Chapter 7 #2
He took advantage of my mercy by throwing all his energy into tickling me.
“Go for it,” I told him. “I’m not ticklish.”
“Bullshit.” His fingers danced across the inside of my elbow. Something swooped in my stomach, but it wasn’t because I was ticklish.
We messed around until Henry faced the truth that he was not going to get any giggles or gasps out of me.
I was leaning against his chest, able to feel his heartbeat, and he had an arm lazily draped across my collarbone.
There was nothing pointy or sharp or edgy about it; in fact, it was quite cozy.
“Should we go back to the movie?” I asked when my eyelids started fluttering.
What time was it?
When Henry didn’t respond, I tilted my head back to look at him, wondering if he had fallen asleep. But no, his gaze was warm, wry, and trained on me.
Without thinking twice, I stretched up and pressed my lips to his.
They tasted sweet like honey—the secret ingredient in his grilled cheese—and I sensed a strong wave of surprise ripple through his body, but he didn’t pull back.
In fact, he did the opposite, taking my face in his hands and deepening the kiss. My eyes fell shut.
I wanted to simultaneously melt into the couch and kiss Henry harder.
Audrey… The voice in the back of my head was distant, but still there. What is happening?
I don’t know, I thought, because I didn’t.
What was happening? When I was excited or anxious about something—or someone—my mind tended to wander.
Max, the guy I’d dated in Vienna for a hot second, could tell I paid more attention to my thoughts than to him.
Audrey, I don’t know what we’re doing, he’d said.
Every time we’re together, it feels like you want to escape to some other place…
That wasn’t exactly true, but I hadn’t had the nerve to tell him; I was worried he’d think I was weird. Which I was! It made no sense that I wanted to check out from kissing someone I wanted to kiss. Or I thought I wanted to kiss.
And I sure as hell wanted to kiss Griff. Nothing had happened between us, but in all my daydreams of stolen moments in his car, kissing him was easy. There were no stakes. It was my fantasy, so everything was bound to be perfect. He wasn’t going to reject me.
But here and now, I couldn’t stop thinking about Henry. Henry’s mouth on my neck, Henry’s hand on my hip, Henry stoking the fire in my chest.
Henry, Henry, Henry.
It was simultaneously confusing and logical, as I was spectacularly drunk.
Several heartbeats later, Henry broke away to look at me. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, somehow turning his intrigued but innocent gaze into something more suggestive.
The back of my neck burned white-hot. “Was it terrible?” I worried, because why else was he looking at me like that?
“Are you serious?” Henry said, and I sat up so we were looking each other in the eye. I saw a glint in his. Was there an iota of a chance that he felt the same way I did?
I groaned, not sure enough to find out. “Is this the part when you offer to give me kissing lessons?”
Henry laughed. “How do you know I’m not the one who needs kissing lessons?”
“I don’t recall you snaking your tongue down my throat,” I said dryly, then grumbled, “This is the inanest conversation.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Henry said. “But I think we’ve broken the ice, right?”
And with that, I rolled my eyes and got up. I retreated to the disastrous postparty kitchen, grabbed the bottle of wine I’d hidden in the cabinet under the sink, and uncorked it with plenty of chutzpah.
I returned to the den with two small jam jars.
Henry accepted his and hit Play on the movie when I rejoined him on the couch.
We sipped together, the wine turning things wonderfully sepia-colored and hazy again.
The movie even seemed better—decent, actually.
All was well until Glen’s and Sydney’s highly problematic characters spiced up the screen.
“Do you think I could try it again?” I quasi-squeaked. “You know, kissing you?”
If our kiss had been bad on his end, I wanted to wipe his memory of that.
“Sure…” Henry said slowly. He leaned forward and set his barely drunk wine on the coffee table. “Would you like me to kiss you back?”
Ignoring him, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Maybe it would be better if I pictured Griff instead.
It would ease the strange swirl in my stomach.
I imagined Griff during the volleyball game tonight, looking like the beach’s hottest lifeguard in his red swim trunks.
I thought of the way his hands had felt on my skin, when he’d helped me onto his shoulders.
Give me a Hollywood kiss, I thought.
Nothing happened.
“You asked if you could kiss me, Hepburn,” Henry said after my brow furrowed.
Oh, I realized, the breakneck pace of my pulse slowing. Right…
“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.
“I kissed you last time,” I answered, eyes still closed. “So…”
Visions of Griff vanished as soon as I felt Henry run a hand through my hair. My heart rate quickened—I could smell the wine, feel his breath. “So…” he picked up.
“So do it,” I whispered. “Kiss me.”
LATER, AT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TIME, I drunkenly navigated my way upstairs and down the dark hallway to my room.
I mean, the lights technically were on, but someone had dimmed them, so the hall felt dark.
“Shit,” I screeched when I stubbed my toe on my doorstop, an abstract hunk of blue and green glass.
Pain swirled in my pinkie toe. “Call an ambulance!”
“What?” Henry slurred from down the hall. He was spending the night in one of our guest rooms. “Are you okay, El—Eliza?”
“Fine!” I called back as I thought, Was he about to say Ellie?
After using all my strength to move the doorstop, I stumbled into my room and slammed the door shut.
Pajamas, I told myself, but was suddenly distracted by the bulletin board above my desk.
It was covered with family photos, eclectic pins and bumper stickers, and postcards from my travels.
There was also a Blue Ridge School of Glass brochure pinned front and center.
I blew it, I thought, a lump rising in my throat. All my hard work, only to blow my shot.
It was officially Sunday, deadline day.
As if on cue, a tear slipped down my cheek.
“What do I have to do?” I whispered to no one. “What do I have to do to go?”
I thought about my savings, as if doing so would multiply the amount, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo. “Are you sure you don’t have the money, Audrey?” I vaguely remembered Mia asking earlier. “Not even a little emergency fund—”
Emergency fund.
Emergency fund!
My mind hooked on those two words, and then I practically launched myself toward my desk, determined to log in to my laptop.
By the time I finally fell into bed, I was grinning so hard my jaw hurt.