Losing Hope (Hopeless 2)

“He glides across the room . . .”

Her voice is trailing off.

“. . . and bends down, snatching up the . . .”

And . . . she’s out. The book falls against her chest and I laugh quietly, but I don’t get up. because the fact that she fell asleep doesn’t mean I’m ready to leave.

I lie with her for about half an hour, confirming the fact that yes, I’m definitely in love with her mouth. I watch her sleep until my phone chimes. I scoot her away from me and onto her back, then pull my phone out of my pocket.

Dude. It’s Daniel, me. Val is f’ng crazy n I think I’m at that Burker Ging and come get me I can’t drive. I drank and I hate her.

I text him back immediately.

Good idea. Stay put. Be there in thirty.

I slide the phone back in my pocket, but it sounds off again with an incoming text.

Holder?

I shake my head and shoot a text back that says, Yeah? He replies immediately.

Oh, good. Just mak’n sure it was u, man.

Jeez. He’s more than just drunk.

I stand up and take the book out of her hands, then set it on the nightstand and mark the page she stopped at so I’ll have an excuse to come back over here tomorrow. I walk to the kitchen and spend the next ten minutes cleaning up her mess. I swear you would think she harbored resentment toward flour considering the amount I have to wipe up. After all the food is wrapped in Saran Wrap (minus the few cookies I might have swiped), I walk back to her bedroom, then sit down on the edge of her bed.

She’s snoring.

I love it.

Shit. That’s four things already.

I really need to leave.

Before standing up to leave, I slowly lean forward, hesitating, not wanting to wake her. But I can’t leave here without a little preview. I continue inching toward her until my mouth grazes her lips, and I kiss her.

Chapter Thirteen-and-a-half

Les,

Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky, Sky.

There. Get used to it, because I have a feeling she’s all I’m going to be talking about for a while. Oh, my God, Les. I can’t even explain to you how perfect this girl is. And when I say perfect, I mean imperfect, because there’s just so much wrong with her. But everything wrong with her is everything that draws me in and makes her perfect.

She’s flat-out rude to me and I love it. She’s stubborn and I love it. She’s a smartass and she’s sarcastic and every witty thing that comes out of her mouth is like music to my ears because that’s exactly what I want. She’s what I need and I don’t want her to change at all. There’s not a single thing about her I would change.

There is one thing about her that worries me, though, and that’s the fact that she seems to be a little emotionally detached. And as noticeable as it was when I saw her with Grayson, I don’t see that at all when she’s with me. I’m almost convinced she feels different about me, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried that she wouldn’t feel anything if I kissed her. Because dammit, Les, I want to kiss her so fucking bad but I’m too scared. I’m scared if I kiss her too soon, it’ll feel like every other kiss she’s ever received. She’ll feel nothing.

I don’t want her to feel nothing when I kiss her. I want her to feel everything.

Chapter Fourteen

What you want to do tonight?

I read Daniel’s text and respond.

Sorry. Plans.

WTF, puss flap!? No! Me. You. Plans.

Can’t. Pretty sure I have a date.

Sky?

Yep.

Can I come?

Nope.

Can I be your date next Saturday, then?

Sure, babe.

Can’t wait, sugar.

I laugh at Daniel’s text, then clear the screen and find Sky’s number. I haven’t heard from her since she fell asleep on me last night, so I’m not even sure if she wants me at her house tonight.

What time can I come over? Not that I’m looking forward to it or anything. You’re really, really boring.

After I hit send, I get another incoming text from a number I don’t recognize.

If you’re dating my girl, get your own prepaid minutes and quit wasting mine, Jackass.

The only person I know with prepaid minutes is Sky. And she said her best friend bought her the phone, so I’m seriously hoping this text is from her friend and not someone else. I immediately text back, hoping to find out more.

How do I get more minutes?

As soon as I hit send on that text, Sky’s response comes through.

Be here at seven. And bring me something to eat. I’m not cooking for you.

Rude.

I love it.

She texted me again while I was at the grocery store, asking me to hurry. I really, seriously like that she wanted me here sooner. I like it a lot. I like her a lot. I like this whole weekend a lot.

Her front door swings open just moments after I ring the doorbell. She’s smiling as soon as she sees me and I curse under my breath because that’s just one more thing about her that I just fell in love with. She looks down at the sacks of groceries in my hands and arches an eyebrow.

I shrug. “One of us has to be the hospitable one.” I walk up the steps and ease past her, then make my way into her kitchen. “I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs, because that’s what you’re getting.”

“You’re cooking dinner for me?” she asks skeptically from behind me.

“Actually, I’m cooking for me, but you’re welcome to eat some if you want.” I glance back at her and smile so she’ll know I’m teasing.

“Are you always so sarcastic?”

I shrug. “Are you?”

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

“Do you?”

She grabs a towel off the bar and throws it at me but I dodge it. “You want something to drink?” I ask her.

“You’re offering to make me something to drink in my own house?”

I walk to the refrigerator and scan the shelves, but my options are limited. “Do you want milk that tastes like ass or do you want soda?”

“Do we even have soda?”

I peer around the refrigerator door and grin at her. “Can either of us say anything that isn’t a question?”

“I don’t know, can we?”

“How long do you think we can keep this up?” I ask, taking the last soda from the fridge. “You want ice?”

“Are you having ice?”

Dammit, she’s cute. “Do you think I should have ice?”

“Do you like ice?”

She’s quick. I’m impressed. “Is your ice any good?”

“Well, do you prefer crushed ice or cubed ice?”

I almost answer by saying cubed, but realize that wouldn’t be a question. I narrow my eyes and glare at her. “No ice for you.”

“Ha! I win,” she gloats.

“I let you win because I feel sorry for you,” I say, making my way back to the stove. “Anyone that snores as bad as you do deserves a break every now and then.”

“You know, the insults are really only funny when they’re in text form,” she says.

She stands up and walks to the freezer at the same time I turn around to walk to the refrigerator for the minced garlic. Her back is to me and she’s filling her cup with ice. She turns around when I reach the refrigerator. She looks up at me with those big brown eyes and those pouty lips and I take a step closer to her, hoping I make her flustered again. I love making her flustered.

I lift my arm and press my palm flat against the refrigerator and look her in the eyes. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

She immediately sucks in a rush of air and nods. I grin and move in even closer. “Good. Because you don’t snore. In fact, you’re pretty damn adorable when you sleep.” I don’t know why I told her she didn’t snore. Maybe I don’t want her to know just how long I actually stayed in her bed watching her after she fell asleep last night.

She tugs on her bottom lip, looking up at me hopefully. Her chest is heaving and her arms are dusted in chills and I wish more than anything I could just grab her face and kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I want air.

But I already told myself I wouldn’t, so I’m not.

That doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with her, though. I move my lips until they’re almost touching her ear. “Sky. I need you . . .” I pause for a second and wait for her to catch her breath. ”. . . to move. I need in the fridge.” I pull back and watch for her reaction. Her palms are flat against the refrigerator behind her like she’s struggling to hold herself upright.

Seeing her physical reaction to my proximity makes me smile. When I smile and she sees I was purposely teasing her, she narrows her eyes and I laugh.

She pushes against my chest and shoves me back. “You’re such an ass!” she says, walking to the bar.

“I’m sorry, but damn. You’re so blatantly attracted to me, it’s hard not to tease you.” I’m still laughing when I walk back to the stove with the garlic. I pour some into the pan and glance at her. She’s covering her face with her hands from embarrassment and I immediately feel guilty. I don’t want her thinking I’m not into her, because I’m positive I’m into her way more than she’s into me. I guess I haven’t made that very clear to her, though, which is a little unfair.

“Want to know something?” I ask.

She looks up at me and shakes her head. “Probably not.”

“It might make you feel better,” I say.

“I doubt it.”

I look at her and she’s not smiling and I hate it. I meant for this to be lighthearted; I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. “I might be a little bit attracted to you, too,” I admit, hoping it’ll help her realize that I didn’t mean to embarrass her.

“Just a little bit?” she asks, teasingly.

No. Not just a little bit. A whole helluva lot.

I continue to prepare the food and I’m doing everything I can to get it all started so I can sit and talk with her while it cooks. She just sits silently at the bar, watching me work my way around her kitchen. I love that she’s not modest when it comes to the way she watches me. She stares at me like she doesn’t want to look at anything else and I like it.

“What does lol mean?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. You typed it in your text earlier.”

“It means laugh out loud. You use it when you think something is funny.”

“Huh,” she says. “That’s dumb.”

“Yeah, it is pretty dumb. It’s just habit, though, and the abbreviated texts make it a lot faster to type once you get the hang of it. Sort of like OMG and WTF and IDK and . . .”

“Oh, God, stop,” she says quickly. “You speaking in abbreviated text form is really unattractive.”

I wink at her. “I’ll never do it again, then.” I walk to the counter and pull the vegetables out of the sack. I run them under the water and move the cutting board to the bar in front of her. “Do you like chunky or smooth spaghetti sauce,” I ask, placing the tomato in front of me. She’s looking past me, lost in thought. I wait to see if she’ll answer me when she catches back up, but she just keeps staring off into space.