“Tell me something,” she says. “Whatever you want. Tell me about another tattoo.”
“Well,” I say, searching my arm for something to show her, “this one I got on vacation when I was eighteen. I don’t know why I thought a sea turtle was a grand idea, but there you have it.” I run my hand over my skin, skipping over the pair of dice on my forearm, and land on the cross. “This one is to remind me that God is always watching.”
“I like that.”
“Me too.”
She tucks her chin and stays a step ahead of me as we wander through the grass. It feels good to do this with another person, to talk about things with someone who just might give a damn. And with someone who doesn’t expect a joke to be cracked.
“Do you have any tattoos?” I ask.
“Um . . . yeah.” She looks at me in an almost panic before ripping her eyes away just as quickly. “I got one to rebel against my mother, actually. Like you.”
She searches my eyes—for what, I’m not quite sure. I let her see what she wants to see because I have nothing to hide. I wait for her to say something, to tell me what she was looking for, but she doesn’t.
We stop in the middle of the field. The final rays of the sun shine down on us almost like a spotlight. I want to reach out and touch her, to feel her skin against me. But I’m afraid that if I do, she’ll look at me like she did today when we kissed.
That’s never happened to me before. Usually, if a girl initiates a kiss, she’s all in. Or at least in for a good make-out session, and she certainly doesn’t pull away like she’s just done some tragic thing. It was like a punch in the stomach, and not for the reasons I imagined it would be. I figured my ego would be a little sore. Fuck my ego. I was worried something was wrong with her and it was my fault.
What’s that say about me?
“Penn . . .” She tilts her chin to look me in the eye. “About earlier . . .”
“You don’t have to say anything about it,” I tell her. “It’s fine.” She still looks worried, so I try to lighten the mood. I don’t know what else to do. “I know I’m hard to resist.”
She rolls her eyes, but the grin splitting her cheeks softens the blow. She motions for me to follow and heads back toward the house.
My pulse beats harder with each step. The closer we get to the house, the sooner this night will be over. It’s an odd feeling to wish for more time with a girl whom I’m not sleeping with. But I like it. I like her. I like talking to her and telling her things about me and hearing things about her.
It’s messed up, and I’m not sure how to rationalize it all, especially when I add in how much I liked kissing her today.
“Avery?” I say.
She stops and looks at me over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
I want to wrap her up in my arms as the temperature drops again. The sun slips behind the tree line. It’s dark and quiet with only the lightning bugs dotted across the landscape.
I’m out of my element here, but I’m here. With her. After everything that happened today, we’re together, and it’s okay. There’s an urge in my stomach telling me to be honest with her in the hope that we can do this, whatever it is, again.
As I look at her staring back at me, I’m not sure what to say. It’s because I’m not sure what I want. I wanted to fuck her brains out when I first met her. I’d still do that happily. But if that’s not what she has in mind, then I’d rather see her smile than not see her at all.
It’s hard to believe I’m thinking this way.
I take a slow, deep breath.
“I want you to know,” I say, “that I really liked kissing you today. But I will never kiss you again or make it uncomfortable for you if that’s what you want, and I didn’t mean to do that today, if that’s what happened. I actually feel bad about it, and I didn’t know I could feel bad about things like this, and I kind of don’t know what to do so I’m just standing here rambling like a moron.”
She opens her mouth and closes it again. Her weight goes from side to side before she seems to find the words she’s looking for.
Maybe I should just get in my truck and leave. Clearly, I’m an idiot. Who stands in front of a girl like her and jabbers away about their feelings?
Fools, that’s who.
“I’m going to be honest,” she says finally.
“Please do.”
Her eyes soften. “I wanted to kiss you today. As much as I wanted to, I also didn’t.”
I try to process that information—that she wanted to kiss me and she didn’t want to kiss me. I have no fucking idea what that means. How does that work? “Okay . . .”
She takes a deep breath. “You are a good-looking guy.”
Can’t argue that.
“And you’re funny, and apparently, you can be sweet. Who knew?” She laughs softly. “Of course I wanted to kiss you. Every girl wants to kiss you, don’t they?”
I shrug, making her chuckle.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” she says. “Don’t feel bad. You did nothing wrong.”
“Is this an invitation to kiss you again?” I joke.
She narrows her eyes.
“Sorry. Too soon. Got it.”
She shakes her head. “Honestly, I felt like I was leading you on. You’re the guy that knows what you want and you get it and you’re unapologetic—rightfully so. But I know what I want, and I want to get it too.”
I don’t respond. I just watch her rattle off her monologue, because I’m stuck at the part where I know what I want and I get it. Do I? Because right now she’s what I want, and I’m sure not getting it.
“What is it you want?” I ask.
She looks off into the distance. “Once, when I was a teenager, I was on a plane flying somewhere to see my dad. There was a couple sitting across the aisle from me.” She smiles to herself. “I remember it like it was yesterday. They talked to each other so passionately, completely engaged with what the other was saying. They held hands and shared their pretzels and were just so happy.” She looks at me. “They’d been married for thirty years.”
“Wow,” I say.
“I’ve never forgotten that. It was a moment in time that I’ve carried with me forever because that day I decided that’s what I wanted. It was only recently that I realized I couldn’t get that in California—not in the life I lived there.”
I jam my hands into my pockets. Thirty years is a long time to be married to one person. It’s longer than I’ve been alive. I’ve never met anyone willing to put up with me for three weeks, let alone thirty years.
“I want that level of connection,” she says, looking at me. “I want something deep and passionate. A man who thinks I’m interesting and values what I have to say. Who wants to have sex with me all night and then laugh with me all day. I want to build a life with someone, and if I keep kissing guys that have no interest in that, it’ll put me farther behind.” She forces a swallow. “I’ve spent a lot of my life alone. There have been many days I wondered how long it would take anyone to notice if I died. I’m on a mission to not re-create that life. I hope that makes sense.”