Page 27 of Lines

“I’m not apologizing for the kiss, Lia.”

“I don’t care why you’re apologizing. It’s not like an apology will change anything!” I ignore his words and brush his hand away from my face with more force than necessary.

His touch is soft, almost caring. But I have to keep strong and remember what he did. I have to remember the real guy hidden behind the mask of pretense. The one that didn’t stop his friend from bullying me. The one that sometimes joined on the fun. The one that put me in the corner just for the pleasure of watching me squirm. The one that broke my heart.

“For years you and your friends have treated me horribly. You broke my heart, you stole my first kiss, and now you expect what? That one lame apology will change all of that? I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you.”

“Amelia ...”

I shake my head no and take a couple of steps back. If I don’t increase the distance between us I might do something stupid. Something like give into him. Into those clear, blue eyes that look at me with hurt.

“No, Derek.” I ball my hands into fists by my side. “I can’t forgive and forget.”

“I’m not that guy anymore.” He takes a step forward, but I move one back to keep the distance between us. “I’ll do better. I’ll be better, for you.”

We stare at each other, Derek’s words hanging in the air between us. I nibble at my lower lip.

“Maybe you should do that for yourself.”

Derek

I can still taste her lips, feel their texture, their softness. Although I want to deny it, I can’t.

I’ve imagined kissing her before. I’ve dreamed about how she would feel in my arms. But now, after actually experiencing it, I know that no dream, no imagination, can ever come close to the real Amelia.

She’s so fucking perfect.

So soft.

So sweet.

So real.

So freakingterrified.

I still can’t believe I made her cry.

Was I too forceful? Or maybe I’m simply that bad of a kisser.

Maybe she just doesn’t want you and you were forcing yourself on her, dude.

Fuck off.

No, she did say she doesn’t want you, but you don’t fucking care, now do you?

Of course I don’t. She’ll change her mind. I’ll make her change her mind. I’ll show her I can be better. For both of us.

But can you really be better?

I tell the little voice inside my head where to shove it, as I continue to change for practice. The routine of putting on my gear calms me, even if only slightly.

There is no way I’ll forget the look in her eyes or salty taste of her tears on my lips any time soon. How can I?

She’s twisting my insides into knots and unnerving me at the same time.

I want her, and I’m irritated by this constant need for her, by this ache I feel every time she takes a step away from me.

It’s my fault. I know that much. Maybe if I didn’t treat her the way I did—if I didn’t let my friends treat her the way they do—things would be different.

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