Sophomore/Junior year
JARED
That kiss.
Fuck.
I’ve kissed a lot of girls in my sixteen years, some even women, and I’m not bragging, just saying it like it is. But never, and I mean never have I felt the way I do kissing Eva, holding her in my arms.
Maybe her mother dying had something to do with it. My heart breaks for her, and none of my bullshit mattered. And the moment our lips meet, girls before her were…fun. A release. Soft and sexy, nothing else.
But Eva.
Tearing my mouth from hers is hard. I couldn’t take advantage of her, not with her mother dying.
And just like that, for the first time ever, kissing a girl isn’t about getting into her pants.
It’s just a kiss, and it’s everything.
Our kiss is never-ending.
And when I look down at her, I almost lose it. Her coffee-colored eyes are heavy and shimmering, dark lashes wet from her tears. Lips swollen and pink.
I pull away, and a small moan escapes her mouth, part desolate, part captivated. Until now, I didn’t know what beautiful really is.
Eva is beautiful. And even at that, the word is inadequate and overused, and I mean it more about who she is inside than what she looks like outside.
My arms band tighter around her small frame, and something hot and possessive floods me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, let alone a girl, and it scares me.
The summer was rough without her, but when she came back, it seemed easier with her thousands of miles away. Despite all I’d told myself while she was gone—to stay away, she’d left me first—in the park, in the rainstorm, all I wanted was to hold her close.
“Are we still friends?” Her voice is timid, unsure.
“Yes.” I’d been stupid enough to think I could walk away from her, even though I still should.
She worries her bottom lip, and a warm gaze dives into the depths of mine, looking for any sign of…what? If I’m back? Crazy? Joking? All of the above?
“Did you work with Ike and Milo this summer?”
A slow grin skates along my mouth. So we’re moving on. I like it. “Yeah. And I’m sorry for being a dick.”
“I don’t understand why we weren’t talking in the first place. You knew I had to go but wanted to be here with you.”
“Yes, and I was an idiot. I missed you and while you were gone…”
Still petite, as is everything about her, she’d also filled out a bit. Her breasts are a little bigger and hips a little rounder. And her sweet tropical mango scent. When it hits my nostrils, I want to cling to her and never let her go.
“I worked for Milo and tried to stay clean.” I don’t mention the times I couldn’t because he threatened bodily harm if I pussied out. “You’re a good girl and I’m…I’m trouble. I’m not worth the trouble I could cause you.”
Her small hands frame my face. “No. You’re worth all of my time and more. Never forget that.”
I don’t have a comeback. Nothing has changed the way I think or what our lives look like. I mean, she’s a straight-A student, travelling to Spain to stay with her rich grandfather. I’m a foster kid with no future prospects, lucky if I get my high school diploma, and chopping up stolen cars to make a buck.
Yet with the death of her mother and having her in my arms, I can’t…no, I won’t leave her.
And for the days leading to the funeral, I’m there for her in any way I can be. Her father doesn’t make that easy, but I’m not letting a grumpy man stop me. He may not know it, but his wife asked me to take care of their daughter, and that’s what I intend to do.
The funeral is hard, and Eva’s a mess. Most days, she seems like herself, but there are moments when she’s lost, likely thinking about her mother or life without her. And she keeps her tears to herself, but that day—the day we bury her mother—she bares it all, and I ache to be by her side. My tiny girl, the wild one streaking down the street the very first day I saw her, is broken. Inconsolable.
And I can’t be by Eva’s side for it all. Her father won’t hear of it, and she doesn’t want to cause more stress. He isn’t able to move past his anger and grief to see that I can help his daughter.
I suppose it doesn’t help that her grandfather is here. That man makes Eva’s father look like a puppy, and I cringe just thinking of the way he treats her father.
Mr. Ramirez isn’t my favorite person, but I can’t help but feel for him. It’s clear to see that Eva’s grandfather blames him for his daughter’s death. And that makes no sense at all.
Sadly, we have more in common than the love of Eva. He treats me the same way his father-in-law treats him, and even the loss of his wife doesn’t ease his disdain toward me.
None of that stops me from being at the cemetery and church service. At times, I stand in the crowd and watch from afar, and at times, when Mr. Ramirez is too lost in his own sorrow to notice or care, I steal moments to talk to her and comfort her.
I hold her briefly, her slender body curls into me, and I whisper words of encouragement.
Yeah, that day is fucking hard for so many reasons. I also think of Molly, more so than I have in a while. Eva and I may be very different but we share this, the loss of our mothers.
It isn’t until we’re well into late November that things settle and we fall into a routine. With her mother’s passing, things have been better and worse.
Her father is even more strict and loses it if he thinks either of his daughters are venturing out. But with only one income, the man also works more hours than before. So he’s gone a lot.
When that happens, Eva insists I sleep in the small sewing room upstairs. I don’t do it often, concerned about what her old man will do to her if he ever discovers my sorry ass in his house.
Things aren’t easy or warm in her home, not like the brief times I was there when her mother was alive. The man hit Bianca. No surprise, their relationship took a nosedive that day and now Bianca does what she wants. If I could take Eva away from it all, I would. But I don’t have the means.
And through this all, something extraordinary happens. I’m still not sure how or when it happened—us.
Eva and I are tight. Friends. More than friends. In the middle of all the loss and sadness, it’s just understood. I’m hers and she’s mine.
Not much has changed except we see each other more, we talk, sometimes laugh and kiss. There’s lots of kissing. And if Eva needs me, I’m there. We spend hours with each other, holed up in the dingy, artificial playhouse in the park and sometimes at her house, if her father is working like tonight.
We have just eaten dinner and she’s distracted, more pensive than usual. I try to get her mind off things by asking tons of questions about her time in Spain. We haven’t talked about her time away. There hasn’t been the right moment with everything.
Her stories are fascinating and vivid, telling me all about the olive groves, the beaches, art and museums, and her weekends in Barcelona.
“I have something for you.” She fishes out a photo album and something small from a canvas bag. Her fingers curl over the little box. “Remember the forget-me-nots?”