19. Collins
CHAPTER NINETEEN
COLLINS
“So what do you say, Collins”—he smirks at me, and it’s a smirk that I’ve come to look for every single night—“want to be my girlfriend?”
I can’t help but let the giggle I’ve been holding on to escape the minute the words finally sink in. The giggle fades, then fear rushes through me.
“Hey,” he says right away, one of his hands moving to my neck, the other to my cheek. “Whoa.” His voice is tight. “Do you not . . .” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Do you not want that with me?” His eyes search mine.
“Theo, it’s not that.” I put my hands on my legs. “It’s so not that.” My voice trembles. “It’s just, there is so much going against us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean”—I look down, and he moves my head back up so I’m looking into his eyes—“it’s more than just me being your girlfriend, or whatever you want to call me.”
“I’m going to need you to explain it to me.” His voice is calm and soft.
“I don’t think you really get the full picture of how horrible my parents are.
How many people they’ve robbed. How they’ve lied and cheated their way through their entire lives.
” I shake my head. “It’s been like this my whole life.
I had one friend in high school. One.” I hold up a finger.
“Then their parents found out who I was, and my friends went down to zero. Do you know how lonely high school is having zero friends?” I shake my head.
“Of course you don’t, because you were probably super popular and dated the prom queen. ”
He chuckles. “For the record,” his thumb rubs my jaw, “I didn’t want to be prom king. But the other guy was dating two girls at the same time, so they didn’t vote for him.”
“Great, not only do you want to date me, the school pariah, but you are the prom king.” I put the back of my hand on my forehead to make sure I don’t have a fever and am not delusional.
I laugh at the irony of it. “The town literally hates me.” I say the words I’ve always thought but never said out loud.
“You ask anyone who has been in town long, and they will all say the same thing.” I can’t bend my head the way he’s holding me, but I can avert my eyes, and I do.
“That I’m just trash.” A tear escapes, and I quickly wipe it away.
“I even thought about leaving town”—I inhale deeply—“but it’s my home, and it’s the only place I know. ”
“Where would you go?” I’ve asked myself that whenever I’ve thought of leaving town.
“No fucking clue,” I admit. “Sorry, I’m trying not to swear in front of the baby.” He smiles big now. “But I don’t know. I thought about it a lot, though. I keep thinking the baby will also be looked down on, and I don’t think I can handle that.”
“You aren’t your parents.” The words come out filled with anger. “I bet you that anyone with half a brain cell that you ask will tell you that what your parents did is on them and not on you. If they don’t think that, then maybe, just maybe, they are the problem and not you.”
“Spoken like someone who didn’t grow up with a dark cloud following them.”
“I can’t undo what happened in the past, but what I can do is vow I’m going to do whatever I have to do to make sure you aren’t touched by anything going forward.
And not just because you are going to be with me, but because my child is never going to feel unwanted a day in their life.
Not. One. Fucking. Day.” He kisses my lips softly. “Give me a chance to prove it to you.”
“Okay, but I have a condition,” I tell him, and he grins.
“I’ll agree to anything.” His words make me shiver.
“If we get back to town and we’re out, and you feel even remotely uncomfortable being with me, you walk away and you do it without feeling guilty or sorry for me.” The lump in my throat feels like it’s so big it’ll be hard to swallow. “Can you promise me that?”
“I will,” he vows, “but you have to promise me something in return. If we go out and you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, you have to tell me.”
“Why?”
“For a couple of reasons. One, so I can get you away from it, and two, so I can tell whoever is making you uncomfortable to fuck off.”
I don’t know if it’s the nerves from having this conversation, or if it’s the fact I can actually see him doing this, but my head goes back, and the sound of my laugh fills the whole room. My eyes close.
I feel his lips on my neck. “You have the most beautiful laugh I’ve ever heard,” he declares, and my head comes forward to look at him. “It’s a shame you don’t do it enough.” He kisses the side of my lips. “It’s now going to be my mission to make sure I always make you laugh like that.”
“There hasn’t been much in my life that I’ve had to laugh about.” I smile sadly. “But with you—”
“Yeah, with me, you’ll be doing it a fuckton more. First thing we do when we get back home”—he moves away from me—“is go out on a date.” Just the thought of that makes me feel like throwing up. “I’ll get Sierra and Caleb to come with us, we can—”
“No,” I interrupt. “The last thing I need is to be humiliated in front of you and them. It’ll be a nightmare, I—” I don’t say another word because his lips are on mine and his tongue is sliding into my mouth.
My palms lay against his chest, feeling his heart under my fingers, loving that it’s beating just as fast as mine.
The kiss is like no other kiss I’ve ever gotten before.
It’s full of need and want. It starts off slow, but then it takes off.
With one hand on my cheek and the other going into my hair, he pulls me closer to him.
My legs wrap around his waist as my hands roam up his chest and around his neck. I could spend all day kissing him.
“If you don’t stop,” he warns me, “I’m going to forget I have to feed you, and instead take you back upstairs.”
“I don’t know if I would be sad about that,” I admit, and the minute I do, I want to take it back and cringe.
“Is that so?” he asks me with a smirk.
I push him away from me, my legs slipping from his hips. “I’m not going to tell you how hot you are, Mr. Prom King.”
He laughs, and my hand automatically goes out so I can touch his neck. “I like it when you laugh, too,” I say softly.
The features on his face change. “You’re doing it again,” he says in a low voice, “and I am this close”—he holds his thumb and forefinger close together—“to fucking it all and carrying you—” The doorbell rings.
“Saved by the bell,” I tease. “Literally.” I lean forward, kissing him chastely before he turns to walk to the door. I get off the counter, watching his back.
I hear voices, and then he’s coming back into the room with a huge white pizza box in his hand, a brown bag on top of it. “Where do you want to eat?” he asks me.
“The table. I’ll get some plates and stuff.”
He places the pizza on the counter. “No, you go sit and I’ll get everything.”
“I’d fight you on that,” I tell him, picking up the pizza, “but it might be faster for you to grab the things instead of me trying to find them.”
I put the pizza on the table, then open the brown bag. Fries and onion rings. I put them to the side, and he comes to the table with two plates, forks, and knives.
“Where do you usually sit?” I ask him.
“In front of the television.” He pulls out a chair. I wait for him to sit down. “Sit,” he says, indicating the chair he’s holding.
“Um.” I move over to the chair and sit down.
He takes the chair beside me and opens the pizza box—pepperoni, mushroom, peppers, and sausage.
The cheese is cooked to the perfect color, and my mouth waters.
“I got it fully loaded.” He grabs a plate and places a slice on it.
“Shit,” he holds the plate in front of me, “I should have asked if you are okay with the toppings.”
I grab the plate from him. “This is more than okay. It’s better than okay,” I try to make him feel better. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”
I wait for him to put a piece on his plate, and only when he’s taken the first bite do I dig in. The richness of the sauce hits my tongue, and I groan. “Holy . . .” I moan, chewing the piece, “this is heavenly.”
“Yeah, it’s the best pizza in town.” He takes a bite.
“So tell me about your brother and sisters.”
“I’m the youngest, so they are going to say I’m the most spoiled.” He side-eyes me. “I’m not.” He puts some French fries on his plate before doing the same to mine. “They think I got away with murder.” I laugh at this.
“Which, of course, you didn’t.”
“Exactly. It’s not my fault I was the perfect child.”
“Were you the perfect child”—I take another bite of my pizza—“or was it that you never got caught?”
“I guess we’ll never know,” he retorts proudly.
“What else will they say about you?”
“That I’m thoughtful.” He pushes away from the table and goes to grab us some water. “See? Thoughtful.” He puts the glass down in front of me, making me smile, and he bends to kiss my lips.
“I see that,” I say softly, waiting for him to sit beside me.
“Also, don’t believe anything Daisy says about me. I’d say don’t believe Lizzie either, but she just gave birth to her second child, so her hormones for hating me are gone.”
“So you’re an uncle? You’ve been around babies before?”
“Lizzie has two kids, Vanessa and Blake, who is two weeks old.” I smile at him. “Daisy has one, his name is Christian, but we call him troublemaker. If there is trouble, he’s right there in the middle of it.”
I grin at how his eyes light up. “Carter doesn’t have any kids, but his new girlfriend . . .” He makes a weird face. “I can’t remember her name.” I gasp. “I know, I know, but I’ve met her twice. I think it’s Andrea, but it could also be Anna.”
“Theo, that is so bad.”
“I’ve said maybe five words to her, and ‘Nice to meet you’ were four of them,” he defends himself. “Every time I call him, she’s not there.”
“So you are close with them then?”
“I am. I talk to my father every day. My mother, too, if she’s there, and there is still a family group chat that my mother messages every day saying good morning.”
I feel a sting in my eyes. “That’s so sweet.” I smile, trying not to show him what I’m feeling. “My whole life, that’s what I wanted, a normal childhood. Two parents who showed love, and it wasn’t even a question. Brothers and sisters I could tease and confide in.”
“How many kids do you want?” he asks me, and I shrug.
“More than one,” I admit to him. “I want the baby to have everything I didn’t.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you said yes to being my girlfriend because now I get to give you and our child all that.” I can’t help but smile. “Now, hurry up and eat, so we can clean up and get back to my favorite part of the night.”
“Which is?” I ask innocently.
He grins, and then the grin turns into a megawatt smile. “Baby,” he starts, and everything inside me melts, “my favorite part of any night lately has been with you in my arms.”
I roll my eyes. “Smooth.” I try really fucking hard not to giggle like a schoolgirl. “Very smooth.”