2. Prologue
Prologue
We walk for so long that eventually it gets dark. At first, we don’t say much—small talk about the event, a little more of me trying to find out whose sibling he is, with no luck—as we pass the bottle back and forth between us.
The more we drink, the more we talk; well, the more I talk. He seems to have a much better tolerance than I do, which is understandable considering mine is zero.
We’d looped the trail a few times before I lost count, and this time, when we reach the gazebo with the cute fairy lights and benches, his long fingers wrap around my wrist, and he pulls me inside.
My cheeks heat, but I follow him without complaint. I’m pretty sure he could lead me off a cliff, and I’d follow him right now with the way I’m feeling, and it has nothing to do with the buzz I’m feeling.
When was the last time someone spent time like this with me? Cared to ask if I was okay or didn’t look at me with disgust for my academic achievements?
Most people think I’m a stuck-up bitch, and I try not to be, but honestly, I just don’t have any idea how to act around people.
If I’m too quiet, they hate me, and if I say too much, they hate me. I’ve come to just accept that I’ll always just be Jordan’s shadow.
“Hey,” D’s voice startles me, and I look up to find him so close that I have to crane my neck up to meet his eyes. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue, but apparently, a side effect of drinking is poor balance, and I sway back.
Shit.
I stumble back a step, but before I can make a fool of myself and land on my ass, D pulls me into him, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist.
“Whoa, I didn’t realize you were a lightweight, Blondie,” he says with a chuckle that makes me purse my lips.
He’s laughing at me.
I attempt to pull away, but he only holds tighter, pulling me all the way into his chest, and I feel the rumble from his laughter now.
“Hey, none of that. We’re having a good time. Friends can laugh at each other.”
Can they?
We stand like that for a few seconds longer because I’m not sure what else to do and because he smells fantastic.
He pulls back, his finger hooking beneath my chin to tilt my head back so that our eyes meet once again.
“I’ve never drank before,” I blurt out in explanation and watch his eyes widen a bit before the most adorable smile turns his lips.
My heart rate doubles, and again I feel my cheeks heat as I blush.
Why did I say that?
This is from the alcohol, right?
I’ve never been the type to be a blushing, blubbering pick-me girl, so it has to be. Most of the time, I’m not any more interested in the assholes than they are in me.
“Gods, I’m an idiot. Of course, you haven’t. You're a good kid.”
“Are you not a good kid?” I ask before I can stop to think about what I’m really asking. The second the words are out of my mouth, I cringe. He’s a lot of things, I’m sure, but a kid isn't one of them.
Not to mention how rude that sounded. The smile slips off his face, and I know I’ve fucked up.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It just slipped out.” I twist my arm in his hold so that I can grab his wrist as well, worried he might bolt now that I’ve put my foot in my mouth.
Although maybe that would be for the best.
He doesn’t, though, and I can’t help but feel relieved when instead he pulls me over to one of the benches to sit down beside him.
“My dad is kind of an asshole and a less-than-stand-up guy in the eyes of… well, everyone else. So no, I’m not a good kid, but I’m trying to be better, do better.”
He takes a deep breath, and I’m not sure what he’s about to say, but I can tell it’s heavy, so I sit and listen.
“I hate the life we have, and at the first chance, I’m going to get my brother and me out. I‘ve already pretty much been raising him for the last few years as it is. It won’t be that different, being just us. Hell, it might even be better.”
His eyes shine with sincerity, hope, and a lingering sadness I relate to a little too well. I squeeze his arm, hoping to show him support and try to stop myself from pouting when he moves to pull away.
That is, until his fingers find mine, and even I hear the way my breath catches.
“Your reactions are enough to give anyone an ego boost, Blondie. Are you like this with all the guys?” He’s teasing me to break ?the tension; I can see it in his eyes.
Jordan does the same thing, always making me laugh in terrible situations.
“Only to the ones who give me terribly cliché nicknames,” I say with a smile, proud of myself when my words all come out right on the first try. Between the alcohol and how close he is, there was a good chance I was about to make a fool of myself.
He arches a brow at me, and I swear his eyes narrow, but it’s gone a moment later, and maybe I imagined it.
“Oh, and how many bad nicknames do you have?”
“None,” I admit, easier than I probably should, more interested in making him happy than in how pathetic that might sound.
My answer hangs in the air between us, and I lick my lips, unsure what to say now but feeling like I should say or do something.
His eyes flick down to track the movement, and this time there’s no mistaking the way his eyes change, his pupils expanding before my eyes.
I don’t know what makes me move, the alcohol or the way he looks at me, but I throw all reason out the window and lean into him, pressing up until my lips touch his.
It’s not a very good kiss, I’m sure, more like a simple brushing of lips, but it’s my first kiss, and I swear it feels magical.
At least for me.
After a second, I pull back as doubt sets in, and I worry I’ve just messed up what might have been a friendship, if nothing else.
And this is why I don’t have any friends…
“I’m—”
My apology is cut off as his lips crash against mine, shutting me up in the most effective way known to man.
And oh my god, this is a kiss.
His lips mold to mine, his hand tangling up in my hair so that he can manipulate the direction of my head, and I melt for him.
He tastes so fucking good, like strawberries and caramel, and as he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close, I realize it’s just him.
Everything about him feels right. From his scent to his taste, he feels safe, which isn’t something I’ve ever experienced outside of Jordan, and never like this.