17 #2
“I want you to touch me,” I whisper. His chest tenses up under my hand, making me grip his shirt tighter. “I just need time.”
His chest expands deeply before he brings his hands up between us, flipping them so they are palm-side up. I look them over and then up at him.
“You put them where I can touch you freely,” he says in a deep voice that sends a shudder through me. “And we’ll go from there.”
It takes me a moment to really register what he’s saying. That he’s not going to touch me anywhere I’m not comfortable with. That he’s willing to take this as slow as I need.
Great.
I’m never getting over this guy.
I slowly grab his hands with my shaky ones. Thinking only for a moment before I lift them to my face. He gently cups my cheeks, and my eyes move back up to him. I don’t look away as I pull his hands slowly down to my neck.
His eyes never leave mine as I continue to move his hands to my shoulders. He’s technically touched me here before when he’s hugged me, but everything feels elevated now. His touch burning into me like he’s never done this before.
I sit up straighter, and he moves his hands down a little bit over my shoulder blades. I don’t say anything, just nod my head, and he understands, slowly sliding his hands down. I wait until I feel his hands on my lower back before I grab his wrists to stop him, and he doesn’t move an inch more.
“For now,” I whisper.
He smiles. “For now.”
Our eye contact feels too heavy, so I break the connection, my eyes falling on our ice cream that’s beyond melted. I reach for his cup and then pick up the spoon.
“That’s mine,” he tries to tell me, but there’s a softness in his voice that tells me he doesn’t care.
My eyes fly up to his. “I know,” I say as I take a bite.
He smiles and reaches for mine. “Fine.” He takes a bite, but I can see the thoughts swirling in his head as he stares at me curiously. “You have bad ice cream tastes, Valentine.”
I gasp. “I do not!”
He lifts my ice cream cup between us. “This is disgusting.”
“Fine, give it back.” I reach for it, but he pulls it back, a tricky smile playing on his lips.
“Huxley,” I warn.
He shrugs and brings it forward, so I try to reach for it again.
But he pulls it back. Again.
I set his ice cream down beside me. “Give it to me.”
He brings it forward just enough that I should be able to reach it, but far enough that I still need to stretch. I lean forward further, but it turns out I miscalculated the distance.
The table feels like it’s tipping underneath me, but really it’s just my legs teetering off. Before I fall completely on my face, Huxley’s arms wrap around me, keeping me upright.
“You okay?” A slight layer of fear laces his voice. I barely fell. I’m perfectly fine. But the concern in his eyes keeps me from saying that.
It keeps me from saying anything at all. Why does he have to care so much? All it does is put false hope in my heart. But I can’t deny, this false hope feels like blinding certainty. Blinding certainty that I’ll never get over him.
Huxley’s arm tightens around my waist to keep me up, my toes just barely touching the ground.
“Val,” he whispers. His concern grows the longer I stay quiet.
I have to look away from him to compose myself enough to speak. My eyes fall onto my ice cream, now spilled all over the sidewalk from Huxley dropping it.
A laugh builds in my throat. “You dropped my ice cream.”
He frowns, then turns his head to see the pink liquid covering the sidewalk. The tension in his arms leaves through a laugh, and softer eyes look back down at me. “I’m sorry, Love,” he whispers.
“You owe me another one,” I whisper back, unable to raise my voice any higher with how close we are.
He tilts his head closer to me, still whispering. “You can have mine.”
I grip his arms tighter. “Okay.”
He finally sets me back on my feet and loosens his arms around me, but doesn’t quite let me go. “Are you okay, though?”
I turn around in his arms and grab his ice cream, drinking from the side before smiling up at him. “Now I am.”
He shakes his head at me, but his smile grows. “You are insane, Valentina Demarco.”
“More advice.” I point my spoon at him. “Don’t call your girlfriend insane.”
“Got it.”
After our ice cream fiasco, Huxley takes me home. He even walks me up to my apartment door. I’m not ready to say goodnight. Despite the moments I cried, I had a great night. A night I don’t ever want to end.
I think the best way to get through this is to be in my apartment first, that way I can close the door and it will be done.
I go to put my key in the door when Huxley turns me around to face him. His arms wrap around my waist, and my hands fall on his biceps. The feel of his arms around me is still new, but I’m growing more and more comfortable each time he pulls me close.
“How was your first date?”
I softly smile up at him. “It was pretty great.”
He smiles back and leans forward to kiss my forehead. “I’ll kiss you soon,” he whispers, and my hands grip his arms unintentionally.
He pulls away, releasing me from the tension he just built between us. I try to hurry to open the door, but something catches my eye.
“Oh.” I pull his jacket off and hand it back to him. “Thank you for that.”
“No problem, Love.”
I bite my lip to stop my smile and finish unlocking the door. Once inside, I turn back to him. “Goodnight, Huxley Adams.”
A beautiful smile graces his face. “Goodnight, Valentine.”
I slightly wave as I shut the door, but the feeling of Huxley doesn’t leave.
My back leans against the door, happiness spreading, touching my heart and quieting my head. A feeling I wouldn’t mind getting used to.
“I don’t like this.”
My head snaps toward the couch where Birdie and Ava are looking over at me.
“Me either.” Ava agrees.
“What?” I walk to the couch, and they both turn more, leaning over the back.
“Val, you look happy. Too happy.” Birdie says with a wince.
I cross my arms over my chest in annoyance. “So I’m not allowed to be happy now?”
Ava shakes her head. “No, it’s just, none of this is real ViVi.” She glances at Birdie. “And we don’t want you to get too hung up on him.”
“I’m just happy about the experiences I had,” I lie. “It doesn’t relate to Huxley at all.”
They both look skeptical, as they should, and Ava asks, “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m sure. I had my first date tonight. And in a few years, I’ll remember what we did, but I won’t remember it was with Huxley.”
The two of them look at each other and then back at me. “How much did he touch you?” Birdie asks, suddenly serious.
“We held hands,” I say with a shrug.
“Did he kiss you?” Ava tags on.
“He kissed my forehead.”
Both of their eyes widen. “A forehead kiss?”
Birdie shakes her head. “You’re in trouble, Valentina.”
I laugh incredulously. “You’re really going to kill him over that?”
“No,” she answers, a layer of concern trying to edge out. “I mean, you’re in trouble because a forehead kiss is sometimes more romantic than a kiss on your lips. It means more because it’s not something that a lot of guys do. Which means that he’s really pushing this whole thing.”
I never thought about that. But is that really the case here? Huxley kissed my forehead because he isn’t kissing me for real yet. It’s a sweet gesture, sure, but it’s not because he’s making it more romantic.
Or maybe he is.
I know we’re pretending to be real, but is being romantic part of that?
I shake off those thoughts and try to assure all of us as I say, “I’m going to be fine, you guys. Trust me.”
Neither of them looks convinced, but they nod anyway, probably realizing that this is going to happen no matter what.
“I’m going to bed.” I start to turn toward my room, but look back at them, still watching me. “And it’s late, you two should be in bed also.”
“We were waiting for you,” Ava says innocently.
“Well, I’m home, and I’m all right.” I gesture with my arms toward their rooms. “So go to bed.”
Birdie rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mother,” she adds sarcastically.
I watch the two of them go to their rooms before I go to my own.
Once I’m completely ready for bed, my mind starts to play over the events that happened tonight.
And even though the night was a bit chaotic, I still can’t help but feel giddy over everything.
But I know the real reason I feel giddy.
And it’s not because of everything I did. It’s because of who I did it all with.
I roll over into my pillow and scream. Because Huxley Adams is now permanently etched into my head. And I am completely and utterly fucked.