Then there’s the intelligent voice shouting ‘Are you crazy? This guy is a dick. Do not let him touch your lips. He is moving away for six months!’
Regardless of the conflicting feelings I’m having one thing seems certain: at some point, I’m going to cave. It’s inevitable…
I mean: what’s the worst thing that can happen if I do?
Standing not two feet away, assessing me, is Matthew Wakefield; a guy who just will not go away… who drives me absolutely up the wall with his constant profanity, vulgarity, and yeah – his amateur stalking tendencies.
A guy who has, in a weird, twisted, messed-up way, actually become a friend.
Yes. It’s true: he has made me cry. He has embarrassed me. He drives me up the wall…. But he also makes me laugh. And blush. And just a look from him sends shivers up my spine. He’s big and imposing, and he makes me feel safe.
In a way, Matthew has wooed me with sweet emails and text messages, sort of like my own modern day Cyrano de Bergerac.
Alright. Fine. The emails and texts are not sweet in the least... In fact, they’re demanding, sarcastic, and wry – but they’re mine. They’re mine and Matthew sent them, and they… they make me feel something. Something that’s not a thesis paper, doesn’t have a deadline – something that makes my heart race. Something real.
And if these emails and texts had been written on actual paper I’d probably save them - fold them up like people did in the 90’s (before they had cellphones), and store the notes in a shoe box on a shelf in the back of my closet so I could bring them out years later and re-read them over and over.
Cause that wouldn’t be weird…
So honestly: don’t you think all the things about him that make me feel good outweigh the bad? The fact that he’s leaving for training camp? I mean… it’s not like he has a choice: it’s his job.
I’m almost twenty-three years for crying out loud – pretty sure I can handle a short-term relationship. Friendship. Whatever this ‘ship’ is that we’re in… can’t I?
I set down the apple martini Molly handed me earlier, and step forward, spreading my arms wide. “Alright Matthew. You want me, you got me. Lay one on me.”
CHAPTER 30
MATTHEW
“When I see lovers’ names carved on trees, I never think it’s cute. I always just think “how strange that someone would bring a knife on a date.”
– Abby, via a witticism she saw on Pinterest
Lay one on her?
“That wasn’t the deal.” I stubbornly persist.
Cecelia crosses the arms that were just spread wide. “If you want me, you’re going to have to kiss me first. That’s the newly minted deal.”
“Fine,” I agree.
“Good.”
“Okay then.” I step forward.
“Super.”
“Oh my god, here we go again…” someone groans. It sounds like my sister, but I don’t turn around. Someone else agrees. “This is painful.”
“Dude if you don’t kiss her within the next five seconds, I’ll do it for you,” Kevin half jokes, shoving me into Cecelia from behind. I feel like a freaking eighth grader at a school dance.
“Well?” Cecelia taunts me.
But she can’t fool me. I can tell by the gleam in her eye that she’s excited as she stares me down, not self-conscious bone in her body.
A few more inches and our noses will be touching. “I’m giving you one more chance to be woman of your word, Cecelia Carter. It’s now or never. So. I’ll say it one more time… Canoodle.”
Cecelia moves a centimeter closer and leans in to whisper in my ear. “Canoodle. That is the single dumbest word I’ve ever heard coming out of a person’s mouth.” Her warm breath tickles my neck as she pulls away to look at me, one eyebrow raised defiantly.
“It’s your fault,” I whisper back, inching closer. “I personally would have chosen something like ‘dipstick’ or…or…”
“…snoz berries?” she finishes with a light giggle.
My jaw drops and I put a hand to my heart. “Dear lord. Are no memories sacred between me and my sister?”
Cecelia taps her chin, pretending to think about it. “Mmm, fraid not.”
I shoot Molly a hard glare. She obliviously stares back and gives me a ‘what did I do now’ shrug of the shoulders. “That little traitor. Always double crossing me.”
“Hey,” Cecelia nudges me. “Let’s get this over with. Everyone is waiting for some action; we’re like a side show in a circus.”
Slowly I reach for her, gingerly resting my hands on her shoulders before cautiously caressing sun kissed skin, the pads of my fingertips lightly skimming her bare arms, causing goose bumps to rise. My large hands snake their way over her ribcage, under her armpits, and pull her in closer. I lean down so my nose is nestled in her thick hair, drawing in a breath and relishing the close contact of our bodies pressed together. Sweat, fruity shampoo, and a soft musky cologne assault my senses – but in a good way.