Chapter Seventeen
▲
Okay, okay, we’ll give the man a break.
Wolfe
After my heart rate calms down to its more regular speed—as regular as it gets with Leora around, anyway—the night gets a lot more enjoyable. The only people who stop at our table are Poem, delivering Leora’s food, and my parents to say goodbye before they leave for the night.
My mother looks like she can’t decide if she wants to smack me or applaud me, and I figure that dilemma is the only thing saving me from a classic Belinda Blackwood Public Scolding.
She was at that horrible meeting to break down my character just the same as I was, and she knows one of my goals is to speak up when I would normally remain passive.
Yelling at a bar full of friends, family, and customers might not be quite what she thought me being more take charge would look like, but one cannot say that it didn’t fall under the umbrella of taking initiative.
Leora thinks it counts enough to strike a con from my list, at least, which is confirmation enough for me that I did the right thing.
Sterne leaves shortly after my parents, citing a shift at the firehouse in the morning as reason he can’t stay. I’m real heartbroken about it. Time alone with Leora is just… such a terrible thing to have. Truly.
Now she and I sit without company, and I watch as my celestial friend holds two tiny bar straws in her hand like chopsticks and attempts to use them to pull an ice cube out of her otherwise empty glass.
Her tongue peeks out as she focuses, and a lock of pretty violet hair tries to impede her vision.
Helpfully, I tuck it behind her ear.
Her lashes flutter, dusting star-speckled cheeks, and she drops her ice cube.
“Stars,” she whispers, then drags her hazy gaze to mine. “I dropped it again.”
“I see that, starling,” I whisper back with all the affection in the world. “You got it out of the glass that time, though.”
Her haze goes warm. “Yeah,” she says. “I did do that, didn’t I?”
Unable to stop it, my finger presses on the lower end of her smile.
Heat from her mouth hits my skin.
I curse and pull back.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she breathes. “I liked that.”
My pulse jumps. “That’s because you think boundary crossing is romantic,” I reply. “Like in your books.”
“Not romantic,” she disagrees. Her hair flows around her when she shakes her head vigorously—cutely.
I grab her cheeks, stopping the dizzy-mobile. “I don’t think that’s a good idea anytime after the fourth drink,” I caution.
She grimaces, and it takes her a moment to focus on my face. “Maybe not,” she agrees.
I rub my thumbs on her soft, glittering skin.
“What were we talking about?” she asks.
I smile ruefully. “We were discussing the concerning things you—and your book club—find romantic.”
Light dawns. “Right.” She starts to nod, then thinks better of it. “You said boundary crossing.”
“I did,” I confirm. “For reasons that seem obvious.” The fact that we’re here, now, at the forefront of those reasons.
If Leora’s book club hadn’t deemed kidnapping romantic, Almond never would have told Amia that it was, and Amia never would have brought it up to me, and I never would have found myself in an alley with my two biggest bullies as we plotted the kidnapping of my dearest friend and greatest love.
“That’s not romantic,” Leora claims, again. “Boundary crossing is…” She trails off, and her eyes travel upwards as she searches for the end of her sentence. “Hot,” she says finally, coming back to me. “It’s hot.”
My eyebrows rise. “Hot?” I ask incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”
She shrugs. “I mean, in the right circumstances? Not all the time. Just sometimes. Just if…” She blushes, abandons her if, and chooses a different direction.
“It can be hot. Just now, it was hot. I can’t say that I would have liked that if someone else had done it, but I already know that you’re safe.
I know that if I really, truly say no, you’ll abide by that.
” She frowns. “Though… you did ignore my last no. So maybe I shouldn’t be so sure… ”
“You can be sure,” I promise her, regret hitting hard. That it’s even in question is disgusting. “If you say no, that’s no.”
Her face clears, as close to sober as she’s come in some hours. “I know,” she says. “I’m not worried about it. Not really. Last time, it wasn’t even really you. Anyone could tell you were under duress during that situation. You were as kidnapped as I was.”
Relief hits me hard, slumping my shoulders and battering my heart. “I don’t think it was quite the same,” I say. “But I’m glad you seem to understand… and that you trust me.”
She lifts her hand, blinks at the straw-sticks in between her fingers, then clicks them at me.
“I trust you,” she says. Just that. So simple, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“And that’s why you should trust me. Cross a boundary or three, and don’t apologize for it.
With me, you can. With me, most of the things you’d consider to be a boundary aren’t even there in the first place—not for you.
You’re Wolfe. If you want to touch my lip, you can touch my lip.
If you want to…” Another thought she doesn’t give me, and another blush to go with it.
My curiosity spikes.
“The point is,” she says quickly. “You don’t have to apologize to me.
Relax, Wolfe, and maybe channel some of the man who stood up in a bar full of people and demanded what he wants.
” Her eyelids fall, not enough to close, but enough to make me shift in my seat as a blush floods my cheeks and burns my ears.
I change the subject. Or, I bring us back to the one at hand.
Whatever. “You’ll tell me if I do cross a boundary I’m not supposed to be near?
” I ask, just to confirm. I don’t think it will actually be a problem considering I’m skittish just getting near anything that might look like a boundary, but still.
I’d like the confirmation that she will hold me accountable if I need it, and not let anything go for the sake of my growth.
Growth is good. Growth is healthy. But I cannot let my growth become the sort that gets too big, throws my loved ones in shadow, and hides them from much-needed sunlight.
“I’ll tell you,” Leora agrees. Her eyes drop to her ice, and she reminds me that perhaps this isn’t the best time for us to be having this conversation, considering how many drinks she’s had.
“I’m going to get one of these ice cubes to my mouth with my chopsticks,” she says.
“They will cross the boundary of this glass and enter the confines of my lips.”
My lips quirk, and I sit back to watch her work.
I stare, content, for several minutes as she struggles, then check the video monitor by the wall. Amia sleeps soundly on her back, limbs spread wide and blanket kicked off. Her chest rises and falls with her breaths.
My sweet girl.
I return my attention to Leora. She squints at her ice, hunched over the table to make the distance as short as possible. Her pert nose scrunches up, and the tip of her tongue presses between her lips.
My darling starling.
My heart swells, and my blood runs through my veins with a pleasant tingle.
I am content. Here, with Leora, near to Amia, a level of contentment I’ve never come near to before settles in my gut. The only way this could be better is if we were upstairs with my daughter a door away instead of a ceiling, and Leora even closer. On my couch, next to me.
On my couch, against me.
On my couch, on top of me.
I shake that thought right out of my head.
Leora conquers her ice cube and cheers, hands flying in the air as she shouts, “I did it!”
I celebrate with her.
She pushes empty glasses and beer bottles aside to fling herself over the table and hug me.
My breath catches in my throat as I hug her back. “Good job,” I choke.
She squeezes me hard, shaking me side to side in her joy. She pulls back enough to speak to me face-to-face, arms still around my neck. “I love this bar!”
I love you, I think.
Initiative, Wolfe. Take charge. Cross a boundary.
“I love you,” I say.
Her eyes crinkle, green jewels shining with happiness. “I love you, too,” she replies. Then she kisses my nose, unwinds her arms, and falls back to her side of the booth.
I open my mouth to clarify my feelings, not for the first time.
The same thing happened after The Great Wolfe Dissection, too, when we were hugging in front of the whiteboards.
I was so determined. It took every speck of nerve and courage I had to say the words, even as desperate as I was for her to have them.
I didn’t have the nerve or the courage to take them further than what she interpreted as a friendly sort of love.
I thought I’d grown since then. Cons are being crossed off. Pros are being added.
With a click, my mouth slams shut.
Apparently I haven’t grown enough.
One step forward, two steps back.
That’s still progress, though. And progress is what we’re going for.
Maybe next time I work up the courage to tell Leora I love her, I’ll have enough progress to tell her what, exactly, that means.
For now, if I can’t say the words, I can at least show her with my actions. I can cross boundaries into love, so that when I can finally say the words to match, I’ll have a series of despicable events to back me up.