Chapter Thirty
126 days until graduation
As I enter Logan Callaghan’s house, I am immediately shocked by the vast amount of chaos.
He was not kidding when he said he wanted the end of the semester party to be the craziest one yet.
Winnie, Eloise, and I have only just entered the foyer, but we can already see all the furniture has been removed from the living room, making it so there’s room for at least five beer pong tables.
“Oh, my God,” Winnie says, taking in all the different decorations and the DJ in the dining room. “This is absolutely insane.”
“Does anyone see Logan?” I ask, beginning to push my way through the crowds of people. Eloise is at my side and Winnie is holding onto my wrist as they both try to keep up.
Eloise is scanning the crowd but ends up looking back toward me with a wide-eyed expression. “There is no way we’re going to find him.”
“Think about it.” I yell over the music. “Where do we find Logan at every party?”
“He usually finds us!” Winnie replies.
“Come on,” I groan, continuing to drag them along with me.
We enter the kitchen, which is always the most vacated room of every party. Low and behold, Logan Callaghan is leaning against the island.
“Hello, ladies.” He smiles, already handing a solo cup to Winnie.
“What is it?” She asks, holding the rim of the cup to her lips.
“What do you think?” He asks sarcastically.
He knows what drinks she likes, so it’s no surprise when she smiles after taking a sip. “Vodka cranberry.”
“I have a feeling it’s ninety-five percent cranberry juice, five percent vodka,” Eloise jokes.
We laugh as Logan makes the two of us drinks, handing us the solo cups once he’s done.
For some reason, I notice Jameson’s absence more than I usually would. “Hey, you wouldn’t know where Jameson is, would you?” I ask Logan.
“Um…” He looks shocked at my question. “Last place I saw him was outside by the firepit. I would check there.”
All of us step out of the kitchen. Winnie and Eloise head back toward the living room while Logan and I make our way to the back door.
“Thanks,” I tell him when we part. He walks back to where Winnie and Eloise are, and I exit out the back door.
Outside is not nearly as packed and not nearly as loud. It’s relieving, like I can suddenly breathe air that isn’t concentrated with alcohol.
I spot Jameson quickly.
He’s sitting near the fire, away from the main crowd of people. He has a solo cup identical to mine in his hand, but it looks as if he’s only been taking leisurely sips.
“Not your crowd?” I ask as casually as possible as I sit next to him.
“Parties have never really been my thing,” he answers without looking over. He takes a sip of his drink, not seeming to be enjoying it much.
“Never been mine either.” I take the first taste of my drink, and to my immediate surprise, it’s not too terrible.
“What are you drinking?”
“Will you be concerned if I say I have no idea?” He sounds like he’s joking, but I can tell by the way his nose upturns every time it nears the cup that he’s not.
“Well, considering I don’t know what I’m drinking either, I would say no,” I note. “Unless you think we need to be concerned. Are you feeling okay? Are you seeing double?”
“I feel fine, not seeing double.”
“Then that drink must be pretty good, considering you haven’t been drugged yet.”
“Yet?” He smiles slightly in jest, just like me. “Are you planning something?”
I lift my shoulders playfully. “I guess you’ll never know. But, if your drink is gross, then maybe you should stop drinking it.”
He holds it out to me. “You want to try it?”
“Not necessarily.” He places it in my hand anyway. “But I guess a sip won’t hurt.”
Normally, I would never willingly share a drink with anybody. However, based on Jameson’s reaction every time he takes a drink, I can assume there’s enough alcohol to wash away a substantial amount of germs from his cup.
Jameson also feels different from any other boy who has tried to share a drink with me. He seems cleaner, like he can’t stand filth in the same way I can’t.
I break from my thoughts and realize that he’s watching me intently as I lift the drink—his drink—to my lips. I stop before it can make it all the way there.
“You’re not trying to poison me or anything, are you?”
“That’s the cup I’ve been drinking out of, Genova.”
I shrug, pulling the cup closer to my mouth. “I don’t know what your intentions are.”
Holding eye contact with him, I finally tilt the cup back just enough to get a sip of his concoction.Except it’s not much of a concoction at all, it’s practically straight vodka
“Oh, my God,” I gasp through a cough as I hand him back his cup like it was burning in my hand. I chase his drink with my own, which really says something.
“Too strong?” He asks.
I nod. “Who the hell made that and called it a drink?”
“Me,” Jameson laughs. “I was watching everyone else pour drinks and tried to copy them.”
“Well, I think you mixed up the bottles. There’s supposed to be more sprite than vodka.”
He just laughs, taking another sip of his drink. “That is all you can taste, isn’t it?”
“Pretty much. Keep drinking that and you’ll be passed out on the lawn in no time.”
We laugh before it goes strangely silent. I’m tempted to try to find something else to talk about, but Jameson breaks the tension with a surprising question.
“What are you doing out here anyway?”
“Are you asking what I’m doing out here in general, or what am I doing out here sitting next to you?” I pose without answering his question.
“I can figure out why you’re here. I guess I’m more curious about why you decided to converse with me of all people.”
“I don’t think anyone should sit alone at a party,” I respond.
“I’m not alone.” He motions around us. “I’m pretty sure Logan invited the entire school.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I hold my cup up to my lips without taking a drink. “You can be surrounded by hundreds of people and still feel like the loneliest person in the world.”
Jameson shrugs, smiling. “I don’t think you can be lonely if you don’t mind being alone.”
I think back to the time in Meet in the Margins a few months ago, when Jameson and I had a small cease in our battle. I even let him pick out a book for me before I reached a roadblock and punished myself for allowing the occurrence to happen.
Suddenly, I feel the need to confess my thoughts. “I never read the book you picked out for me.” It comes out like a sigh of relief, and I immediately slouch back against the brick behind us.
“I figured,” Jameson responds, also leaning back.
“I threw it away, actually.” I wince at the sound of my admission, mostly because I’m realizing how childish my actions sound.
“Why?”
There’s a long stretch of silence. Partially because I don’t know what to say, but also because I’m not completely in tune with the way Jameson feels toward me. Is he still annoyed with me for all the fighting I put him through the past few months? Or is he okay with being in neutral territory?
This time, it’s me turning toward Jameson. Our knees are almost touching as I look in his eyes. “You might want to poison my drink if I tell you.”
He grabs my wrist, halting my movements. “I would never aim to harm you.”
The impact I feel in my chest is enough to make my breathing become more erratic than it had been previously.
His statement reminds me of the time in New York, when we had a snowball fight from our balconies, and he hit me in the face with a chunk of ice. I know he felt awful. I also know that he wasn’t intending to hurt me.
And although my immediate reaction to his statement was, “I know,” I understand that Jameson would never do anything to intentionally hurt me or my emotions. Even in the times where I’ve had my feelings hurt by what I thought was him, it really was my own inhibitions.
Instead of all that, I reply with, “Thank you.”
His smile is as graceful as his presence. “You’re welcome.”
The surrounding air stiffens with tension as the silence takes over yet again. The only thing I could hear at first were the faraway sounds of the party inside the house. But those sounds are fading, and soon after, the only thing I can hear is the sound of Jameson breathing in rhythm with me.
I turn more toward him, daring to focus my attention up at him from my lap. I want to know if he’s looking at me too, and he is.
“I’m not usually this awkward,” I blurt, not knowing why I say it.
“Trust me Genova, I’m well aware.”
His hand is resting on his leg, and he inches it further toward me.His pinky is barely grazing mine from where my hand sits on my lap, and I watch as his hand gets closer and closer to covering mine completely.
I wonder if his body feels like it’s bursting into flames, or if it’s just me.
When I look back up, his face is even closer to mine than it was before.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers, his breath fanning my cheek.
I nod and gulp at the same time. My nerves are completely shot.
“I think you may be one of the most astonishing things I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.” His confession makes tears form behind my eyes, and I have to restrain myself from allowing them to fall down my face.
Instead, I lean even closer. “Why is that a secret?” I whisper.
“Because I don’t think anyone else deserves to look at you the way I do unless they think of you the way I do.” He knows how smart we both are—that we have the intelligence to understand each other better than anyone else.
“What do you think of me?” I ask.
“I think you are the one who”s made to be the main character of every fantasy, of every thriller, and every romance.” His hand cups my jaw. “You are the brave and beautiful princess willing to save the entire kingdom. You’re the character that makes my heart pick up speed and makes me want to read all the way to the end. You are the one who always gets the happiest ever after. I can tell you truthfully, no matter what tale I produce in my head, you are—and always will be—the main character of my story.”
He repeated what I told him in the bookstore. The part about how I not only wish I could read every book, but I also want to experience every book.
My breath shortens at the sentiment and before I can think, I’m moving even closer to him.
And with one movement, I crash my lips into his.
Her lips pummel into mine, and the only thought going through my head is: Dear whatever God is up above, you work in mysterious ways, and I thank you for it sincerely.
Genevieve Alderidge’s lips continue to press against mine, making my throat go dry and my blood heat to a boil.
She pulls away, taking a ragged breath. “We shouldn’t—”
I don’t care what she has to say, because even though there’s hesitancy in her words, there’s a fire behind her eyes. She wants this as badly as I do, even if she can’t admit it to herself.
I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her back into me. “Shh,” I say before connecting my lips to hers again.
My breath catches in my throat as I deepen the kiss, causing her to gasp.
This must be heaven. There is no other way this is possible.
I feel the thud of our combined heartbeat; the warmth consuming me as she presses closer.
It doesn’t last long before she pulls away, her eyes glazing over as her hands hold on to either side of my jaw. “That was…” She trails off.
“I know, love,” I tell her, running my hands through her long dark hair.
She tilts her head to the side slightly, making it so her jaw is resting in the palm of my hand.
“Are we making a mistake?” She asks me, her voice thick with emotion.
I’ve never seen her this way, so conflicted with her own feelings.
“No,” I say strongly. “Nothing between us has ever been a mistake, Genova. Nothing.”
“Even when you smashed my face in with a ball of ice?” She asks, a glint of amusement lacing her expression.
I push her arms down so they’re at her sides and her hands are no longer holding my jaw. “That’s not funny,” I say, grabbing her face. “You’re too pretty to joke about having your face smashed in.”
Her eyebrows knit together, confusion covering her features. “You think I’m pretty?”
My lips brush against hers. “I think you are the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen. Even when you bicker with me and tell me you hate me,” I answer. “You always wondered why there were times I didn’t argue back, and it was because I couldn’t take my eyes off you long enough to form a good rebuttal.”
Genevieve takes my bottom lip in between her teeth. “I still hate you,” she says as her smile brightens.
“If that’s the only way for you to kiss me like you just did, then I should start thinking of more ways to make you hate me.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“I know.” My lips are still lightly touching hers. “But if you want it to be, I’m willing to play.”
“We’re still rivals. You can’t fall for me.” She sighs, pulling her head back. “God, what are we doing?” She runs her hand over her face.
“Woah.” I grab her hand. “Stop.”
“I’m being serious, Jameson.” She pauses. “We can’t like each other.”
My hands move back to each side of her face, forcing her to make eye contact with me. “Use your heart instead of your head for once.”
She rolls her eyes. “The heart is an organ used to pump blood inside your body, not give you unrealistic emotions.”
Her logic is sickening at times. “Use your metaphorical heart then.”
“Might as well have told me to use my amygdala,” she mutters.
The amygdala is a part of the brain in the temporal lobe that’s primarily involved in triggering emotions.
“The amygdala also controls anger.” And love, and sexual desire. “And we both know you don’t need any more of that.” I smirk as she smacks my chest.
“My metaphorical heart is beating,” she says mockingly. “Now, what do you want to tell me?”
I kiss her again, pressing our foreheads together as her hand grips the hair near the nape of my neck.
When I pull away, Genevieve doesn’t open her eyes right away. Her hands are still around my neck, and this time after we kiss, she doesn’t retreat.
When her eyes finally blink up at mine, I ask with a hoarse voice, “Do you feel that?” I press my hand on her chest where her heart lays.
“Yeah,” she answers, breathless. “Metaphorically, of course.”
I feel her rapid heart rate beneath my touch. “That is your heart,” I tell her. “It’s not just an organ pumping blood, it’s beating faster under my grasp. There’s nothing metaphorical about that.”
A grin breaks out on her face, and she pulls me closer. “Kiss me again,” she whispers.
I do, and as I kiss her, I come to the conclusion that, for the near future, it is all I want to do.