Starlee's Home (The Wayward Sons 3)

“Then yes, please,” I say, already pushed on my toes to reach him better. He cups my cheeks in his hands, presses his warm lips against mine.

I push my fingers in his hair and scratch the back of his neck in the way I know he likes and he emits a sound low in his chest like a purr. His mouth moves eagerly, his hands moving to press into my hips. I know this is wrong on so many levels; we’re not supposed to see each other. We’re definitely not supposed to do this at school. What if we get caught? Isn’t this exactly what we’ve been warned against and explicitly promised not to do? It’s hard though, because for a brief moment, everything feels right. Exactly right.

Charlie seems to have no such worries, his hands moving from my hips to my hair and back down again, grazing the bare flesh just beneath the hem of my shirt. He’s tactile, hungry, and he ignites the same want in me every time we kiss. I feel his body—the hard lines of his torso and the lean strength in his arms. He’s not the best with words or emotions and sometimes I worry that he’s too deep in his head for me to reach, but like this? I have no doubt where he stands, especially when he pushes me against the wall and kisses down my neck. The move tickles and I squirm against him, causing my hip to knock into a computer desk. The mouse falls to the floor with a loud clatter, forcing us to snap out of the moment.

He runs a hand through his floppy hair and I take a breath, straightening my top.

“I, uh…” I touch my lips. Is my mouth even working? “I should get to my next class before I’m counted absent.”

He nods, words a challenge for him, too. His fingers tug at mine and he pulls me close for another kiss, this time sweeter, before pulling away and heading down the hall. When I look back, he’s still watching and I wave, hating the fact that we’re so close, but still so far from one another.

13

Starlee

I’m about to head to the bus when Claire grabs my arm.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

It’s Saturday, which means other than any chores my grandmother needs me to do, I’m mostly doing nothing but lamenting the fact I can’t see the guys. “Not much.”

“Want to go skiing?”

Kids push past me to get on the bus.

“Skiing? That sounds like a broken neck.”

“It’s fun. I’ve got all the equipment and anything you need. Come on, we’re headed out at nine, so be at my house at eight so I can get you suited up.”

“Eight? In the morning?” This isn’t sounding any better.

“Look,” Claire says, pulling me out of the path of the other students. “It’s a class tradition to go skiing before Christmas. Everyone goes and it’s a lot of fun.”

While my mind protests, thinking of broken legs and isolation on the bunny slope, I linger over one word. “Did you say everyone?”

She grins. “Yep. Everyone.”

The bus engine cranks, telling me I’ve got to get on there or it’s leaving without me, but I nod at my friend. “I need to ask but yeah, sounds fun. Terrifying, but fun.”

Leelee also thinks it’s a good idea.

“Oh, skiing is a fantastic idea. You know, I used to be quite the champion on the slopes.” Nope, I did not, but there’s zero surprise on that one. “As you know, there’s not a lot to do up here in the winter. Skiing is a great way to stay fit. Honestly, I’m surprised the boys haven’t dragged you out on the slopes already, but I guess there’s been a bit of upheaval lately.”

I almost tell her about the new rules, about Sierra and the fact I’m one of the reasons the twins are gone, but I don’t. I like that she doesn’t look at me that way. That to her, everything is fine.

The next day I get up early and Leelee gives me the car keys and a thermos of coffee for the road. I’m excited—not just about skiing for the first time but about seeing the guys. Activities like this are a perfectly legit work-around on not seeing one another.

When she opens the door, Claire looks as thrilled as I felt about getting up so early. She’s holding a coffee mug in one hand and a toaster waffle in the other. “You want one?” she asks, shuffling back to the kitchen.

“I’m good.”

“Come on then, let’s get you dressed.”

Claire has piled all her warm clothing on the bed along with a few other pieces. “I grabbed some from my brother’s closet. He has good gloves and stuff.”

She loads me up with layers, thin thermal pants and a shirt, another shirt, a sweater, then a jacket with a badge hanging from the zipper. “That jacket may be little big, but if you wear it, you can use his pass, too.”

“Awesome,” I say, pulling it over everything else. “Thanks.”