Page 77 of All of You

Overly-cautious, I approached her and sat down next to where she lay, then leaned over her torso with one hand to the side of her head. “You are obnoxiously pretty, you know that?”

She bit her lip, all kinds of adorable and coy, and she knew it.

“I know you know it,” I said.

“I don’t always know you think so.” She let her eyes flicker up to the ceiling above me.

“Really?” She wasn’t one to fish for compliments.

Her returning look was shy—which meant she was serious. That was insane. She blinked up at me, and that rare vulnerability she kept tucked away crept through.

“Are you really asking me if I think you’re pretty, Whit?” My voice stayed gentle, low, so she wouldn’t take it as a criticism.

I wasn’t completely sure she wasn’t messing with me, and I wasn’t about to start spooning out compliments from the bucket I carried around if she was. Even with that flash of anxiety I’d seen after she’d said it and looked away, it was simply hard to believe.

See the weekend, when she opened her bedroom door in nothing but a towel, and I nearly evaporated into a cloud of desire.

Her brow furrowed a bit, but she didn’t speak. The look on her face broke my heart, and I didn’t understand it. How could she doubt any part of her was beautiful? Of course it had to come from her parents, and maybe from the sycophants attracted to fame, but…

“This is probably something you should know about me. I get insecure before award shows. I know it’s stupid, and I know nothing about me has changed, but being on parade is unnerving. So much goes into how you look, and the photographs circulate for years—they pop up at the grocery and every Internet site for weeks afterward. It’s exhausting, and I’m not immune to comparing myself.” She reached up and grasped my arm where it rested by her head, her small, strong hand warm against my wrist.

“Scooch,” I said, nudging her with my hip. She moved so her back rested against the back of the deep couch, and I lay down beside her. We both propped heads in hands and leaned on our elbows so we were facing each other, eight inches apart.

“That’s only human,” I continued. “I’m sure it’s difficult to stay focused on yourself when others compare you, and then when you’re walking the red carpet or sitting in the seats, looking around at all these people whose jobs it is to look beautiful.”

With my free hand, I traced her dark brows, the curve of her cheek, along her chin, and stopped at her perfect lips.

I pulled her chin toward me while leaning in and set a soft kiss on her mouth. I could see the barest of smiles on her lips, even though they hadn’t moved.

“It’s brutal. And I’m naturally hard on myself. I know this, and I always prep with my therapist. I’m excited you’ll be with me, too, but the small, scared part of me imagines you seeing Taylor Swift and becoming the boy in her next song.” For some reason, she swallowed the last word, like she wanted to cut herself off—maybe she’d been too honest.

For my part, I couldn’t help but shake my head. “Taylor doesn’t do it for me.”

Her blue-green eyes danced. “No?”

“Nope. Not really at all, but certainly not if I’m there with you.”

I could hear my voice had done that low, kind of gritty thing she seemed to respond to, and I knew I had a smug little grin on. But I wasn’t quite done. “You understand that I am completely gone for you, right? Pretty much always have been.”

My heart raced as she drew in a surprised breath.

“There’s no way that’s true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I remember you being kind of shocked to see me at Reese’s, but otherwise, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you… I don’t know.” She moved her attention to something behind me, clearly not wanting me to see too closely.

“So you think that because I didn’t act dumbstruck like I did with Jamie, or fall all over myself when we were fake-dating, that I’m not into you?” I set a hand on the rise of her hip and shook her a little to try and lighten the mood.

She gave me a regretful grin. “Yes?”

“Whit, darlin’, I don’t want to date Jamie Morris. Playing it cool gets me nowhere with him. If I’d been a bumbling tongue-tied mess when you asked me to that first thing in October, would you have asked me again?”

She pursed her lips. “No. Admittedly, I would not have.”

“Exactly. And you wouldn’t have let me take you on the tour of post if I’d been all over you the very first time we met. In fact, my little stuttering greeting was a fraction of the disbelief I felt, but some beautiful part of me for which I will forever be thankful recognized that the only way to impress you was to act like you didn’t impress me.”

She still just watched me.

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