Chapter 20 #3
Her hair’s wet and dark down her back. Her face is scrubbed clean. There’s a flush along her chest from the hot water. She’s holding my clothes in a big ball in her free hand, and she stops in the doorway when she sees me sitting on her bed, and her whole face goes soft.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She crosses the room and drops the clothes next to me. She stands between my knees, and I put my hand on the back of her thigh just under the towel, and she puts both her hands on my shoulders.
“What are you thinking about?”
I look up at her. Does she see it on my face? The place where my mind goes to? I look at her and wonder if she knows.
I wonder if she knows that I’ve been skating past her for years and how the pass is the easiest play in hockey, but I’ve been making it the hardest play of my life.
I think I’ve already told her different versions of this, so, instead, I say, “How much I love you.”
Her eyes go bright. She leans down and kisses my forehead. Her hand cradles the back of my head.
“I love you too, Blue.”
She gets dressed. I sit on the bed and watch her, because apparently watching Melly Sorcha do mundane things in her own bedroom is now one of my hobbies.
She drops the towel without ceremony — she trusts me enough now to drop the towel — but it doesn’t stop my dick from getting hard or the physical ache in my chest. She pulls on underwear, and a bra, and a pair of leggings, and one of her own t-shirts.
She climbs onto the bed and into my lap, and she puts her arms around my neck, and she presses her forehead to mine.
“Stay the night here.”
I brush back her hair. “It’s Sunday, so I have practice first thing.”
She walks her fingers over my chest. “Then grab your things and come back.”
“I’ll just wake up extra early,” I say after a thought.
She kisses me with a smile.
Penelope makes pasta at six and announces it through the closed door like we’re a couple of teenagers locked in our bedroom.
When we walk out, the table is already set.
Melly lights up. “Pen, you didn’t have to. But oh my god, it looks so good. Thank you.”
“Yeah, thanks, Pen,” I say, sitting next to Melly. “It looks great. I owe you one.”
Penelope watches us across the table. “So, it’s official, huh?”
Melly turns pink. “Yeah.” She plays with the noodles for a moment, turning shy about it.
Penelope says to me, “Are the boys at Hawthorne freaking out about it?”
I look up at her, remembering the one night I caught her leaving Percy’s bedroom. She made me promise like hell over my life that I wouldn’t say a word, and I have not. I’m also not ever going to. This girl terrifies me.
She continues, “I know how you Hawthorne boys are about those house rules.”
I shake my head. “Well, Benson kind of…” I look up at Penelope’s blazing eyes.
I swallow down the rest of my words. Percy hasn’t said a word about Penelope or who he’s into or has hooked up with.
That man is quieter than a mouse, but I know from the grapevine that Penelope’s had a hard few years.
I can’t say why Percy is keeping her a secret, but her comments on the house rules are like waving a red flag in my face.
Is Percy just scared because of the house rules?
Melly doesn’t catch on to the intensity at the table as she gently laughs it off. “Weren’t those rules made before you even moved in?”
I nod. “It’s the Hawthorne House legacy passed down from a guy years ago.”
Melly says, “Do the guys even listen to it?”
“We all have.” I nod. “Yeah.” I look up at Penelope. “For years, but uh, Benson found Lucy, and––” I look at Melly, “you transferred here, and I say fuck the rules.”
Penelope looks down at her plate.
Melly shrugs and turns back to eating.
We do dishes together in her kitchen. She washes. I dry one-handed. Penelope sits on a stool at the counter pretending to read her book and watching us out of the corner of her eye, and when I catch her at it she doesn’t look away. She just gives me a slow assessing nod and goes back to her book.
I’ve passed the Penelope test.
I didn’t know I was taking one. I’m glad I passed it.
We’re back in Melly’s bed by eight thirty.
We don’t have sex. We make out for a while, lazy and slow, until it tips toward going further and she pulls back with her hand flat against my chest, her mouth swollen, her cheeks pink, and she tells me that she’s sore. So, we just lie there instead.
She’s on my chest. Her hand is on my stomach. Her thumb is grazing my lower stomach. I’m trying to think about anything else because I don’t want to wake my body up after she just said she was sore.
“Do you really want two kids, or did you just say that because I did?” she asks quietly.
I huff out a tiny laugh. “I do. Yeah.”
“Do you ever want to get married?”
“Of course,” I say, imagining that day.
“Do you think it’ll be to me?” She leans to look up at me. “The statistics of high school sweethearts lasting are not on our side.”
I brush my fingers on her face. “It’s a good thing we’re in college.”
She laughs at that and puts her head back down on my chest. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She whispers, “I want you always, Blue Golding.”
I pull her hair to one side and let her words soothe my racing pulse. I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll love you always, Melly Sorcha.”