I know I’m being an idiot, not turning my face to look at him but I have to gather all my courage. I have to calm down all the buzzing in my stomach to be able to look at him.
To be able to meet his eyes when he’s playing with my hair.
Biting my lip, I somehow manage the feat and find him smiling. Although, this one is very small and very soft. Smaller and softer than all his other smiles.
“You’re touching me,” I whisper. “M-my hair.”
“I know.”
“You can’t touch me.”
“I can.” Then he grins. “Because you’re touching me too.”
I frown and when he looks down at something between us, I realize he’s right. I’m touching his sweater. I’m actually rubbing it between my fingers.
It’s as soft as I thought it would be. Softer, actually.
But I snap my hand back, feeling shy and embarrassed. This is the first time I’ve done something without realizing that I was doing it.
It’s crazy like all the stuff I feel about him.
“I didn’t…” I shake my head. “My dad will kill you.”
“I’m not scared of your dad,” he says with that confidence of his. “And if they’d found us, I would’ve protected you.”
Protected me.
Okay that, no one has ever said to me. Not that I need protection from my dad but still. No one has been brave enough to say that to me.
And that just makes me want to protect him even more. Because I can actually picture my dad being mean to him.
So I try to scare him some more. “You should be. He’s big.”
He shrugs, his finger curling a strand of my hair like he’s enjoying playing with it. “I’m big too. And I play ball. I go to the gym and everything.”
Well, he’s right. He is big and I think with time, he’s only going to get bigger.
I mean, he’s taller than all the guys in my class. I actually have to stretch my neck up to look at him and he has to lean down.
It’s like how my mom and Dad are. My mom is too short for him so he always bends down. Sometimes my mom steps up on his feet.
She only does that though when she thinks I’m not looking.
My parents are really frisky and sometimes they make me laugh with how in love they are with each other.
But most times they make me dream of finding that kind of love one day. And the thought of love these days makes me think of Brendan.
You can’t love him, Rose. You’re too young for all that. And remember your dad? So scare him away. Right now.
“It will never work between us,” I blurt out, trying to do just that.
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.