Page 41 of Waiting For Ever
Warm arms snake around me from behind. I can smell his now familiar scent before he speaks a word and lean back into his chest. Everything about him makes my nervous system exhale. My back melts into his chest as I lock my arms over his. His lips graze my ear and my head tilts to them instinctively.
“I kinda need to stay here tonight as the camp host. Wanna join me? Or should I drive you back to Allie’s?” When I don’t answer right away, he continues. “I mean, I want you to stay. If you want to. I want—”
“Tell me,” I cut him off, turning in his arms. “What do you want?” I ask, surprising myself but needing to hear the words.
“I want you with me, next to me.”
I smile in response, even though he can’t see my face in the dark. His heartbeat thuds steadily in the ear pressed to his chest. “Okay.” I feel his exhale like he held his breath waiting for my reply.
“Do you need to get anything from Allie’s?”
“No, Lilly and I brought a change of clothes because we weren’t sure what was on the agenda for tonight.” I add with a low laugh, “We all technically still owe each other a cliff jump, but I’m not reminding them.”
“Me neither.” His deep chuckle rumbles against my cheek.
As I raise my face to his, he moves a lock of my hair behind my ear, letting his fingers skim my cheek. He dips his head and touches his lips to mine, so softly I almost wonder if I imagined it, but my lips tinglein the cooling air where his leave a touch of moisture. His fingers trail down my cheek to my neck, across my shoulder and down my arm as lightly as his lips touched mine. Goose bumps follow his trail.
Once his hand reaches mine, he laces our fingers, turns and pulls me toward him. In a pseudo dance move, he swings our joined hands across my body and over my head, releases my hand and drapes his arm around my shoulders as we walk toward his apartment.
I wrap my arm low around his waist as we walk and want to overanalyze how normal it all feels. Because I’ve never done anything like this in my life. But I’ve read about it plenty. It’s not lost on me that Julian is as epic as any book boyfriend I’ve ever fantasized about. I catch myself holding my breath waiting for it all to vaporize before my eyes. Him. Blue Lake. All of it.
Has my life taught me not to trust the good times? Nothing lasts forever and people don’t stay. That’s what life has taught me so far. I want to hold on to him and this moment so tightly, but I’m equally scared to want or need it too much in case it goes away. I make my fingers unclench the side of his shirt and slide my hand down and hook two fingers on the side pocket of his joggers. While his thumb and index finger draw lazy circles on the ball of my shoulder, we walk in silence. Not awkward silence, peaceful silence. And I am at peace, aside from my constant internal dialogue that I’ve learned to function around and mostly ignore.
***
Stepping into his apartment, I take in the low lights—a lamp on the end table, a muted can light over the kitchen sink, themoonlight pouring in from the open slider. It’s giving romantic vibes without the thirst, and it’s working. Every cell in my body exhales as I step over the threshold.
“Hungry?” He drops his arm from my shoulders and ushers me inside. He stands just behind me when he asks.
I feel like I know him so well now. At least his energy, if not a lot of life details. We’re both good at glazing over the specifics while sharing big moments of our pasts. Honesty without the vulnerability, I guess. “Maybe a little. Are you?”
His baritone chuckle is his only reply. He clears his throat. “I, uh, raided Brew for some snacks—cheese, olives, bread. Shelley made a little snack board for me to take home because we were all so busy, no one stopped to eat.”
My stomach growls as he talks. With a small laugh he tugs me by the hand into the kitchen.
Whether it’s the low lights, the familiar smell of his place—which smells like him—or the man himself, I tell myself to calm the hell down. My anticipation is palpable. To feign calmness, I hoist myself up onto the island bar, dangling my legs as he rummages through the fridge. He sets the snack board on the counter next to me and pulls the wrapping off the top. I reach down for an olive and pop one into my mouth. When I look up, he’s watching my mouth and visibly swallows as I do. I lick my bottom lip as he turns back to the fridge and produces a bottle of champagne.
“Are we celebrating something?” I search his face, curious.
He nods, never taking his eyes off mine. I know him well enough to know he’s not trying to get me drunk. He’s trying to be romantic . . .or thoughtful? And I want to let him. My heart flips at the sweet charm of this walking daydream of a man in front of me.
“Yeah. Graduation?” he asks, hopeful, and turns to get glasses.
He doesn’t wait for an answer and pops the cork gently, instead of with party-like fanfare. I like that he doesn’t disturb the quiet. He pours the gold bubbly into two stemless narrow glasses—real champagne flutes. I’m impressed and further captivated by the subtle class. He brings them to where I sit perched on the counter. As he hands me one, he clinks his to mine.
“Congratulations, Everly Davis.”
My eyes widen.
“Were you not going to celebrate?” He raises his glass to his lips, so I do the same.
We both take a sip. It tickles my nose. He sets his down on the other side of the snack board, so I do the same. Then he takes a half step toward me, which puts his body between my legs. He places his hands on my legs just above my knees and softly moves them up and down my thighs.
“How’d you know?”
“Don’t get mad. I swear it was accidental. But I saw the text from Mr. Rossi on your screen the other morning in my Jeep when you ran back inside for your water bottle. It dinged; I looked down. There it was.” He leans his forehead into mine. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or anyone?”
Wrapping my legs around his body, I hook them on his hips and lock my ankles.
