His finger in my hair stops and he frowns. “Yeah? Why not?”
“A, because I live in Colorado and we only see each other like, twice a year. And B, you’re super arrogant.”
He smirks at me. “A, there’s a little thing called phone and video chat and FB. And B, you like it.”
“I like what?”
“Me being arrogant.”
I kinda do but he shouldn’t know that. He shouldn’t know what I like and don’t like. He shouldn’t be able to read me so easily.
I should tell him to stop doing it.
But all I do is blink up at him. “How do you know?”
He lets go of my hair then and runs that finger down my cheek. “Just a hunch. Plus you blush every time I say something arrogant.”
One time I ran a rose down my cheek while I was writing in my journal, thinking about him. Goosebumps woke up on my skin and I shivered but this is way worse.
This is making me shiver and making my heart race and making me want to… touch him again.
This time with every intention of doing so.
“I have to go. My mom might check in on me and she’ll be worried if she finds me gone.”
He loses his smile along with the shine in his eyes, and I hate that.
I hate it so much that I give in and touch him.
I reach up and swipe his crazy hair away from his brow.
He smiles then. And the shine in his eyes come back.
“Okay, I’ll let you go. But give me your phone number first.”
“Oh and now you’re bossy also.”
He shrugs, all casual-like. “Gotta be. Because you like that too.” I go to protest but he runs his finger down my cheek once again. “Come on, Rosie. As a Christmas gift.”
He called me Rosie.
Everyone calls me that but no one does it like he just did. Like his life depends on it, on me agreeing to whatever he’s asking.
And that’s when I realize that I can never say no to him. I can never refuse him anything and that should be scary.
Only it’s not.
Nothing is scary right now. Not my dad or what he might to do Brendan. Or how Brendan seems to know all my thoughts and how my breathing gets all haywire when he touches me or smiles at me or stares at me.
Nothing scares me.
“I don’t have a pen,” I whisper.
“Luckily I do.”
He fishes it out of the pocket and offers it to me. Even as I take it, I ask, “Why do you have a pen in your pocket? Did you already know you were going to ask me for my phone number?”
He also offers me his palm, so I can write the number on it. “Yeah. I also knew you’d give it to me.”
I dig the nib of the pen on his skin. “Just a hunch?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I shake my head at him and then, write my number on his big palm. It’s so hot to touch, so different than my own. All rough and tanned and… something that can only belong to a boy.
When I’m done, he stares at the palm like he stares at me. With all his focus. He touches it for a second too, my number.
Grinning, he looks up and steps away. “Now, you can go.”
I don’t know what makes me do what I do next. But I move closer to him. “My phone number isn’t your Christmas gift though.”
“What?”
Before I can really think about it, I close all the distance between us and get up on his feet like I’ve seen my mom do to my dad a thousand times.
Brendan’s mouth is all open and his eyes are wide with shock. As for me, I’ll think about this bold step later, up in my bedroom.
For now, I lean in and whisper, “This is.” I kiss his cheek softly. “Merry Christmas, Brendan. Thank you for my lollipops.”
And then without even looking at him, I run away, my heart pounding and pounding because I just had my first kiss by the rose bushes.
Three years later…
He emerges from the water, all wet and tanned.
Dripping.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so fucking sexy before, his skin like velvet. Actually, I think his muscular and honey-colored form is making the ocean look ridiculously blue in contrast. Or maybe I’m just being silly.
But it’s okay.
I can be silly for him.
For Dean.
The love of my life.
He rakes his fingers through his hair, slicking it back, and wipes off the rivulets of water running down his beautiful face.
His brown eyes find me as soon as he opens them and he begins to walk toward me. I watch the tiny droplets of water sliding down the arched curve of his chest, making their way to his ridged abdomen. I see them falling from his biceps, the hills of his shoulders as he slicks back his hair once again.