Chapter 44
Zoe
I knew from the start that you and I were more than just Caleb’s little sister and Caleb’s best friend. I didn’t know what we were, only that we were more. From the very beginning.
—Zoe
“Why do you call me Pixie, anyway?” I ask. I never asked before because it didn’t feel right. But now . . . now everything is different.
It’s late morning now, and aside from a short visit to the bathroom, we haven’t gotten out of bed once.
Jase leans back and pulls me with him until I’m lying on top of him. He tenderly brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
I nod. As if I could forget!
“It was the first Friday after summer vacation.” His voice is smooth as velvet, and my stomach starts to flutter.
“We had just moved here from LA, and I didn’t know anyone.
But Caleb sat next to me in math, and we hit it off right away.
That Friday, he invited me to your house after football practice.
We were sitting in the living room when you came home from your ballet lesson. ”
“I know. You were playing Mario Kart. He was killing you.”
Jase sighs and grimaces at the memory. “I was really bad. Anyway, you came back from your lesson, and you were wearing this green dress with narrow straps and a skirt that puffed around your legs. Your hair was down and you were . . .” He takes a deep breath and shrugs a little awkwardly. “Well, you looked like a little fairy.”
“Is that why you call me Pixie? Because I reminded you of a fairy?” I have to smile.
He actually blushes, which is pretty cute. “My fourteen-year-old self was obviously not very creative.”
“But your fourteen-year-old self was also extremely cute. I always liked it when you called me that,” I admit, because I want him to know.
I want him to know everything. “It was always kind of . . .” I bite my bottom lip, and Jase stares at my mouth.
“Caleb’s other friends were always nice to me.
They were my friends too. He never excluded me.
Still, to the others I was the little sister, first and foremost. It was different with you. You saw me.”
He turns us around, gently pressing me into the mattress and kissing me tenderly. “It was impossible to overlook you.”
“You too,” I say. It’s just the truth. I always saw him everywhere. Long before we started sharing our secrets.
Jase gazes at me silently, and it feels like a caress. He waits for me to continue.
“You were the only boy ballet dancer at our school.”
“Yes, and I was reminded of that every day.” Jase’s brow furrows. “Sometimes that kind of sucked.”
“Teenagers can be pretty brutal,” I reply, and a faint grin crosses his face.
“True words.”
“Always.” I slide underneath him, and all at once, his hips are right on top of mine. My legs wrap around his backside of their own accord.
“So that’s why I was so impossible to overlook? Just because I was the only boy dancer?” Jase asks, tilting his hips a little, just enough to make me catch my breath and send heat rushing through my veins.
“No. You were just different. Quieter than the other boys I knew. Caleb and his friends were all loud and very . . . present. You never talked much, you never made stupid comments, and you barely ever smiled. I wanted you to smile at me. You have a beautiful smile.” I tap the corners of his mouth with my fingertips.
He smiles, and my heart makes strange flutters in my chest.
“I think you were the only one who made me smile.” Jase rolls off me, pulls us both toward the head of the bed, and pulls the covers over us. Everything smells like him—why does he smell so damn good?
“It always felt like a little victory to me when you smiled.” I turn onto my side so I can look at him, sliding a little closer.
“Does that mean that every time I smiled at you, I lost?” he asks with a grin.
“No, you didn’t . . . I don’t know how to explain it.”
“That’s okay. I think I know what you mean.” He wraps a strand of my hair around his finger, and all at once, he looks thoughtful.
“What are you thinking?” I stroke his cheek gently.
I expect it to be about his parents, his sister, or Sam. But I’m wrong.
“Do you think Caleb still has a problem with us?”
I stiffen. Crap. I should have guessed he’d ask me about this sometime.
“No,” I answer honestly. “I talked to Caleb a few days ago. After you and I . . .” I can’t say it.
I blush. “After we slept together,” I continue, before I can lose my nerve.
“I had a talk with him. Caleb was the only one I could even talk to last year, and I . . . couldn’t help it.
But no, he doesn’t have a problem with it. ”
“But he had one last year.” It’s not a question but a statement. There’s no point in lying. It was pretty obvious that Caleb didn’t like it when Jase and I kissed at the party.
“Yes. But that’s all I can say about it.”
For a moment, it looks like Jase wants to argue. But then he nods, and a sad smile crosses his face. “I miss him.”
“I think he misses you too.”
“He always reminded me of Sam.”
I push a few strands of blond hair off his forehead, which immediately fall back into place. “In what way?” I ask carefully, because I have the feeling it would do Jase good to talk about Sam.
“He was the same type of person. Sam was a football player, like Caleb. And he had the same kind of self-confidence. The same openness. The same sense of humor.” I hear something wistful in his voice, and all at once there’s a big lump in my throat.
“It might sound strange, but sometimes it seemed like fate put me next to Caleb in math class on purpose. As if the universe knew I needed a friend like him.”
I put my hands on either side of his face and pull him down to me for a quick kiss. “Maybe that’s what happened.”
“Yeah, maybe.” This time, his smile is a little less sad. “I’m pretty sure, actually.”
He kisses me again, and then we stop talking for a while.
* * *
I’m lying on Jase’s bare chest as it rises and falls gently.
His breathing is calm, but his heart beats a little faster each time I run my fingers over his skin.
I love that I’m the reason for it. Everything feels so simple right now.
With his past and mine. There are no more secrets. Only shared truths.
When Jase’s stomach growls, I look up with a grin. “I think it’s breakfast time.”
“What time is it anyway?”
“I have no idea. My phone is still in my mom’s purse. But I think it’s time to get up.” I sit up, but Jase has other plans. His hand slides over the back of my neck, and I’m amazed at how such a simple touch can make my whole body tingle.
Laughing, I pull away from him before he can kiss me. “I know you’re hungry. Let’s go eat. If we’re lucky, Mom will have made pancakes.”
“All right.” He gives in with a sigh. “But only because your mom makes the best pancakes ever.”
I get up and pull him out of bed. I hope Mom really did make pancakes.
I get clothes for him from Caleb’s room again, and we get dressed and go downstairs.
An old ABBA song is playing in the kitchen, and I can hear Dad singing along quietly.
I can’t help but smile. I stop in the doorway and watch with amusement as he dances around the kitchen.
The dishwasher is open, and the smell of coffee fills the air.
Dad stops when he notices us. “Good morning,” he says, continuing to load the dishwasher. “Ceara made pancakes.” He points to the plate, which is under a lid on the kitchen island.
“Jackpot,” Jase whispers in my ear, grinning.
“With blueberries or chocolate chips?” I grab Jase’s hand and pull him over to the island.
“What do you think? Chocolate chips, of course.” I hear Mom’s amused voice from the living room. She’s sitting on the sofa, her legs up and a book in her hand.
“That’s what I hoped,” I say, lifting the lid off the plate. I grab two more plates from the cupboard and distribute the pancakes between them.
“I know which ones you like best.” Mom gets up, picks up the cup that’s sitting on the table in front of her, and comes over to us. “Is there still enough coffee?”
“When has there ever not been enough coffee?” Dad asks with a theatrical sigh.
Mom kisses him on the cheek. “Never.”
I look at Jase, who is observing the whole thing with a mixture of amusement and longing. My heart feels heavy as I remember what he told me about how he lost his home last year. He didn’t mean his parents’ house.
I nudge him gently and walk over to the dining table, carrying our plates, while Mom and Dad talk about our household’s coffee consumption.
“Zoe, can you please tell your mother that drinking too much coffee is unhealthy?” Dad gives me a pleading look, but I shake my head apologetically.
“I can’t, because I’d like some too. Can you bring me a cup, Mom?”
She gives me a conspiratorial grin. “Sure thing. You too, Jase?”
He stiffens very slightly before relaxing again, but I notice it anyway. He clears his throat, his voice a little hoarse as he answers. “Yes, thanks.”
“Still with milk, no sugar?”
He nods.
“Zoe?”
“Me too.”
Humming, Mom takes two cups out of the cupboard and pours coffee for us while Dad watches her, shaking his head. Mom comes over and puts the cups down on the table in front of us.
“Nice to have you back.” Smiling, she musses Jase’s hair as if it hasn’t been a year since she last did it.
Jase looks at me and smiles, and my heart skips a beat. “Nice to be here.”