Chapter 22
Jase
What’s most important to you?
Ballet. And your family. And telling you my secrets.
—J
Part of me wants to answer Zoe’s question with a yes, because it would make everything easier if I took Charlotte up on her offer.
Aside from the fact that I’d have to deal with Charlotte.
But otherwise . . . My problems would disappear in a snap and dissolve into thin air.
Still, I can’t do that, and I think Zoe knows it just as well as I do.
“No.”
She looks at me skeptically. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t like to be blackmailed,” I say, leaving out the whole truth, which I won’t admit, not even to myself. Charlotte is the most manipulative bitch I’ve ever met. She may always get what she wants, but I’m not some designer handbag she can buy with her parents’ money.
“Your life would be a lot easier if you did.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you say yes? You need money, and she offered it to you.” Zoe looks at me as though she really can’t understand. But what is she expecting me to say?
“Do you want to get rid of me?”
She shakes her head. “I want to understand you.”
This time I won’t ask her why. I don’t answer at all, instead opening the door to the little attic studio and kicking off my shoes. Zoe follows me in, tossing her jacket in the corner and stepping in front of the mirror without being told. I stand behind her.
“No music today?” she asks, and her voice carries a slightly sarcastic undertone that I don’t recognize at all. I roll my eyes but pull my phone out of my pocket and connect it to the Bluetooth speaker. “Any requests?”
“You can choose.”
I hesitate for a moment before searching for Harry Styles on Spotify and randomly clicking on a song. I know Zoe loves them all. She needs to relax, and music helps with that, doesn’t it?
When I turn around, she’s staring at me, eyes wide.
“Since when do you listen to Harry Styles?” She sounds so confounded that I almost have to laugh.
“For a while,” I answer curtly, because there’s no way I can admit that I chose the song for her. That would mean that I was thinking about her, and . . . No. Just no.
I stand behind her and decide to focus on the original problem. I pluck at the hem of her sweater. “Are you wearing anything underneath?”
Zoe stiffens, and when her eyes go wide this time, it’s not because I’ve confused her. “Why?” she asks. Her voice goes up an octave.
“Because in class you’re never wearing a thick sweatshirt. Doesn’t it feel different through all that material?”
She hesitates and then nods and pulls the sweatshirt off over her head. Underneath, she’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt with short sleeves that’s a lot like a ballet leotard.
“Ready?” I ask her, and also myself, because this isn’t a great idea. I’ve known that for days, and nothing has changed.
Instead of answering, she puts her hand in mine. It feels like a jolt of electricity is shooting up my arm from my palm. It goes straight into my chest and that damn muscle that’s not supposed to feel anything. It seems to constantly forget that when I’m around her.
I take a deep breath, trying to remember how it felt last year when Zoe stopped answering my notes and Caleb didn’t call me back anymore.
All at once, I no longer had a second home that felt more like a real home than anywhere I’d been in years.
Ceara stopped making me eat more, and Ethan stopped asking me how I was doing and if everything was okay.
Every muscle in my body tenses, and Zoe stiffens with me and pulls back her hands.
“Relax,” I say to both of us.
“You relax,” she retorts, and my mind goes quiet as she puts her hands in mine again.
They’re small, much smaller than mine. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed that.
I noticed it a long time ago, back when I held her hand properly for the first time.
The fact that I’m noticing it again now is .
. . yeah, well, it probably means something.
I continue like the last time. I slip my fingers between hers, even though that’s technically unnecessary, because we don’t need to touch that way when we’re dancing. But apparently, my hands want to know how her fingers feel between mine again.
Familiar. Strange. Painful. Yearning.
My hands move of their own accord, gliding up her arms and over her shoulders. She holds still, but I can tell my touch is doing something to her. I can feel her heart beating faster. Just like mine. Damn traitor.
My fingertips slide over her back. After all, I have to touch it when we dance.
Her hips, her waist. Everything makes sense.
It feels right, I think. Or I don’t think.
I’m not really sure anymore what’s going on in my head.
My hands come to rest on her stomach. I don’t do it deliberately; it just happens.
And it just happens that Zoe leans back against me again. Just like last time.
She’s on fire. Her skin gives off an incredible amount of heat, even through her T-shirt.
I automatically pull her closer until we’re pressed together lengthwise, just slightly, but it’s enough to make me feel just as warm.
Adrenaline rushes through my veins, along with something else, when I notice Zoe’s breath speeding up.
Her chest rises and falls, faster than it did a moment ago. My eyes are automatically drawn to her breasts. It’s wrong, but I can’t look away, and all the blood goes from my head to my dick, and I know I have a problem. An even worse one than I thought.
“How does that feel?” Zoe asks, even though it’s me who should be asking that question. But her voice is strangely hoarse, and this definitely feels like my downfall.
I give her a different answer. Because I’m an idiot. “It feels like you.”
Before
Zoe
One year earlier
June 25, 10:17 PM
Charlotte and Adaline’s house is practically bursting at the seams. I don’t know how they managed to persuade their parents to let them invite so many people.
It’s not only the entire graduating class of Westview High but also most of my class, along with some kids I’ve never seen before.
A few of the guys look older, probably college students.
My friends have disappeared into the crowd and are looking for something to drink. I’m standing alone in a corner trying not to freak out.
In the living room, all the furniture has been shoved aside to make space for a dance floor. Caleb is standing on the edge of it with Reed and Nick. I just saw Tristan on the way to the kitchen, and Jase . . . I haven’t seen him anywhere.
My stomach is fluttering nervously, my heart is beating too fast, and there’s a quiet, unsure voice inside me that’s wondering if I made a mistake by writing that last note to Jase.
What if it was a dumb idea? What if I chose the wrong moment?
Would it have been better to talk to him than to write him a note?
Why don’t I just do it instead? Kiss him, I mean.
But what if he doesn’t even want to kiss me?
What if he doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him?
What if I ruined everything with that note and everything that was happening between us is over now just because I wrote those three words on a piece of paper?
Because I couldn’t stand the thought that Charlotte might be the one he kisses.
I want to be the girl he kisses. I’ve wanted it for weeks. And now . . . I notice a familiar head of blond hair moving through the crowd. A moment later, Jase’s eyes meet mine.
My heart skips a beat and then picks up where it left off, even faster. Blood rises into my cheeks. He’s here.
He’s smiling at me, and my heart is ready to break out of my chest. My skin begins to tingle as his smile gets wider. His eyes are shining, and all at once, I have no idea if I’m nervous or excited. I don’t know anything anymore. Only that I can’t stop looking at him.
He holds up his hand, and at first I don’t understand, until I see he’s holding something white. It’s my note, I know it, without him having to say so or show me.
The fluttering in my stomach gets a thousand times stronger as I approach him.
“Hi,” he says softly when I get there. So softly that I can barely hear him over the loud music. But I can read his lips.
“Hi.” My voice is just as soft. I have to crane my neck to see him properly. His hand strokes mine, a tender touch that hits me right in the heart. I can’t breathe anymore; I can only look at him. His fingers interlace with mine. It feels like it should have always been like this.
“Are you coming with me?” he tugs at my hand, and my feet move of their own accord. I let him lead me through the crowd at the edge of the dance floor until we reach the wide patio door.
It’s quieter in the Hammonds’ yard; the music isn’t nearly as loud out here. It’s still warm even though it’s late and the sun went down a long time ago. I breathe in the smell of freshly mowed grass and summer.
Jase guides me away from the door, and our footsteps echo too loudly on the wood of the deck but go silent as we step onto the lawn and walk farther into the yard.
The whole time, he’s holding my hand and doesn’t let go until we’re standing between two tall trees.
Someone hung a string of lights around the tree trunks, and the world around us is bathed in a warm glow. It’s absolutely perfect.
Jase turns to look at me, and his eyes have an expression that I’ve never seen before. There’s a gentle, almost shy smile on his lips. Locks of blond hair fall over his forehead, and I want to push them back and caress and kiss him. He’s so beautiful that it almost hurts.
“I found your note.”
I can’t look at him anymore, because everything inside me is urging me to touch him. But I can’t look away either, just because he’s too much Jase and I’m too much Zoe.
“Did you?”
He grins. “Yeah, I did.”
My mind is suddenly blank. I want to give him a response that means something, but every single word escapes me.
Jase takes a step closer, and now the entire lengths of our bodies are touching. His legs are touching mine, his chest, his arms—everything. And he’s still holding my hand.
“Why do you want me to kiss you, Pixie?” His voice is soft and warm, and I never want to hear anything else.
I swallow hard. “You know why.”
“Say it anyway.” His thumb strokes mine, gently and carefully. I gasp.
Because we’ve trusted each other with every one of our secrets for the last three months, I will do it again this time.
“Because you’re you, and I’m me. And I believe that together, we can be everything.”
He lets go of my hand and strokes my bare arm, my shoulder, and I feel the touch in every nerve of my body. My skin glows as if he has set it on fire.
“We really can, can’t we?” he whispers. “Be everything, I mean.” His hand rests on my cheek, firm and sure. His gaze wanders from my eyes to my lips, and he pauses.
“Yes, we can.” My voice doesn’t sound like me. It’s far too hoarse and far too excited. I hold my breath. Kiss me, I beg silently. Maybe I said it out loud. Either way, it doesn’t matter, because Jase closes the last inch between us, and his lips meet mine.
My eyelids flutter closed, and my heart is ready to leap out of my chest, straight to him—not only because I want to give it to him, but because it’s already been his for a long time.
The kiss is gentle, careful and unsure, and somehow everything at once. Just like us.