Chapter Eleven
Kennedy
Will is lazily sprawled out on his bed with my astronomy notes on his lap and his laptop on the bed next to him. I’m still sitting on the chair next to his bed, facing him, feet perched on the edge of the bedframe. We’re taking our weekly quiz together as has turned into our habit.
“Maybe it's the fact you drank several beers tonight?” I toss at him.
“That was multiple hours ago, I’m not even feeling it anymore,” he says. He swings his body over the edge of his bed, legs brushing up against mine, facing me. He hands me his laptop, “What did you put for this question?”
I take the laptop from him and read his screen. “Oh, it's B!” I click B for him and hit the next button. Somehow over the next few minutes, I’ve made my way onto Will’s bed with his laptop over my thighs while his side is pressed up against mine as we huddle over his screen.
Will also gets a 100% (thanks to me) and I have him pull up his personal statement. The document hasn’t changed much since I last saw it, which is to say it's blank save for one sentence.
After that day at the library, I spent a few hours researching physical therapy school and what’s needed to get accepted. I read several personal statement examples and think I have a good idea about what they’re looking for.
I turn my head toward him, my stomach swooping at his proximity. “First, we brain dump.”
He scoots closer to me, body pressed against mine, as he places both his hands on the keyboard.
He shoves a pillow under the back of his knee, propping it up, before starting a bullet point list of all the reasons why he wants to be a physical therapist. He adds a list for what physical therapy has done for him, and any miscellaneous thoughts.
“Stream of consciousness is fine right now, I just want to see everything you’re thinking all in one place,” I tell him.
He smirks, but keeps his eyes on the screen instead of looking at me. “What about your timer?”
A small fluttering moves through me as I pull out my phone and set a timer. We spend 30 minutes in relative silence as Will brain dumps everything he can onto the page. I encourage him to even dump out the random side tangents too.
We do another full cycle of my timer method, him typing and me commenting. “That’s all for tonight,” I say when the alarm goes off, signaling the start of rest time.
“That’s it?”
I nod and agree once more. “Yup, we're done for today.”
He still hasn’t moved away from me, making me extremely aware of all the places his body is touching mine. I watch his throat bob on a swallow and he whispers, breathy and low, “What’s next on your list?”
My stomach is swooping again. I feel like I have a swing set in my chest as I whisper back, “I don’t know.
” His eyes dip down to my lips and on reflex I dart my tongue to wet them.
Part of me thinks he’s going to kiss me, and then I remember the fact that Will is not even a tiny bit attracted to me.
I whisper back, “I’m not sure if there is anything left you can help me with.”
Leaning in a fraction closer, “We could go dancing.”
Before I can think about it long enough to hesitate, I’m nodding. “Okay.”
He smirks at me. “Yeah?” I nod at him again, catching his eye as he continues, “then let’s go right now.”
“I don’t have clothes for that.”
“Your apartment’s on the way. Can you be quick?”
“It's already after ten.”
“So? We’re just dancing. Does there have to be a time requirement?”
“What about Miranda?”
“What about her?”
“We should invite her, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. Go ahead and call her.”
I lift my phone to my ear waiting for Miranda to pick up. She doesn’t. Okay, so it looks like it’ll just be me and Will tonight. I send her a text, secretly hoping that she doesn’t call me back.
Ten minutes later, Will is sitting on my couch, scrolling through his phone while I’m in my bathroom changing into a going out outfit: lightwash jeans and a black corset top.
When I walk out, Will stands up and just looks at me, making me feel incredibly self conscious. I run a hand over my top, worried that I’m showing too much boob. “You look great,” Will says, sounding stiff and weird.
“Yeah, I’m changing.”
“No! You look fine. Don’t change, for real, you look good.
” He stands in front of me, taking one of my hands in his, spinning me around once as he lets his eyes travel over my body top down.
He doesn’t drop my hand, neither do I as he continues looking down at me, eyes trained on my lips.
He darts out his tongue, before speaking low and soft, “You look perfect.” And for the second time tonight I think he’s going to kiss me.
I want him to kiss me despite the small voice reminding me that we can’t. That Miranda will never forgive me.
He shuffles his feet just a little closer to me, leaning his head down, whispering in my ear, “Let’s go dancing.”
Somehow both my hands are on his chest between us now as his hands are spanning the small of my back.
“Alright,” I whisper, swallowing, “let’s go dancing.
” I slide my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and loop them behind his neck.
He pulls me forward until the front of our bodies are pressed against each other, the heat of him seeping through the layers of fabric and settling deep into my skin.
The way he’s looking at me makes me feel strange and fluttery.
My breath catches when runs his lips up the column of my neck and then right up to the shell of my ear, “We should probably go to the bar.” The scruff on his chin is just barely scratching me, causing chills to skitter down my arm and my nipples to pebble.
My fingers are playing in the back of his hair, lightly grazing along the place where his neck dips under his collar.
“Yeah, we definitely should go to the bar,” I whisper, tilting my face up toward his.
I can’t tell if the pounding I feel in the center of my chest is from him or me.
This is insane, he’s not actually going to kiss me.
His throat bobs, then he leans down, just a fraction of an inch, his nose nudging against mine, our lips almost touching, breath mingling together. “Then let's go to the bar.”
“Okay,” I say, eyes sliding closed, one hand sliding fully into the back of his hair.
He tightens his grip, pulling me harder into him at the same as closing the distance between us, pressing his lips against mine.
I hear wooshing in my ears and my entire body feels like it's tingling as he takes my lips in a tender and gentle kiss. I’ve imagined how Will would kiss me thousands of times.
How he would feel, what he would do. He’s gentler than I imagined, and that fact makes my stomach swoop.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pushing myself against him harder. He licks along the seam of my mouth, groaning when I part my lips and push my tongue against his, deepening the kiss. His hands are on my ass, gripping me.
He bends his knees and picks me up, my ankles hooking behind his back until he drops us backward onto my couch. In this position, our bodies are aligned, my desperate and achy center moves over the hard bulge of him. Hitting my center in just the right way.
I’m struggling to remember why I’m not allowed to have sex with Will when it would be so easy to take off all my clothes and slide down his length. Miranda! I promised Miranda I would never kiss, date, or hook-up with Will. I made this promise to her multiple times. I pinky swore.
Will sucks my bottom lip between his teeth while bucking his hips ever so slightly against me, causing the seam of my pants to brush against my clit. “Fuck,” he moans against my mouth, bucking his hips once more.
I want this so badly but Miranda keeps flashing behind my eyes, causing a low roiling guilt to form in my stomach.
I’m struck with a surge of anxiety and paranoia so sharp it pierces my arousal.
Anxiety about Miranda finding out, about losing her as my friend.
Paranoia about being watched, about Will not actually being attracted to me and this all being some big sick joke that I’m not in on.
I push against his chest with both hands, lift my leg and unstraddle him. “We should go if we’re going to go.”
“Why did you stop?” He sits on my couch, looking confused and delightfully disheveled.
“Because we,” I motion between our chests, “can’t do this.”
He frowns, “Why?”
I purse my lips and tilt my head. “You know why.”
“Because of Miranda?”
“Yes, Will. Because of Miranda. She’ll never forgive me if we have sex. Plus because of me too. I’m all messed up. I have been ever since Carter posted those pictures of me. I have problems now, with trusting people. And I can pretty much guarantee I will freak out if we have sex.”
“First of all, who said anything about sex?” I narrow my eyes in his direction.
“Okay fair,” he shrugs one shoulder, standing up from my couch and walking toward the front door.
“What if we don’t tell her?” I open my mouth to comment but he continues, “besides, I already know you have issues. I can assure you I’m more than willing to go at whatever pace you want. ”
The thought is a tempting one, but the knot in my chest pulls tighter. “We can’t. If she does find out, I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me. I just can’t, okay?”
“Fine,” is all he says before adjusting himself in his pants. “Let’s go.”
We pull into the SixtyForty parking lot after an awkward and stiff car ride over, and head inside.
It’s a Wednesday so it’s not packed, but there’s a decent sized crowd on the dance floor.
Only about half of the tables are claimed.
Behind me, Will leans down, whispering in my ear, “I’m going to get us drinks.
” He says it in a way too familiar fashion, hands on my hips, lips bruising against my ear, reigniting my conflicting roil of guilt and arousal.