Page 71 of Things We Left Behind
“Three songs,” I conceded.
She brightened and crawled over me to reach for theearbuds on her nightstand. This time when I fisted my hands in the bedspread, it had nothing to do with fear or anger. I was having…feelings. Normal teenage guy feelings. But I wasn’t allowed to have those with Sloane. Mr. Walton trusted me. And I needed that trust. Sometimes the Waltons felt like the only anchor I had.
She crawled back across me and handed me an earbud before settling into my side again.
“Does Addie know that we do this?” she asked.
“What?”
“Addie. Yourgirlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Not exactly. She was a girl I’d spent time with in the past few weeks. Some of that time was spent partially naked. But that was because I was seventeen and she was trying to make her ex-boyfriend jealous. It wasn’t like I talked on the phone with her or had dinner with her parents…or climbed a tree and crawled through her window at night to hang out.
“Does your not girlfriend know about any of this?” she pressed.
“No. And we’re not seeing each other anymore.” She’d gotten a little too demanding. Wanting to make plans, wanting to meet my parents. I couldn’t give her any of that. And I didn’t want to either after I’d overheard her telling one of her friends that the busty Sloane Walton was definitely a slut.
“Oh?” she said innocently.
“You don’t look broken up about it,” I observed.
She shrugged. “She just wasn’t very nice. You could do better. But if you did do better and you were with someone nice, I guess we wouldn’t get to hang out like this. And I kind of like our secret little friendship or…whatever.”
Friendship didn’t describe what I felt for her. I was friends with Knox and Nash Morgan. But I sure as hell wouldn’t curl up with them in a pillow nest to listen to music. Hell, I wouldn’t do that with Addie either. Maybe Cindy Crawford.
“I like us too,” I told her.
I caught a glimpse of the bright smile she couldn’t quite hide as she ducked her head and reached for the CD player.
I slid my arm around her shoulder and guided her head to rest on my chest. Between the pillows, Shania Twain’s “From This Moment On,” and the soft, warm heat of Sloane pressed up against me, I felt almost happy. I could nearly pretend that this was my life. Here in this house. With the good, sweet girl in my arms.
The song was over too quickly, changing to a country anthem. Something about black eyes and blue tears. She was never going back. It must have been the exhaustion that painted the story in my head. Walking away. Moving on. Growing up.
For a second, I wanted it so badly that I didn’t realize how tight I was clinging to Sloane until my fingers started to ache.
Wincing, I relaxed my grip on her. She tilted her head to look up at me. “It’s okay. You can hang on to me. I won’t break.”
I pushed her face back down and resumed my hold on her, keeping it gentle this time.
The track changed again. The third song was the ballad “I Won’t Leave You Lonely,” and despite my best efforts, the words got in my head and tattooed themselves on my soul. I’d never be able to hear this song and not think about Sloane and how safe she made me feel. I wanted to hear it again, but I wasn’t about to ask her to replay it. Maybe I’d buy the album myself…and hide it in my car.
When the final chords of the song played in my ear, Sloane slid a slim arm over my stomach and clung to me. I’d fulfilled my promise of three songs. But there was nothing for me at home. And there was everything for me here.
She didn’t say anything when the next song began. Neither did I.
12
Livin’ La Vida Library
Sloane
The library was my happy place,notmy horny place.
Despite the action my vibrator had seen last night, I still unlocked the door feeling edgy and unsatisfied. And I blamedhim.
I relocked the door and flicked on the first-floor lights. My shoulders instantly relaxed as the quiet and natural order soothed me.
I loved being the first person here in the mornings. Loved soaking up these precious moments of silence while gearing up for another day. Despite the stereotypes, the library was rarely quiet. There were two quiet rooms tucked away at the back of the first floor for studying or reading or the weekly meditation class. But there was life in these walls.
