Chapter 14
EMILIA
“Okay, there are eighteen seats in this row, so we can all fit in it,” I say to Juanita and Alex, like we’re huddled up discussing our next play in the final quarter. “It should go five kids and then a parent, with me at the end of the row here.”
“Yes, okay, yes,” Juanita says, nodding vehemently. “Good plan.” She ushers her group of five to the far end of the row.
Alex steps aside in the aisle to make sure everyone can move past him, and I can tell he’s staring down at me, his hands on his hips, making his broad shoulders look even wider.
But I refuse to make eye contact with him.
Because I refuse to remove my contacts and my eyesight has been blurry for the past hour and a half.
And because I’m afraid that if I look at him I’ll just start licking his face in front of my students and Miguel’s mom and a bunch of tourists.
“Emilia,” he says from right next to me, voice deep and low and reverberating all around my belly.
“Yes?”
“Go take your contacts out. You won’t be able to see the planetarium show otherwise, and it’s gorgeous. You should see it.”
I clench my jaw and check my watch. Except I can’t really see what time it is because my fucking eyesight is blurry. “Fine. You go sit in the middle of the row and save the end seat for me.” I remove my jean jacket and place it on the end seat. “That’s my seat.”
“Yes. It is.”
I tell my buddy Chloe to stick with our group and rush out to the restroom so I can remove these stupid contacts.
When I hurry back to the planetarium from the ladies’ room, I am completely gobsmacked by how gorgeous this place is, now that I can see a bit more clearly. And I’m so mad that I can’t dance around it with Alex Vega when it’s empty, like in La La Land. But I can’t think about that now.
When I get to our row and the end seat with my jean jacket on it, even in the dim light with my less than perfect vision, I can tell that the person in the seat next to it is not a child and has not been one for quite some time.
“Why aren’t you sitting in the middle of the row?”
“Shhh.” He holds his sexy index finger up to his sexy mouth and gestures for me to sit down. “Show’s about to start.”
Ryder is sitting on the other side of him, so I guess it’s not like he’s going to try to make out with me or anything.
“Hi, Miss Stiles.” Ryder waves at me. “I’m having fun today, thanks.”
“Oh, I’m glad, Ryder.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, it’s pretty great here.” I lean back into the seat and stare up at the images that are projected onto the domed ceiling.
It’s also kind of terrible.
Because even with the entire galaxy projected above and around us, I am still only aware of Alex Vega beside me.
Even with a row of fifteen students spread out to the right of us, it feels like my clitoris is the center of the universe again.
Especially now that I’ve placed my arm on the armrest. His forearm is less than an inch away from mine.
And it is a bewildering and dangerous inch.
I am so glad that the surround sound theme music and announcer’s deep voice is drowning out my insane heartbeat.
I can’t seem to stop myself from sneaking a peek at his profile.
That Adam’s apple. He’s so focused on the domed screen.
He absentmindedly strokes at his chin with his right hand, and…
the pinky finger of his left hand grazes the pinky finger of my right hand.
It’s the slightest touch, but it sets off a rumbling through the center of me.
I realize it’s as futile as attempting to stop the Big Bang from happening, but I have to try.
He continues to stare up at the screen, ostensibly giving this show his full attention, even though he is somehow managing to attend to my entire body simply by stroking my finger with his.
We are all made of stardust, as we have learned today, and my body seems to have some kind of cosmic connection to Alex Vega’s.
It can’t possibly be any other kind of connection than physical, but right now that feels like so much more than enough.
I had survived on almost enough for so long.
Maybe for the next few minutes, here in the thundering darkness that is illuminated by the Milky Way, maybe when no one is looking, I can let one tiny supernova through.
And as if he can read my thoughts, he moves his hand the tiniest bit and lightly drags the tip of his index finger up and down in the V space between the knuckles of my index and middle finger as I clutch the end of the armrest.
And this.
Just this.
This is all it takes to set off a series of tiny explosions of star matter inside me.
Because I know that we’re both thinking of the place where we really want him to be stroking me right now.
But I don’t even need it.
Because just this.
It’s not a violent burst that creates a universe, but I can feel my world expanding, my inner temperature rising, bit by bit, and it’s only a matter of time until it will be impossible for me to maintain any space between us.