Page 2 of Every Hidden Truth

Waking content and happy, tangled in his arms, I’d watched him sleep like a creepy stalker as I played with his loose curls. It was perfect, yet not nearly enough.

Innocent as our cuddling had been, it had marked a shift in our dynamic. He touched me more now—a lot more—and there were moments I caught him staring, like he enjoyed the view of my ass in skinny jeans. Sometimes, I questioned the authenticity of such moments—the desire in his eyes was merely a trick of the light; he wasn’t flirting, only teasing.

But in secret places, I wondered and hoped. Maybe, just maybe, Benjamin Adams wasn’t as straight as I’d first assumed.

“So,” Ben interrupted my thoughts, “did you get your schedule for next semester?”

Nerves exploded in my stomach as I nodded warily. “Um, yeah, my guidance counselor printed it out for me yesterday.”

Beaming, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “Do you have it with you? Maybe we have another class together.”

“In a school this big, I doubt it.” I retrieved my schedule from my phone case as his hopefulness made my stomach flip-flop.

We splayed our schedules side-by-side on the desk to compare them. We had no classes together—no surprise there—but we did share the same lunch period. It was a small win.

“You’re taking an art class?” he asked, and nerves fluttered to life in my gut.

“Um, yeah.” I cleared my throat and lifted a hand to my ear to fidgeted with my tragus surface piercing. “My mandatory credits didn’t fill the whole day, so I had a spot for an elective. I figured, why not?”

Stealing a peek from the corner of my eye, I flushed red under Ben’s jubilant grin. “Painting?”

I nodded.

“Si, that’s great.”

With a shrug, I refolded my schedule and tucked it back into my phone case. “I guess. I mean, if it sucks then I only have to suffer through one semester.”

His fingers cupped my elbow, and I swallowed thickly, still somehow embarrassed by my choice in elective. I could have opted for a free period and come to school an hour later, but ever since Ben’s encouragement to explore painting, I wanted to try. It was stupid since I probably lacked both the talent and the discipline for it. But, for once, I wanted to take a chance.

“I think you’ll be great.” He squeezed my elbow.

“I guess we’ll see.” I removed my arm from his loose grasp.

Reading my discomfort, he changed the subject, tugging on the sleeve of his California hoodie I wore. “Am I ever gonna get this back?”

I’d stolen the sweatshirt a while back under the ruse of being cold and had yet to return it. “Probably not. You should keep a better eye on your shit. Not my fault if your hoodie was a convenient snatch.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he dragged a fingertip over my wrist under the lip of the sleeve. “I don’t mind. It looks good on you.”

Swallowing thickly, I glanced at him from under my lashes as my cheeks warmed. Our gazes locked and something filled the space between us, space that was both too much and not enough.

“Are you saying you like me in your clothes, Adams?” I asked in hopes of making him blush again. I wasn’t disappointed.

His cheeks pinked beautifully, but he surprised me when he held my stare. “Yeah, I think I am.”

My naughty grin faded at his serious expression, and I kept perfectly still as he reached toward me and plucked my beanie off my head. He plopped the black fabric on his own head and settled it in place until it covered the tips of his ears.

Damn, he looked good in my beanie.

“Now we’re even,” he said. “And you have hat-head.”

I grunted and ran my hands through my hair, mussing the strands into a chaotic mess.

“You’re making it worse.” He laughed and batted my hands away. “Let me.”

His nimble fingers slipped through my hair, and I almost trembled from the affectionate, easy touch. He slid his hands through my strands for longer than he should have, but I did nothing to stop him. I’d let him touch me forever.

“There, that’s better.” He withdrew, and I instantly missed his touch.

---