When I get to his house, only his car and Luke’s are in the driveway.
This place isn’t the mansion I was expecting, but it’s still very modern and sleek for our tiny town.
It sticks out like a sore thumb even in this ritzy neighborhood.
All the sharp angles and huge windows and shiny accents kind of scream, Doctors live here.
I knock on the door, and Luke opens it faster than I can lower my fist.
“That was so loud,” he mutters, the heel of one hand pressing into his eye socket. He looks like shit. His hair is an incredible mess, and there are bags under his eyes.
“What did y’all drink last night?” I ask him. He still smells like that barn.
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. A stray piece of hay falls out. “It was a Campbell party. Probably fuckin’ moonshine.”
Bless his heart.
Hayes appears over his shoulder, coming from what I assume to be the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee in a Duke mug.
Oh. He’s wearing his glasses. I’ve never seen him in glasses before, and I wasn’t expecting it.
They’re these exceptionally nerdy tortoiseshell glasses that look vintage.
He’s wearing joggers and a plain white T-shirt, and I don’t even remember why I came over here.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Hayes asks. He’s the picture of nonchalance, and it’s annoying. How dare he not act like this is a Moment.
“Nope.” Luke brings up one finger to touch his nose, but it lands somewhere in the middle of his cheek. “My brother’s almost here.”
Then he does leave, and it’s just me and Hayes. I assume so, anyway. The house is eerily quiet and shockingly bright. I didn’t think it was possible to have too many windows, but it looks like Hayes is standing in a spotlight in the center of the room. Sunlight glares off of his glasses.
The silence goes from eerie to awkward. I feel it closing in on me, making this bright open space tight and uncomfortable. He keeps sipping his coffee, even though it’s still hot enough to steam up his lenses.
I speak, just to fill the air with something other than sun-dappled dust bunnies. “Your parents at work?” That was the wrong thing to ask, and I knew it as soon as I started speaking. He visibly wilts, looking down at the floor and not at me.
“Yeah. Dad’s on call, and Mom’s working on a grant application or something. I don’t know.”
There’s another aching silence, and my mind races to fill it with something that won’t make him look so wounded.
“Piper asked me if she’s making a mistake with Luke.” I change the subject. “She was lying on the floor right after she puked, so I thought she was asking if drinking with Luke was a mistake. I didn’t say anything, because obviously. But I think she meant something else.”
Hayes moves across the open-plan space to a couch that looks more aesthetic than comfortable. He sets his coffee on the side table and flops down inelegantly. I sit beside him, and I can confirm that the furniture in here is made for fashion more than function.
“Do you think she’s making a mistake?” He looks at me with that hair and those glasses, and I kind of melt.
“I don’t know,” I admit, drawing my knees up to my chest. Only then do I realize I shouldn’t put my shoes on their fancy couch.
I kick off my old Birkenstock clogs, but my white socks still look dingy compared to the pristine cream leather.
“Bryce hurt her beyond belief. And she hasn’t been broken up with him for that long. ”
“I know.” Hayes starts playing with the bow on the ankle of my sock. “But Luke’s had a thing for her since they met.”
“What?” I shift, slamming my feet back down on the floor. “You mean, like, almost four years ago?”
He nods. Picks up his mug and sips coffee like this is all no big deal. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize we’re talking about something other than Piper and Luke.
My feet start to move of their own volition: I rise and begin pacing around the room.
There’s a huge fireplace in between the windows, and the mantle is decorated in a way that’s …
uh … minimalist. I don’t see any photos or paintings anywhere.
On the walls, there are just degrees and copies of publications and articles.
“How do you like someone that long without doing anything about it?” I ask. I look back at Hayes. He’s kicked his bare feet up on the coffee table and crossed his ankles. I don’t really like this house. I get the sense that he doesn’t either.
“Happens all the time, Novella.” He quirks an eyebrow, and my stomach drops.
Oh. That doesn’t mean what I think it means, right?
I stand in silence, my laps of the room having stopped right in front of him. There’s just a coffee table between us.
“I guess that’s what she’s worried about.
That it’s too soon.” My voice is barely a whisper, the atmosphere suddenly charged with something I can’t name.
The veil of this metaphor gets thinner and thinner with every word.
“Or that he’ll be bad for her, too. I mean, her judgment in the past has not been stellar. ”
“Is it? Too soon, I mean.” That one eyebrow raises, and he sets his feet on the ground. Leans forward. Without that casual posture, he’s all too serious. “And is he really that awful?”
“I don’t think so. On either count.” This time, my words come out with force.
I move around the coffee table and stand in front of him, and my hand drifts to his cheek, then under his chin to tilt his head up until he’s looking at me.
“But you’re not Luke, and I’m not Piper. And you haven’t liked me for forever.”
“Actually … I think I have.” He slants that eyebrow again, and then wraps an arm around my waist. He pulls me down onto the couch until I’m draped over him in a way that’s not living-room appropriate.
I don’t mind.
“What?” I lean back, because I can’t look at him when my head’s resting against his chest. “No, you haven’t. You wouldn’t have been such an asshole if you liked me.”
He chuckles, and I feel the sound rumble through my own ribs.
“Maybe I was just an asshole in general. I think I was trying to get your attention … in the worst way possible.”
“Lies.” I lay my head back down where his neck meets his shoulder. “You’re too smart to be the kid on the playground pulling a little girl’s ponytail because he likes her.”
He laughs again. He tugs on my ponytail, and then he loosens the hair tie that was already half falling out. His fingers run through the strands before he rests his palm at the base of my neck.
“You had to know that would never work on me?” My hands rest on his chest for a moment. Then I reach out one finger to push those glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.
“Maybe I did.” He shrugs as best he can with all of our limbs intertwined like this. “Maybe I was a self-sabotaging little fucker.”
“Okay, well … stop sabotaging me and you.” I snort, an ugly sound straight from my nose.
“I’m trying.” One hand still in my hair, the other comes to brush his thumb across my bottom lip.
“I am so sorry. I know I said that last night, but I don’t think I can say it enough.
If it helps, I don’t think my mom will ever forgive me.
I have never seen her that mad. I got the lecture of a lifetime about what it’s like to be a woman in academia and a girl in high school, and how she has the utmost respect for anyone who’s both at the same time.
She told me I should too, and I’d never thought of it that way. ”
“Hm,” I murmur, kind of impressed.
“And if it helps … I promised her I’d make it up to you.”
“How are you going to do that?” I ask, not the slightest bit sarcastic. I genuinely want to know.
“Haven’t decided yet,” he mumbles. His eyes have gone all hazy, and they drift down to my mouth.
All I have to do is tilt my head just so …
… and my lips press against his.
It’s nothing like our first kiss. That felt almost accidental, like we got caught up in the moment and couldn’t help it. This is so much more intentional, and my mouth opens on a sigh as his fingers bury themselves in my hair.
This is electric in a way I never thought I’d feel.
He’s always ignited a fire in me, one I thought was all deep-red anger and hot-orange indignation. This is the bright blue of understanding, the sharp lime-green of actual respect. Colors I barely knew flames could be.
“Is this okay?” he asks against my lips. “I know you don’t—”
“Yes,” I whisper. We’re so close, the words barely need speaking, but it’s still important I say them. “I told you. You can.”
His hands tighten, his mouth moves, and we never do get to practice the presentation again.