I roll my eyes, wishing she’d just let it go. We’re talking again, but she’s still making the odd snide comment. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, and I’m not apologizing this time just to keep the peace.
I ignore her comment, glancing around the cafeteria. “Is she here? Point her out to me.”
She rolls her eyes, picking up one half of her turkey wrap. “I don’t know, I didn’t look.”
I wrinkle up my nose, picking at the crust of my peanut butter and jelly. “Great. Well, thanks for that.”
Sighing heavily, she says, “Jesus. I’ll find out.”
“He’s not even my boyfriend,” I mutter. Our lack of label hasn’t come up again the few times we’ve hung out lately, but I don’t imagine he’s changed his mind.
“You obviously want him to be,” she says, unimpressed. “You have such shit taste in men, Mia.”
“You don’t even know him,” I point out.
“Nor do I want to,” she replies, popping the top off her green tea. “Blaine’s into you; you should go out with Blaine.”
Wrinkling my nose up, I say, “Blaine’s too polo team.”
“He’s not on the polo team. We don’t have a polo team. I mean, water polo, but…”
“He’s on the rowing team. He’s too…all-American, polo shirt wearing, Harvard-going…”
Nodding in fake agreement, she says, “Yeah, guys with actual futures are the worst. You’re right. Good call. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
“He’s just not my type.”
She rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed with whatever my type is. “You should get a prison pen pal, then you can meet someone more your type.”
“Why don’t we talk about something else,” I suggest, growing bored of her criticism.
“Look, I just don’t want to see you get hurt—figuratively or literally. If they go all Taken on your ass, you don’t have Liam Neeson to bail you out.”
“Hey, Liam Neeson could be my dad, we don’t know,” I joke.
Shaking her head at me like I’m the novelty of her life, she says, “How did I ever find you?”
—
The one night I’m not having trouble sleeping, I’m jostled awake by the weight of a body curling up beside me.
I don’t immediately wake up—at least, not without a fight. It’s dark, I’m bleary, and a glance at my alarm clock shows me it’s just after 3am.
I sigh, rolling over. Allan must’ve had a bad dream, and Mom must not be home.
Only it isn’t Allan. It’s Vince. In my bed, at 3am.
My eyes go wide, still burning from sleep, but… well, I don’t understand what the hell is going on.
“Vince?” I murmur.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
I blink, rolling over and double checking the clock. Yep, 3am. I turn back to Vince, frowning in confusion. “Um… what are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to see you,” he says quietly.
I want to say he could’ve called, but he still hasn’t given me his phone number. I asked. He said no. Still, I’m not sure how he arrived at “I know, I’ll break into her house again and crawl into her bed while she sleeps.”
“You’re such a creeper,” I say lightly, reaching out and brushing my hand along his cheek.
He cracks a smile, but my mood dips when I realize he looks sad.
Curling closer to him, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer, just scoots closer, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against him. We don’t speak for a long time, he just holds me, and I do my best to hold him back. My mind works harder than it needs to, guessing what might be wrong. The night of the fire slips to the front of my mind, and I wonder if he could have done something like that again. I don’t want to know if he did, but I’ll listen if he needs to tell me.
A wave of fierce protectiveness rolls over me and I hug him tighter.
After I squeeze him, it seems to bring him to life. His grip loosens enough for him to lean back and look down at me, but instead of speaking, he leans in and kisses me. Unprepared, I gasp against his mouth, and he wastes no time, deepening the kiss. Arousal stirs within me again, and I’m hyper aware we’re in my bed. I can’t afford to turn into a lust-monster at 3am in my own bed. This time it’s his hand that slides up my shirt, and because I’m in bed and wasn’t expecting company, I’m braless. His hand comes up to palm my breast, startling me, then his lips leave mine and begin a trail down the sensitive skin of my neck instead.
“Oh,” I murmur, failing in my attempt to stifle a moan as gooseflesh rises up all over my body. “Vince.” I brace a hand on his shoulder, the other on his side, and somehow he’s already on top of me. I don’t try to move him off, but I open my mouth to tell him we need to keep a lid on things—I don’t get to, though, as his mouth is on mine again, sweeping the thoughts clear out of my head. The weight of him against my pelvis has me throbbing between my legs, and we’ve barely even kissed.