Chapter Thirteen #2
I took a deep breath underneath the twisty lettering, then parted the thick curtains of the entrance and stepped inside.
The checkered black-and-white floor and walls, painted with drippy-looking clocks and funky symbols, reflected a rainbow of colors under a black light.
From where I stood, rows upon rows of arches stretched in front of me and to my right and left, enticing guests to try a different path, but I knew better.
This was not the first time I had been in this house.
A loud thump sounded somewhere to my left followed by a groan and a low “Shit.”
I laughed, snuck around one of the corners, out of sight, and cupped my hands around my mouth. “You okay in there, Fulton?”
“Eliza? Is that you?”
“It’s me.” In a dark house. Alone. With you.
I must be losing my mind.
“Can you find me? I’m not sure which version of me is me anymore.” He ran into another wall. “Hell, I think I may have a concussion now.”
I giggled and peeked around the corner, spying where he was. I darted around the arches. “But this is too much fun.”
He sighed. “How about a game of Marco Polo, then?”
I leaned against the mirror next to me and took a deep breath as more of Lauryn’s words echoed in my head. It’s okay, you know. To like him.
“Marco?” Reed called.
I stepped near another mirror, still out of sight. “Polo.”
“Marco?”
This was too easy. I could walk through this place blindfolded. “Polo.”
“Hmmm…” He patted the walls and walked more slowly. “Marco?”
He moved closer now. Much closer. The sweet pine smell of his cologne mixed with the smell of freshly cut grass made me dizzy. “Polo,” I whispered.
“Marco.”
The floor creaked on the opposite side of the mirrored wall nearest to me.
Was that my heart pounding so loudly? Or maybe it was the bass from the speakers inside the walls? My voice shook. “P-Polo—”
His hand reached around the corner and grabbed mine. Part of his face glowed from the neon lights while the rest was shadowy, but I could see his smile in both the dark and the light. He gently tucked one of the stray pieces of my hair behind my ear, lingering there for a moment too long.
I rolled out of reach. “What are we doing here, Reed?”
“We’re…walking through a house of mirrors that’s making me wonder if this is what it feels like to trip on acid.” He propped his arm against an archway.
“No. What are we doing?” I flailed my arms between the two of us.
He stood up straight. “Eliza—”
“At the end of this summer, one of us will lose.” Didn’t he get that?
“But don’t you think it’d be more of a loss if we didn’t even try?” His eyes stared expectantly at me, and the energy, the buzz between us was so tangible that it hummed through me. Like Reed and I had our own kind of white noise. It was almost too much.
I backed up. “Just give me a second to think.” I turned away from him only to realize he could still see me in the mirror.
Dang it.
He leaned to the side in plain view behind me. “Still thinking?”
“Trying to.”
“About what?”
“About what”? “Well, for starters, how this is a recipe for disaster.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m a Fulton. You’re a Crowley. But we used to be friends, remember? And if we become more than that, I promise I’ll still always be a pain in the ass who annoys you because I like making your nose crinkle.”
“My nose does not crinkle—”
“And you’ll always pretend to hate me because it’s easier than the truth.”
The weight on my chest squeezed a bit harder. “What truth?”
But I knew the answer before he spoke it.
Part of me may have always known it.
“The truth about how you feel about me.” His fingers found mine, spreading a warmth throughout my arm. “And how I feel about you.”
I turned around to face him, releasing his fingers. “How can you be so sure about this?”
Because right now, I wasn’t.
Right now, this—“us”—scared the crap out of me.
And yet…
“I’m not.” He swallowed.
“So then why should we try?”
“Because I’m running out of excuses not to. Aren’t you?”
The weight on my chest grew wings, and the warmth in my arm spread to my cheeks. Yes. Yes, I am.
He smiled. “Do you remember the last time we came here?”
“I remember.” I reached up and bopped his nose. “Sorry I made your nose bleed.”
He laughed. “If…if I kiss you again, are you going to hit me like you did that night?”
I took a step backward again, my heart thumping wildly. “The only reason you kissed me was because you made a bet with my next-door neighbor, Drew—”
“I told you already a million times. The only bets I ever made with Drew were on Yankees games.” He closed the space between us, and my breath caught in my throat.
“I kissed you the summer after seventh grade because I wanted to. Because I knew we were moving, and I didn’t know if I’d have another chance. ”
Oh.
“But you were right to hit me,” he said.
“I was?”
He nodded. “I should’ve asked you first.”
I smiled. Yes, you should have.
“So…” He bit his lip, which was kinda adorable. “Will you punch me again if I kiss you?”
“No.” I ran my hands up his arms, over the outlines of tight muscles beneath his shirt, and finally admitted what I had kept hidden for a long time. “But I will if you don’t.”
He drew me against his chest and dropped his chin. Our warped, mirrored reflections blurred seconds before I closed my eyes and let his lips find mine, a small gasp escaping from both of us when he did.
Oh my God.
I had been kissed before, some good, most just meh. But this? This was what I always imagined a kiss should feel like.
Slow.
Curious.
But hungry. Like hearing a whisper of a secret that left you craving more.
Yes. More.
I parted his lips with my tongue, tasting sweet Nilla Wafers, and my fingers dug into his back, aching to feel closer to him.
We stumbled through a few more arches until we bumped against a rounded mirror that opened into a room I didn’t know existed.
The mirror slammed shut behind us, leaving us alone in the dark, with only a sliver of light near our feet.
For a long moment, my forehead pressed against his chin. The rapid rise and fall of his chest under my hands told me he was just as breathless as I was.
But did he feel the same heat searing through his body?
The same weightlessness?
I let my fingers trail up his neck, let one of my thumbs brush over his swollen lips and that perfect dimple.
A second later, like two star-crossed, warped, confused comets, burning brightly to the point of a reckless explosion, we collided.
He lifted me off the ground and spun me around.
My legs crossed behind his back, pulling him against me as my back banged into another wall. Thankfully, this one didn’t move.
But his mouth did. Leaving a trail of kisses along my jaw before he followed the freckles down my neck.
God dammit, Reed Fulton, you’re good at this.
I moved my mouth down to where the stubble turned smooth on his warm, sunburned neck and flushed all over from the noise he made. Our hands reached everywhere for each other, searching, exploring, and Jesus, it felt so good.
Then voices drifted in from outside the secret room. He jumped, brushing his lips across my forehead before I unwound my legs and dropped—regretfully—back to the floor, which did nothing to help my wobbly knees.
“Eliza,” he whispered into my hair.
He had said my name at least a hundred times in all the years I’d known him.
But it had never sounded like that.
Like a revelation.
A beat before his mouth met mine again, I echoed, “Reed,” hoping it sounded the same.
Like someone who had left behind a part of themselves.
Someone who didn’t quite believe that the unbelievable had just happened.
Someone who had floated away from the hall of mirrors and spun around as if on a carousel.