4. Indy
FOUR
INDY
Becca shakes her hand after her drink sloshes over the edge of her cup. She takes another step closer after Miles bumps into her from the side, rolling her eyes.
“I swear half these people have never stood upright before,” she mutters.
I huff out a laugh and shake my head as I move to stand between her and Miles. “Free drinks. They have that effect.”
She sends me a coy look and a flirty smile. “It’s nice that you’re volunteering as my bodyguard. My hero,” she teases.
My shoulders tense just a bit. I don’t want to give her the wrong impression, despite the way Bridge practically marched Becca to me and is now widening her eyes at me suggestively from a bit farther away.
At this point, I wouldn’t be too surprised if she pulled out two voodoo dolls of us and made them kiss.
“I mean,” I say lightly, “I’m not doing anything else. Might as well be useful.” I follow that up with an awkward laugh. Going by this interaction, you’d think this is the first time in my life I’ve ever talked to a girl. It’s not. I’m usually pretty good at it.
Becca keeps throwing me looks and smiling at me. And I’m not feeling any of it. If anything, I’m bored. I’ve been bored for a while.
Ever since Nick entered my life.
He’s a mystery and I’m obsessed, unable to step away and let it go. I don’t get why I’m like this when it comes to him. It makes no sense.
Becca leans closer. “Hey, you wanna take a walk? Somewhere quieter, maybe?”
There’s a hint in her voice. A suggestion.
“Yeah. Sure. In a bit,” I say. “I’ll just… grab us something to drink first?”
Her smile widens even more. “I’ll be here.”
I escape. I’m not proud of it. Don’t regret it either, though, so it sort of balances out.
Instead of getting drinks, I make my way down to the water.
The music dulls as I go. The bass turns into a distant pulse instead of rattling in my rib cage.
Crickets take over the farther away I get. The air is cool, and I breathe easier.
The bay looks like dark glass, not a wave or a ripple in sight. I wish I was out there right now instead of here. It’s my safe place. It’s where I feel most like myself and most comfortable.
It’s not that I don’t like people. It’s not that they don’t like me. I’m reasonably well liked at school, but every now and then I start to feel this itching need to be on my own. Away from everybody else.
Someone dragged an old picnic table closer to the shore years ago, and I head that way.
There’s some kind of dark shape stretched out on top of it.
For another blissful second, I’m still under the impression that I’m alone out here.
Until the shape shifts.
Nick.
He’s lying flat on his back on top of the table, hands folded behind his head like he’s at home in our backyard instead of a five-minute walk away from a party.
He has one ankle hooked over the other, and he’s staring up at the sky.
I almost turn around, which would be the smart thing to do.
Instead, I step closer, summoned by some unnamed force.
“You know, this thing’s probably got splinters.” I nod toward the table.
He doesn’t look at me. “Would be a problem if I were naked. Alas…”
I huff out a laugh. The sound feels too loud.
He looks different here, far away from the firelight. His face is even harder and, without the glow of the fire, colder.
So maybe not different, then. More like his usual self.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Stargazing.”
I glance up toward the sky and the thick layer of clouds that sail over it. “There are barely any visible.”
“It’s called quality over quantity.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look up at the sky too, restless. I didn’t expect him to be here, so I’m not prepared. It’s supposed to be just me.
But I don’t leave either. I can’t, because then it’ll just end up looking like I’m running away.
I move to lean against the bench seat. The wood creaks under my weight.
We sit in silence. The party feels like it’s happening in another world.
I don’t know why I don’t leave. I don’t know why he doesn’t leave. But neither of us moves.
“I didn’t think you were the stargazing type,” I say.
“To be fair, you don’t really know what type I am.” He’s just pointing out the truth, not even that sharply.
He’s not wrong.
I bristle at the statement anyway, because whose fault is that?
It’s not like I didn’t try at one point, but he shut down every attempt I made to get to know him.
I tried harder than I probably should have.
Embarrassingly hard, now that I think back on it.
I practically stalked him. Followed him around like a puppy, begging for a sign of interest that never came.
It’s kind of pathetic that I still keep trying.
I tell myself I’m not. That’d be a lie, though.
Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I’m so stubbornly exposing myself to the sarcastic remarks, cold insults, and everything else he doles out.
Do I actually want to see what’s beneath the surface?
Or is it more that his obvious, unreasonable dislike of me feels so unfair and uncalled for, and I’m so unused to people not liking me that I need to try and crawl into his good graces?
The bench creaks as I shift my weight. He throws me a look.
“Sorry,” I mutter before I can stop myself. My face heats, and my saving grace is it’s too dark for him to see that. I clear my throat. “It’s dark.”
“At night? No way,” Nick says, snide as usual. For a flash of a moment I imagine what he’d do if I pushed him off that table. “Aren’t you supposed to be trying to get into some cheerleader’s pants right now?” He throws me a sideways glance.
“I wasn’t—I’m not—” I stumble over my words and eventually just clamp my mouth shut.
He studies me, eyes filled with amusement that’s there at my expense. “Ah,” he says with this kind of irritating smugness. “Having trouble figuring out what to do? Not quite sure what goes where? See, when two people are very, very horny—”
“Please stop talking.”
His smile is downright evil when he goes back to staring at the sky. My face feels too hot. The heat refuses to go away, and I suppose that was the goal. To make me feel uncomfortable.
“If you’re not here to ask me about the birds and the bees,” he says. “Then why are you here?”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Because I don’t have a good answer.
Because I left Becca practically mid-conversation.
Because I didn’t want to stand near the fire and pretend I wasn’t bored out of my mind.
Because… I didn’t want to watch him not look at me.
Because when he’s near, I notice.
“Just needed some air,” I finally say.
“I’m sure it was in short supply at the party. Where everybody is outside.”
“The smoke from the fire isn’t… I don’t like it.”
I feel like I’m see-through. Like he can glance at me and read everything I’m thinking and feeling, which would be a feat seeing as I’m so thoroughly confused about all of it myself.
He’s dialed down the hostility for a second. For now, he almost seems mildly curious. He sits up so suddenly the whole table wobbles. My arm shoots out instinctively to steady it, but instead of the table, I end up slamming my hand down on his thigh.
We both freeze.
Everything goes very quiet. My breath stutters in my lungs.
It’s barely anything. Just denim under my palm. His thigh is firm and solid against my fingertips. What would it feel like without the fabric between his skin and mine?
I pull my hand back like I’ve touched something electric.
“Sorry,” I mutter, blushing even harder.
What the fuck is happening?
“It’s fine.” He sounds infuriatingly calm and untouchable.
He swings his legs over the side so he’s sitting upright. Now he’s close. Closer than I realized. If I were to lean forward an inch and tilt my head up…
The look on his face is more intense than I’ve ever seen it before.
There’s an insane second where I think he might kiss me.
If he did… Would I stop him?
My pulse is impossibly loud in my ears. It drowns out every other sound.
He does lean in slightly then. Maybe not on purpose. Or maybe on purpose.
I… I don’t know. I can’t tell.
His knee brushes mine.
My stomach flips. Not like nerves before stepping on a stage. It’s not adrenaline. It’s different. It’s something that makes my pulse jump and my heart pound too loudly.
His gaze drops, just for a second, to my mouth.
The world tilts.
Heat floods my face again, and my chest is too tight.
He’s still eyeing me calmly. Like he’s waiting. Observing. Mildly interested in the outcome.
And I realize, with a violent jolt that feels like a sucker punch into my gut, that if I moved forward even a little bit…
He wouldn’t stop me.
I don’t know how I know.
But he wouldn’t stop me.
And then what?
The thought is terrifying.
I scramble to get up. Stand too fast and feel dizzy.
The bench screeches when my weight lifts off it.
The strange spell snaps. The thumping of my own heartbeat in my ears is replaced by all the other sounds flooding in.
My breathing is painfully loud.
Embarrassingly loud.
“I—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “I have to get back.”
I take a step backward.
Then another one.
My heart refuses to slow down.
I give one final nod, turn, and walk away.
This is stupid.
It was just… proximity. I always, inevitably, feel out of balance when it comes to Nick. It’s nothing new. Just darkness messing with my head.
I’ve never—
I didn’t—
Didn’t you, though?
The music grows louder as I walk back toward the clearing and the bonfire.
It’s too bad it doesn’t drown out the dawning realization.
I almost kissed him.
And the worst part?
I wanted to.