Page 58 of The Puckable Playbook

She takes a deep breath, watching me as I move away. As soon as I create space between us, the mounting tension releases, like a balloon has just been popped. I sit, and she pulls her feet up rather expertly, given her state. I grab them, placing them on my lap.

She giggles when I slide my fingers across her ankle, slumping on the couch. “My feet are sensitive.”

I have to close my eyes for a moment to help minimize the fact that I want to find out which dorm Clark is in and pummel the motherfucker. Seeing how fragile Lenore is right now coupled with the way she’s dressed makes me think he doesn’t have a protective bone in his scrawny little body. Crimeon campus is minimal, but her heels might as well be weapons to herself right now.

I work on the small clasps, keeping my mind on the task at hand. If I let it wander, I might do something we’ll regret, so I change the subject. “I’m glad you were able to let loose tonight. Did you have fun?”

“I had fun when you got there, but Clark was a dud the entire night.” She frowns. “First, he was mad I invited you, then he made it perfectly clear he didn’t want to be there. I think I embarrassed him and then I made the biggest mistake ever, Zaiah. It was embarrassing. I am embarrassing.”

I smirk at the part where he didn’t want me to come, but the rest of it pisses me off. “You aren’t embarrassing. You were letting loose. There’s a difference.”

She runs her fingers over the sequins at her front, pouting. “He didn’t even compliment my dress. He made comments about it, but none were exactly flattering. He probably thought it was too slutty.”

I nearly grind my teeth together. If I look at that dress for too long, I’m going to want to kiss her. I swallow, peering back at the clasp. “He’s a dumbass.”

“Zaiah…”

I finally slip the clip out and get the first shoe off, dumping it to the floor. “I’m serious.” I couldn’t give a shit about Clark.

She’s quiet for a moment while I work on the other shoe. I don’t know why they make these clasps so damn small. My fingers are too big. They should have drunk-girl shoes where the buckles are ten times the size.

“Zaiah…” She uses her other foot to push the strap down her heel and slips easily out of it.

I gape at her. “You could do that the entire time?”

She ignores me and asks, “Do you recognize this dress?”

I swallow, peering at it briefly before moving my gaze to her face. “You look great in it, Len. Don’t let that asshole—”

“Never mind,” she sighs before I can even finish my thought.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She reaches out her hands, and I pull her to a seated position.

Instead of staying upright, though, she cozies up to me, dropping her head on my shoulder and twisting her legs underneath her. The vulnerability wafting off her pricks at my protective side. I lift my arm, and she moves in closer, laying her head on my chest.

My heart kicks into gear, and I drop my arm to her shoulder, rubbing my thumb up and down her skin.

“There are things I wish I could tell you,” she mumbles.

She’s killing me. If she was sober, I’d let her say anything she wanted. I’d kiss her without hesitation. I’d tell her she should drop Clark and go with me. There’s something here, and she feels it, too. The way she’s cuddling me. The way she looks at me. I swallow. “You can tell me when you’re feeling more yourself.”

“That’s the thing. I am more myself.” She picks her head up to stare into my eyes. “Usually, there are all these thoughts swirling in my head, but I push them down. Way down. They’re coming out easier now.”

I run my hand along her temple and down over her ear. “I don’t want you to regret anything you might say. I want you to mean it.”

She reaches up, cupping my cheek. “You’re so handsome, hockey player.”

“Lenore,you—” I start, thinking of all the things I want to say to her. How pretty she is. How smart she is. How she’s far and away the brightest part of my life right now.

“Don’t.” She pulls back. “I know it’s not true. Unless you were going to call me boring, then continue. But no lies right now, okay? No lies. Promise?”

She doesn’t even see herself. “You are the furthest thing from boring, Lenore. Don’t you see that? Look at you. Whether you’re wearing this dress, leggings, or your baggy T-shirts, it doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful, and no one should make you feel otherwise. Not me. Not Clark. Not anyone. You’re the same as you’ve always been, except you’re more confident. You’re practically glowing. Len, you’re gorgeous.”

Her eyes widen. She stares at me for the longest time, pressing her lips together. “I wanted someone to see me, you know?”

“Isee you.”

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