Chapter 16 Claire
Claire
Idrop my head to the steering wheel without even starting my car. What. Just. Happened?
This is NOT how I thought fulfilling my hankering for Enzo’s would go, but apparently, I satisfied two kinds of cravings tonight.
The only problem is, where my stomach is full, my hunger for Jay has only increased.
Thanks a lot, Chloe! She sent me one text asking how my “library banger” was going, and then, followed up with a blurry selfie of her at a bar.
In the picture, she’s holding up an empty glass with the caption: “My date was a weeny so I’m getting drunk off martinis! ”
And interrupting the best kiss of my life!
Looking in the mirror I can see him still standing outside of the restaurant.
I fiddle with my phone pretending to be extremely interested in whoever may be texting me, but secretly stealing peeks at him in the rearview.
Luckily, I'm parked far enough away that he wouldn't be able to see the direction of my eyes in the darkness. He reaches for his pocket and pulls a cigarette from the box he had before. Drawing it to his lips, he does that thing that fascinated me the first time I saw it as he passed me outside of Busy’s Brewz.
Back, forth, back, he guides it across his lips.
If it captivated me before, I'm now completely enamored, knowing what those lips taste like.
As he settles it in place, he looks off into the distance. Is he thinking about our kiss too?
It is completely out of character for me to initiate something like that, but it was at that point in our conversation that I realized he was letting me into a place where very few people are granted access.
A place that may be dark and traumatic, but that makes him who he is.
The knowledge that I was given exclusivity to see him, really see him, turned me on in a way nothing physical ever has.
What scares me most is that now that I’ve cracked a window, I want to bust down the doors.
I want to know everything, feel everything, touch everything.
And I have a feeling it’s a lot more than I realize, both physically and mentally.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but it’s been long enough that Jay smothers his cigarette under his boot.
I’m confused when I see him turn to go back into Enzo’s.
I immediately think he needs to lock the door, but no, he closes the door while he’s still inside.
Maybe he forgot something? I decide he must have gone back in to make sure we left everything how Mikey and Ronan like it.
I start my car and wait for the air to kick on.
Lord knows I could use some cooling down.
I see Enzo’s darken, the lights turned off, and wait for Jay to make his way back outside.
After another minute the air blows cool through the vents, but I still don’t see Jay.
I wait a little longer until I’m sure he’s not coming back out.
Now I’m really confused. Why would he be in an empty pizza place in total darkness?
Saturday and Sunday come and go and no word from Jay. Obviously, Claire. Because you decided to throw yourself at him instead of giving him your number.
To be fair, he didn’t ask for it either.
Actually, he let me walk away without doing much at all.
But what did I expect? Okay, so maybe I briefly thought he would show up at my parent's house to ask them where I live. Maybe look up my number in the system at Monroe’s? No such luck on either account.
So, the weekend passed by, and all I had to remind me of him was my hoodie that smelled like his usual scent.
Unfortunately, the cheese curl stain on my sweatshirt killed that idea, so in the washer it went.
Now all that remained was my recollection of the best kiss I've ever had.
Amazing. Epic. Ten out of ten would recommend.
The way his lips felt on mine. How his tongue explored my mouth.
When he pinned me against the wall, placing soft kisses down my neck.
I have never felt something so invigorating.
I wanted all of him, right there on that checkered floor.
I might be embarrassed by how bad I needed him, still need him, but judging by the way he shoved his hands into his pockets, stretching his jeans while he backed away, I think it’s safe to say he felt it too.
Despite the kiss, I want to spend more time with him.
Learn more about what makes him tick. The problem is, does he feel the same way about me?
I was going crazy replaying the kiss in my mind and cycling through all of the ways he might be feeling about it.
Surely no guy is going to turn down a good hookup, but could he want more too?
I need to know. Which is why I am spending this fine Monday morning, yet again, waiting in line at Whisk!
to buy a box of blondies. I’m hoping this batch isn’t as cursed as the last and that the blondie gods redeem themselves with this buttery-soft offering that I plan to bring to Jay.
There are two people in front of me when I hear the bell on the door jingle, signaling someone walking in.
Glancing back, I quickly divert my sight to the box of sugary goodness in front of me, avoiding all eye contact with the newest customer.
Margie, mom’s friend from church, whose grandson is starting at Jefferson in the fall, saunters in behind me.
I hold my breath like maybe if I suffocate myself she won’t be able to see me.
“Claire Dawson? Is that you?” Fail.
I slowly spin around and am faced with a five-foot-nothing old lady with floral print glasses and a short white bob.
“I thought that was you! How is your summer? Did your mother tell you my grandson will be at Jefferson next year? Ooh, Whisk!’s famous blondies, your mom and dad’s favorite!”
Unsure of where to start with responding to any of that, I attempt to ignore all of it and keep it brief. “Hi Margie, how are you doing?”
“So, do you think my Benny will have you in class next year?” Okay, another fail.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I was telling Mom, the schedule usually doesn’t come out until closer to Aug–”
Margie interrupts me. “You know, I was looking at the Jefferson website and I didn’t see your picture under the faculty and staff. It was the craziest thing. A mistake I’m sure.” Though, despite her certainty, she looks at me expecting a response.
As if the blondie gods wished to begin their redemption, the lady at the register calls for the next customer, and I see I am the only one left in line.
“So sorry, Margie, that’s me. Have a great day!” I sprint to the check-out counter and greet the employee with a sigh of relief. “I owe you my firstborn,” I whisper to her, handing her my card. She smiles politely, hiding the fact that she thinks I’m certifiably insane.