Page 44 of Our Moon
“And I like you as a boy.”
“Man.”
“Same parts,” she says flippantly.
“Bigger parts,” I return.
“Can test that theory?”
I groan. She’s killing me. “Yes.” I hear her gasp. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t.”
I hear her huff. “One day, Chase Baker. One day.”
I don’t know if that’s a threat or a promise, but it feels like both.
***
It’s rare that Ally and I are ever alone together when we’re not hiding behind a corner or in the dark. Sneaking around isn’t fun, especially when you each spend about seventy-five percent of your free time with the people you’re trying to sneak around on.
But Mr. and Mrs. Monroe took Trevor and Alex to Guitar Center to get some accessories they needed. Usually Trevor and Alex would go alone, since both are clearly old enough to drive and shop without their parents, but I think Mr. and Mrs. Monroe tagged along because they want Alex to point out the guitar he’s had his eye on, so they can get it for him as a graduation or birthday present. I play guitar in the band, and Alex sings, but he’s always been interested in learning the guitar and, personally, I think it would be cool to have a second guitar in the band. Alex insists he doesn’t want to play on stage, but we will see what happens.
So Ally and I are alone. In her room. No brothers. No parents. Just us.
Just us.
And Ally is wearing skimpy little boy shorts with a skimpy little tank top.
Fuck my life.
“Ally,” I groan. “Will you put some pants on or something?”
“It’s hot,” she says as she shrugs one shoulder.
“It’s hot,” I mimic in a high pitched voice that doesn’t sound anything like her.
She laughs as she fiddles around with her iPod. She finally finds what she’s looking for and pops the gadget in the docking station, allowing music to pour through the speakers.
“What’s this?” I ask. She usually listens to hard rock, and this isn’t hard rock. It has a sexy, bluesy sound.
“Mazzy Star,” she says. “‘Fade into You’ is the name of the song. I heard it inStarship Troopers,and loved it.” She’s walking towards me slowly, swaying her hips back and forth. She stops about two feet in front of where I’m sitting on her bed and motions for me to come to her with her finger.
Because I absolutely can’t resist her, I stand up and take the one step necessary to be standing right in front of her. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and rests her head on my chest. “What are you doing?” I ask.
She removes her arms from my shoulders, grabs my hands, and places them on her waist. Then she puts her arms back on my shoulders and rests her head on my chest again. “We’re dancing, ya big goof.”
I smile and wrap my arms all the way around her waist to pull her closer to me, resting my cheek on top of her head. We move back and forth at the foot of her bed for the length of the song and a few other similar ones that follow it.
“I like this,” I admit.
“Me too,” she says.
“Everything okay, baby girl?” I ask.
“Everything is perfect,” she tells me.
I want to tell her I love her because I do. In this moment, I’m certain that I’m in love with this beautiful girl I’m dancing with. But I don’t tell her. I can’t tell her. This is all so crazy. A whirlwind even. A year ago we were just blips on one another’s radar, and now? I don’t think I could live without her.
And everything about that is wrong.
