Chapter 7 I Want
I WANT
Ifeel him before I hear him. The scent of earth and boy invades the space around my locker, and I inhale him into my lungs as he says, “I’ve got practice today.”
I swallow my disappointment, forcing a smile as I shove another book into my bag. “Cool. I can tag along and watch, if you want?”
He makes a noise. Air moving between his teeth. A hiss. “Can’t.”
Closing my locker, I turn. He clocks my frown before I’ve thought to hide it. “Why not?”
“Coach says no more girlfriends in the stands during practice.”
“Oh.”
“Too much of a distraction.” He crooks his neck to brush the tip of his nose along the bridge of mine in the way I’ve really come to love.
He makes another noise, but this one is low and deep and achingly hungry.
Since our first kiss, there have been a lot of kisses, and somehow, I always want more.
I’m never fully satisfied.
Another low sound crawls from the deep of his throat. “You have no idea how much you distract me.”
“Well.” I’m breathless now. “I guess I better go home then.”
“Can I come see you later? After practice?”
I’m delighted by the chase his eyes give to the motion of my tongue as I glide it over my lips, wetting them. “If you want.”
His voice drops in pitch. “I want.”
“Okay.” I shift to slide the strap of my backpack over my shoulder. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“Yeah.”
I grin. “Promise?”
He crowds me until I feel the locker at my back. His hand lifts to cradle the side of my neck, his thumb sliding along the line of my jaw. With another soft stroke of his nose against mine, he breathes, “I promise, Faye.”
“Okay.”
His eyes shutter closed for a moment. “I already talked to Tate. You can catch a ride home with him, if you want.”
“Okay.”
He brushes his lips against mine. It’s a kiss, and yet not a kiss. Then he pulls back. “Come on. I have to grab my gear from the car, anyway. I’ll walk you.”
Holt links his hand with mine, tugging me from the locker in time for me to see Shyanne pass us in the hall.
She rolls her bright blue eyes, flipping long blonde hair over her shoulder.
She’s pretty and confident enough to make any girl feel insecure, so I don’t rag on myself too hard when I feel a flutter of less when she throws me a subtle sneer.
Since school has started, Shyanne has made no secret of her feelings for me, and they aren’t good. In her mind, I’ve stolen her boyfriend and infiltrated her tight friend group. It sucks, because she’s actually really nice, but it is what it is.
I’m not giving up Holt to make her happy. No way.
At the thought, I hold his hand tighter.
He peers down at me. “Something wrong?”
“No,” I lie.
“Liar,” he accuses, but there’s a softness to his tone that tells me he’s not holding it against me. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll come around.”
I glare up at him. “I hate the way you can read me like that.”
He smirks. “Like an open book?”
I grumble, “It’s not fair.”
“Well, I like it.”
“I don’t.”
He releases my hand to throw his arm around my shoulder. “Why is that?”
“Because I can’t read you.”
“You’re just not watching me closely enough, baby.”
I frown. “You’re not watching me any closer than I’m watching you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” The way he says that has my head tipping back, my eyes connecting with his. “I’m always watching you. I’m hypnotized by you, Faye. Totally caught up in you.”
He always says things like this to me, and yet I still blush every time he does it. Now is no different. My skin is on fire, and as we step into the chilly drizzle of a rainy September afternoon, I feel like every pebble that lands on my skin is at risk of boiling.
“You make me feel so unsteady sometimes,” I confess breathlessly.
“As long as you know, no matter how unsteady you get, I’ll catch you.” I’m about to ask if he promises, when he finishes, “I promise, Faye. I’ll always catch you.”
We’re close enough to Tate’s car for him to hear the end of Holt’s latest vow to me, and he groans. “You two are so corny.”
The girl that waits with him, her hood drawn up over long, poker straight caramel hair says, “Your brother is way sweeter than you, Tate.”
“I can be sweet,” Tate grunts as he opens the back driver’s side door for me, peering over the roof of the car at her. “See?”
“What about my door?” Caramel hair whines.
“You’re on the wrong side of the car, Charity. Get in.” Tate is already sliding into the driver’s seat, popping the trunk for Holt. He grabs his bag, tossing it over his shoulder before coming to my door and pulling it open again.
He bends and kisses me quickly before he says, “Thanks for getting my girl home, Tate.”
“Yeah,” Tate grunts, and I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. Softer, and I think to me, he adds, “Anytime.”
As Holt let’s my door fall closed, and as Tate begins to drive away, I watch as Holt walks across the field between the high school and the arena where he’ll stay for Hockey practice. He stays at least twice a week, every week—and that’s not counting weekend games.