Page 63 of I Would Stay Forever
“What’s my passcode?” he repeated, pushing the phone more in my face. I sighed and thought back to the day he’d driven me home from the mall and he’d asked me to unlock his phone.
“1103,” I said.
“And what do those numbers mean?”
He said it with such a meaningful look as if the numbers were my birthday or something else equally important to me. For a second, I worried he actually did think they were my birthday, but then I brushed that thought aside. He knew me too well to get the month wrong.
“Um…” I wracked my brain for whatever else it could be. Then I remembered kissing him under the bleachers this morning, my hand tangled up in the jersey with a large 03 on it. “It’s your jersey number.”
“And…”
The realization hit me like a truck. The very same thought I’d had when he first told me his passcode, that I’d brushed off as a mere coincidence.
“And mine,” I sighed out.
He dropped the phone down and stared at me.
“That’s been my passcode since the first time I ever saw you play volleyball,” he said. “You walked onto the court like you owned it and I realized that even though I always thought you were beautiful, you were incredibly tough too. I saw you play and suddenly eleven became my favorite number.”
I squeezed my eyes shut even as my heart thudded. “Dean…”
“I get a banana muffin whenever I go to the coffee shop because I know it’s your favorite and I want it to be my favorite too,” he continued. “I watch out my front window after school every day until I see your car pull up because I always want to know you got home safe. Whenever I get invited to parties, my first thought is wondering if you’ll be there because seeing you at school is never enough—I want to see you every day of the rest of my life I can.” He gently pressed on my cheek until I was facing him again as tears welled up in my eyes once again. How could I ever have considered leaving him behind? “I don’t want to leave like this. I want to leave with you laughing in the passenger seatand teasing me about football and soccer. I want to be stopping for strawberry milkshakes and French fries or chips or whatever the heck you want to call them because I know how much you love them. I want to be holding your hand and making you smile, not wiping your tears as we run away as if we have something to be ashamed of when we go.”
Dean leaned forward until his forehead pressed against mine. My heart was pounding so hard that it almost made me feel sick. I wanted him in a way I had never wanted anyone before. I couldn’t leave him. If he didn’t want to go, then I couldn’t leave either. I would rather face my dad every single day than go a single one without seeing Dean Graham. A small sob broke out of me.
“I don’t know what else to do,” I admitted.
“You already did it. You stopped the car. You called me.”
I looked at him then—really looked. His messy hair, grass-stained shirt and football pants, like he hadn’t even had time to change before getting in the car. The concern etched into every part of his face. He came when I called, without even stopping to ask why. And that mattered more than I had words for.
“Why did you come?” I asked softly. “I wasn’t at your game and you still came after me without waiting. Shouldn’t you be mad at me?”
He laughed softly. “I will come every single time you call me, Lavender. Every single time.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice shaking, cracked, broken.
“Because I love you.”
In my wildest dreams, I never could have expected those words to come out of Dean Graham’s mouth. He barely had time to react as I leaned across the center console and pressed my lips to his. He almost pulled away as if on instinct, but then leaned in. My fingers found the collar of his shirt, clutching itlike a lifeline, and he moved closer, the console forgotten, the awkward angle barely noticed.
I kissed him like he was the only thing holding me here, and he kissed me back like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he was willing to be that anchor if I needed him to be.
I didn’t know what would come next. But I knew this: I wasn’t alone. Not anymore.
Dean leaned in further, his hand sliding along my jaw before cupping the side of my face. I could feel the heat of his body as he shifted closer. The awkward center console must have been pressing into his side, but he didn’t seem to care. Neither did I. I twisted in my seat without thinking, just trying to get nearer, knees brushing against the gear shift as I turned to face him. Good thing my parking brake was on.
He deepened the kiss and my breath hitched as his other hand slid down and gently went under my shirt. He didn’t move it any further, just letting it rest on the bare skin of my waist, but even that touch was sending fireworks through me and making my heart pound faster than it ever had before.
The kiss grew a little more urgent as I pulled him into me as if I somehow wanted us to become one. I felt like I could barely breathe from how much I wanted him, like I might just die if I couldn’t have this boy. He pulled back for a breath, foreheads brushing, both of us catching up to the moment.
“You okay?” he whispered, voice rough.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My lips were already chasing his again before I could stop them. It was like the world outside didn’t exist. Nothing could reach us here—not the pain of the day, the people who would want to keep us apart, or the fear of what came next.
It was just us and everything we were sharing, what I’d never had with anyone else.
He shifted again, trying to get a better angle, and I giggled into his lips when his elbow hit the steering wheel and set off the softest little honk. This probably wasn’t the ideal place for a makeout session. He didn’t let it stop him, though, as he continued to lean toward me, pushing my back up against the car window and running both his hands under my shirt as I tangled mine in his hair. Distantly, I began to wonder if I should pull away and give us the chance to talk about this and what we were doing, but then he pulled away to run kisses along my neck and I thought maybe that conversation could wait just a little bit, so long as he didn’t try to go further than I was comfortable with right now.
