Page 73 of The Rebel
“Because you’re worth worrying about.” I pulled out the chair beside her and sat down, my legs trembling and about to give way. It was probably the most unromantic, impersonal, sterile way in the history of mankind of declaring one’s thoughts. But when your heart is beating frantically and your head is spinning, it’s hard to be cool, calm and composed.
Valencia didn’t miss a beat with her icicles, meticulously threading them onto the line, seemingly unaffected by my attempt at expressing my true feelings. Well, I was her brother’s friend and she was staying at our house and we both knew it wasn’t appropriate.
“Can you help me hang this up?” she asked, holding a looped end up for me to attach to the rail next to the rows of icicles. She walked across the room and stepped up onto a stepladder, reaching up to hook her end on the other side. She wobbled a little on the second-to-top step and I dashed over.
“You okay up there?”
“Uh huh,” she said, catching her balance. “I got this.” She straightened up, admiring the icicle strings, glimmering and glistening in the dim light. She put her hands in the apron pocket and said, “And I got you...”
Before I knew what was happening, she was smiling devilishly and shaking the glitter container, covering me in fragments of silver decoration.
I waved my hand, trying to block the sparkling particles from my hair and eyes. She whooped in laughter and I caught her wrist, wrenching the glitter from her, my intention payback.
“You got me? I got you!” I cried and, well aware that she was teetering on the stepladder, I scooped her into my arms, notwilling to risk a fall. She wrapped herself around me and I gently placed her on the floor, the container now firmly in my grasp.
I held it over her. “Ready?” I teased, but glitter was stuck to my lips and I ran my tongue over them to try to remove the pesky particles.
“Wait,” she said, holding up a finger. “Let me.” Gently, she wiped her index finger over my lips, her tender touch sending a shiver up my spine and my heart doing somersaults.
It was happening naturally, no plan. Amidst icicles and glitter, our eyes met and her lashes fluttered, and a wild and reckless impulse took over and before I knew it, I’d pocketed the glitter and was angling my lips to meet hers.
For a moment I thought my aim was going to be off target, seeming like an eternity before contact was made. But when our lips joined, there was no denying the sweet connection, all awareness of the outside world fading. Nerves gave way to a boldness as my hands swept around her waist, a perfect fit as I pulled her closer, lips locked and sharing each other’s air.
With blood racing through my veins, I heard a deep groan lodge in my throat, registering that Valencia’s fingers were feathering the nape of my neck. I had a sudden panic that I was weakening at the knees, that I couldn’t hold her up and we were going to come crashing down. Maybe she sensed it, because she draped her arms further around my shoulders. I steadied us by moving my hands to her hips.
Our lips never faltered.
Our hearts beating in sync.
Time standing still.
My chest was close to bursting as we pulled back, her smile matching mine.
“What happened to‘I don’t think it’s a good idea’...?” she teased.
“Huh?” I frowned at her like I had no clue what she was referring to.
“Who’s the rebel now?” She pressed hard against my chest. “Huh?”
“Hardly a rebel,” I said, running my fingers through her hair, flicking away specks of glitter. “More like living my life to the fullest. That’s what Dad told us. Live your best life.” I tucked a strand behind her ear and kissed the spot below her lobe and whispered, “Are you okay with that?”
Her soft intake of breath indicated she was more than okay with it. She tilted her neck as I trailed kisses along it, across her jaw, my lips hovering over hers.
“Life is short, Dad said to live your dreams,” I said. “And I think you’re mine, Valencia Reid.”
“You just might be mine too, Jade Sinclair,” she said with a giggle.
“Well, here’s to living our best lives,” I said, the softness of her lips the beginning of that dream.
Chapter 19
VALENCIA
Tennis has a weird scoring method that can be hard to explain to non players. One point is 15, two points are 30, but three points are 40. And you can be one point away from winning a game, but you miss a shot and then you go back to needing two consecutive points to win. That’s called deuce.
Gabby had never understood the scoring system. And, as smart as she was, she never took the time to learn.
That’s what I was thinking about as I sat in assembly, two rows behind Gabby, who was next to Scott. Sitting incredibly close, as usual.
