“Yes,” I reply honestly. “He gets the version of me I want to be.”
For some reason, I feel no shame in admitting that to Masen. With my mom, my sister, my teachers, and my friends, I feel like I’m judged. Like there’s something I need to live up to.
Even with Misha, I feel guilt for never putting my money where my mouth is and hoping he never finds out how awful I can be sometimes. I want him to think the best of me.
But with Masen, I almost feel like nothing I could do could make him want me less. Like my imperfections entertain him, my issues complement his issues, and two negatives make a positive, and all that.
“Are you going to write to him and tell him about tonight?”
I turn to him, a slight smile on my face. “Probably. Would you care?”
He shakes his head, watching the road.
“You wouldn’t be jealous?”
“You’ll need your friends,” he replies.
I arch a brow. What the hell does that mean?
He pulls into my driveway and follows the circle around to the front door and stops. I unfasten my seatbelt and glance at his right hand sitting on his lap. Not even a half hour ago that hand was on my ass.
No one knows how this feels.
I close my eyes, feeling lonely now. Why is he being so distant? I’m not dumb enough to think we’re a couple now—I never have unrealistic expectations when it comes to people—but this is awkward. His vibe sucks, like tonight
was a mistake or something, and it hurts a little.
Not that I’d ever admit that to him.
“Well…” I sigh, opening the door. “I guess I’ll see you.”
I climb out and slam the door behind me, walking toward my house. I hear another door slam shut, and I turn around to see Masen jogging toward me.
I stop.
He touches my face, coming in close and looking down at me.
“What’s his name?”
“Who?”
He hovers close, his lips an inch from mine. “Your pen pal.”
His breath lingers on my lips, and I open my mouth just a little in anticipation for him. God, he smells good.
“Misha,” I whisper.
He kisses me, his lips sinking into mine as I close my eyes.
“What was that?” he teases, nibbling my lips. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“Misha,” I gasp before diving into him and brushing his tongue with mine. I press my body into his, feeling the bulge in his jeans rubbing me.
He finally pulls away, breathless and turned on again, just like at the drive-in.
“Thank you.” He kisses me one last time on the lips and turns around, heading back to his truck.
What the hell?