Page 78 of This I Know
We stand there like a couple of walking, talking clichés, each naïvely waiting for the other person to make the move we both want to happen. At least, I think he wants it to happen. Helookslike he wants it to happen. He’s stayed close to me the whole night, and now he’s showing no sign of wanting to leave. His breath is heavy and slow, and the way he looks at me causes shivers of electricity to run through my body.
Stay calm, Avery. It’s only Ethan Harrington. Sweet, non-player Ethan Harrington. Only the hottest guy in school, with the perfect body, and lips, and those eyes...
I need to gauge his feelings, but this guy is keeping me on my toes. His hands are in his pockets, which makes his muscular arms stand out even more against the short sleeves of his navy blue T-shirt. And even when I lean in to hug him, he only takes out one hand, but he wraps it around me in a perfect embrace. I close my eyes, never wanting the night to end. Never wantingthisto end.
Mara is right – screw Cole. I’ve never felt anything like this with Cole in all the years we’d been together. Who knew so many feelings could be contained in one first date?
He’s about to say something when the porch light turns on. We both jump; I gasp, and Ethan shifts his eyes from me to the door, looking for some kind of non-verbal cue about what to do.
The light is motion-sensitive. It could have been set off by the movement of us loitering around out here like the goofy teenagers we are, but there’s a chance it could have been from my mom, flicking the switch on us from inside.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Stupid thing. It’s unpredictable.”
I haven’t broken the news of Ethan to my mom yet, and that’s not something I want to explain on a whim, what with him just so happening to be standing on our front porch in the pitch darkness. I hurry my keys out of my bag and stick them in the door as quietly as I can.
Just as I’m about to open the door, my body ready to heave it open, the way you have to do with this halfway-broken thing, he takes his other hand out of his pocket. He lightly touches my arm, pulling my attention back to him.
“Goodnight, Avery,” he says. His voice is sultry and seductive, and he’s not even trying.
I melt.
I look at his hand again. I don’t know why he’s keeping those things stuffed away. I like them. They’re familiar, as I said while we were eating our ice cream, but they’re not familiar in a bad way. Just in a way that I can’t identify, and in a way that gives me goose bumps. They’re like the drawing up of an old memory, and all the stimulating curiosity that comes along with it. I love his hands. I want to look at them more. Especially, I want to feel them more.
“Goodnight, Ethan. And thanks for everything. I had fun.” Yep. Walking, talking cliché. That’s totally me right now.
Totallyus,actually.
But past the awkward formalities, we’re being so freaking cute right now that it’s making my heart flutter. I can feel it beating through my thin cotton top.
I see him turn away out of the corner of my eye. I’ve already turned away, too, so that I’m facing the door and preparing myself for the potential onslaught of questioning and explanations, should my mother be there when I get inside.
Then he grabs me. His hands are around my waist.
Before I know it, our bodies are together, closer than we’ve ever been before in our short but intense relationship. I can feel the heat of his core from where I’m standing, his presence warming me up in the crisp night air. His hand moves up. It grips the thin back of my neck, holding that vulnerable area that has the ability to control my every movement like a puppet master. His other hand moves up. He runs his soft fingers over my cheek and lips, and I bring my hand to his, cupping it near my face. I look into his eyes; he stares down into the depths of me.
Thatbetternot have been my mom. Because I couldn’t pull away even if I’d wanted to.
And Idon’twant to. I’ll stay with him, this boy who has drawn me from day one of my new life, and who I barely know, but who I feel I know so well all the same.
And right now, neither of us wants anything but this.
Gently, he takes my chin and tilts my head up to his. He doesn’t need to use force, just a smooth guidance; I move it willingly in the upward direction he tells me.
“Avery,” he says, so quietly that I almost can’t hear his deep, raspy voice through the spinning air around us.
My face is close to his. Our mouths are even closer.
He takes a breath. “I want to kiss you.”
My eyes travel down to his mouth. His lips are perfectly masculine – even and plump with a strong cupid’s bow in the center. His warm breath hits my own lips, and it smells like sweetness and fresh mint.
“You can,” I say.
I can’t take my eyes off those lips. Of all the ways I’ve lusted over him, all the ways I thought I’d examined his every visible part, it amazes me that I missed such a pristine feature.
He brings a second hand up my neck, his fingertips drawing along my skin as they go, and touches the side of my cheek.
He lifts his chin, pulling himself out of his own trance. “No. I can’t.”
