Page 84 of Hopeless
“But—”
“But you’re tired. So am I, and it’s probably past 2:11 now. We could both use some sleep.”
I nod, pressing my lips together and taking another step toward the doorway. Toward him.
For all the nights I’ve begrudgingly dragged myself out of bed, I find myself feeling … wounded. Even though I logically understand his choice not to swim tonight isn’t a big deal, I can’t shake the irrational emotion.
I reach for the door handle, offering him a wan smile. “Yeah. Totally,” I say lamely. “Have a good sleep.”
His gaze drags down my body, then slowly back up, settling on my lips for a beat.
Then he taps a flat hand against the frame twice—so casually—before drawing away. For some reason, this exchange is painfully awkward. The humor we usually compensate with is notably absent tonight.
“Is everything okay?” I blurt, foot stepping out into the hall as he takes his first step away.
“Of course, Bailey.” He gives me a reassuring smile over his shoulder and then takes another step.
“Why haven’t you kissed me?” My question rings out in the empty space. I swear it echoes through the entire oversized house.
Beau freezes, going eerily still. He doesn’t turn to face me when he says, “What do you think that dark red mark on your neck is from?”
I reach up, pressing my fingers to what I knew would be there in the morning. “That’s not what I meant.”
He sighs, shoulders rising and falling heavily. He still doesn’t turn my way. “I’ve kissed you plenty. As much as is needed to sell this. I don’t want to blur any lines.”
Sell this. My stomach drops. It makes me feel like there’s something dirty and undesirable about me.
“Right.” My voice is breathy. “Do you think people will find it weird if we never kiss normally?”
He turns now, hands propped on his hips.
“Like a real couple?” I add.
“Do you see lots of real couples out there kissing on the lips all the time, Bailey? Cause I don’t. It’s more just familiar touches in public, don’t you think?”
I nod, swallowing. He’s not wrong. I’m just tired. And confused.
“To be fair, I don’t see many couples full-on making out on the Ferris wheel while avoiding each other’s lips, either.”
He stares, eyes narrowing.
“Is there a reason you’d be okay with kissing my shoulder but not my lips? Is it me? I know people talk a lot of shit about me, but did I do something that—”
“Bailey, don’t finish that fucking sentence,” he grinds out, back to scrubbing a hand over his mouth.
He sounds angry, and it makes emotion well up in me. In my eyes. In my voice. Fuck, I’m about to cry. I can feel it coming, but I forge ahead anyway in a thick, rasping voice. “If I’m doing something wrong, you’ll tell me, right? So I can do this for real with someone one day and not make a total fool of—”
“Fuck it!” His hand rips away from his mouth, like he tore off a piece of tape that was keeping him from talking, and with two long steps, he’s here.
In front of me.
Cupping my head.
Backing me up against the doorframe.
And kissing me.
The edge of the molding bites between my shoulder blades as Beau devours me. Firm lips, soft tongue, rough stubble, big hands.
