17
Valentina
Huxley holds me tightly to his chest, shielding me from the cold chill I was ignoring, and I snuggle closer.
I know this isn’t real, and I know we aren’t a real couple, but being in his arms is different—safe. Here, I don’t think about how pathetic I am. Here, I feel like I actually matter. Even if it is all pretend.
But at the same time, I can’t stop the crushing weight that presses on my chest. I get why he wants to know things about me, so the experience feels real. But knowing this information about each other will only bring us closer, and that’s not what we’re doing.
We’re here for a deal.
A pretend relationship that has an end date already set.
And I just can’t see him wanting me for real.
“What about actual artists?” he asks after a moment of silence.
I have to think about this one a little bit more.
Truth is, I really only listen to Taylor Swift because she’s widely popular. Because when I stopped playing music, I almost stopped listening to it altogether.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her songs, and there’s a very good reason why she’s so popular. But if I really sat down and listened to music the way Huxley does, I don’t think she’d make my top five.
But Huxley…Huxley would make my top five in most categories, but especially in music.
His voice has always been a calming force to make me forget about the world around me for a while.
I wonder if one day I’ll hear him on the radio and have to turn it off because it hurts too much to hear his voice. I hope that never happens.
I shrug, stirring my ice cream slowly and melting it even more.
“There’s this guy on Instagram who paints with his eyes closed.
He plays a song, usually suggested by someone, and then he closes his eyes and just lets the paintbrush move over the canvas until the song is over.
” I shift my body more towards Huxley, his arm falling from my shoulders and landing softly on my waist.
“Sometimes the picture is nothing special. But he’s had a few that you can almost feel the song through the artwork when you look at them. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen, and I always look forward to seeing what he makes next.”
Huxley’s eyes bounce from my eyes to my smile, like he’s absorbing my happiness and letting it form the smile on his face.
I grin a little wider, unable to control it. “What about you?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Music, Bon Jovi. Art, Bon Jovi.”
I frown. “Does he make art?”
His arm moves from my waist as he clutches his chest. “His music is art, Love,” he says dramatically.
I roll my eyes, trying to keep my smile from getting too wide. I’ve realized it’s hard to hide my smile around Huxley. I’ve also realized that I’m okay with that.
“Favorite movie,” he continues, bringing his ice cream cup to his lips to drink the melted remnants.
“Dirty Dancing.”
“Valentina,” he mock gasps. “How inappropriate of you. Something with dirty in the title.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I will dump my ice cream on your head.”
He narrows his eyes right back. “I’d like to see you try.”
We hold each other's gaze, both of our ice cream cups held up for the attack. But the longer I look at him, the more my heart starts to ache.
Being with him is too easy. I don’t have to think over my every move with him. But that will only hurt me more in the end.
I break the tension by shoving him. Huxley laughs and grabs my knee to keep himself upright. “I’m kidding. I know the movie. Great movie.”
He leaves his hand on my knee, letting his fingers graze lazily over my skin. His touch lights up a part of me I didn’t know could be lit up. But now that I feel it, I don’t want it to go away.
I swallow down the new nerves that fill my chest and ask, “But what’s your favorite movie?”
He sits up straighter, his hand fully engulfing my knee as he answers, “Indiana Jones.”
My hands gravitate on their own towards his on my knee, my finger softly skimming his wrist. “One in particular or the whole series?”
His eyebrow goes up while his hand moves just enough so his pinky finger hooks with my forefinger. “You know Indiana Jones?”
I roll my eyes. “Huxley. I don’t live under a rock. I know who Steven Tyler is, and I’ve seen all of the Indiana Jones movies.”
His other eyebrow matches the first one. “You’ve seen them too?”
I shrug. “My dad said he liked them.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret them.
“Your dad and I would be friends,” he says noncommittally, as if he’s remembering our conversation from earlier and doesn’t really want to bring up our families again.
I weakly smile and look back at my ice cream.
My father would never be friends with someone like Huxley Adams. One look and he would consider him practically a criminal because of his wilder appearance. He’d never give him a chance. Neither of my parents would.
I unhook our fingers and push a few chocolate chips around my cup.
My focus stays there until Huxley moves beside me.
He sets his ice cream down before shrugging out of his jacket.
I don’t think about what he’s doing until he wraps the jacket around me, placing it on my shoulders.
He straightens it out a bit before his eyes meet mine. “You’re cold. Don’t lie.”
I may be cold, but my pulse is on fire. I honestly didn’t think guys still lent girls their coats anymore. I thought that was just something that happened in movies, or a girl had to beg to wear his jacket. But he just did it, without question, without me even directly saying I was cold.
A more genuine smile pulls at my lips. “Thank you.”
He smiles back and moves to sit beside me again. I set my ice cream on the table to slip my arms into the jacket to get warmer.
“Okay. No more favorites. Let’s talk about your firsts.” He takes another drink from his ice cream cup before he sets it next to mine. “What are some things you want to experience in our relationship?”
I pull his jacket around me and turn forward to think.
I know there are things I’ve seen in movies or read about in books that I thought I would want to experience, but at the same time, there were things that even if I wanted to experience them, I don’t think they would happen.
Still, Huxley gave me his jacket without me having to ask him.
“Honestly.” I look up at him. “Everything we did tonight was nothing I ever expected. I never thought I would go to a music museum that was named after a fake person.” He chuckles, lifting my smile again as I continue.
“I never thought I would do karaoke. Especially not as seriously as I did. And I never thought I would have an old woman hold my hand and say ‘Strange’ before giving me a song that’s supposed to represent me. ”
He nods, so I turn to face him more. “Huxley. Aside from my first kiss and my first time, there’s nothing I can expect from this.
One, because that’s mainly all this is supposed to be for.
And two, you’re not like the guys I read about in books or watch in movies.
You’re this completely different being that I’ve never experienced before.
So I can’t tell you what I want from you. I just want to do this with you.”
We sit staring at each other in silence for a long time.
Did I say something wrong? Something to offend him?
Huxley suddenly stands and steps in front of me. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, sending shockwaves of nerves through me as he grabs my legs behind my knees and pulls me closer to him.
I gasp and grab for the bottom of my dress, which rides up my thighs. I try to pull it back down, but Huxley holds my legs around him, making my job hard.
Holy shit, the dirty thoughts going through my head right now should not be there. But I can’t help it. From the way he grabbed me, to the way he’s holding me, looking at me.
One of his hands comes up to my face, tilting my chin so I’m looking up at him. Our eyes lock together, but neither of us says anything.
This feels like the moment. He’s finally going to kiss me. And I think I’m ready. But as he leans in, he lifts his chin higher, pressing his lips to my forehead instead.
I take in a sharp breath. My hands still holding onto the hem of my dress grip tighter, pulling inward between my legs. Shivers run up my spine while heat gathers in areas it really shouldn’t right now. All from a forehead kiss?
My eyes widen as he pulls away, begging him for more. His thumb rubs over my cheek as a small smile spreads on his face.
“Even though now seems like a great time to kiss you, it’s not the right time,” he tells me softly. “So this is as much as we get.”
I nod, my eyes falling from his. I should have known that. I barely let him hold my hand earlier, and even though I’m better with his touch, I’m honestly not ready to kiss him.
I look down at my dress, and my eyes widen further. I try to pull it down again when Huxley moves closer to my ear, freezing me in place. “You’re so cute, Valentine,” he whispers.
I look up quickly. So quickly, Huxley’s face is a few centimeters from mine. So close our noses brush. My breath stops in my throat at our proximity. His eyes grow heavy, the tension filling up between us, seconds away from him breaking the words he just said.
His hand barely shifts up my leg, and I instantly shove him back, fear suddenly the only thing coursing through my veins.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper with a shaky voice.
I peek up at him, and his eyebrows crease together. “Don’t be sorry, Love.”
My eyes fall to my hand pressed to his chest. “I don’t know why I’m afraid of this.”
“You’ve never done it before,” he says simply. “That’s reason enough.”
“But I’ve seen people do these things before. I’m acting like I’m not only a virgin, but a virgin who’s been locked in a box for 21 years.”
“Well, you look great for being in a box for that long,” he says with a teasing smile.
I roll my eyes, but a smile manages to pull my lips up.
Until I see my legs around him again.