His fingers inched closer to my back and I let my arms soften, the joke of our middle school dancing fading with each repeat of the chorus.
Soon my arms were draped over his shoulders and his hands were locked around me, resting on the small of my back.
His lips were inches from mine.
The light from his glow stick glasses shone off his tropical ocean blue eyes.
“This was the best senior trip ever.” I interlaced my fingers against the back of his neck, letting them rub the short, smooth hairs.
“It really was.” His lopsided grin made my heart do cartwheels inside of my chest.
Third time was the charm, right?
Pushing up on my tiptoes, I pressed my lips against his. He tasted like cinnamon sugar and root beer.
His eyes widened before he returned the kiss—tentatively at first, before seeming to give in. His tongue demanded entrance to my mouth that I was all too happy to give. He groaned and I closed my eyes, sinking into this moment I’d never thought would happen.
For so long, I’d wondered how it would feel for him to touch me like this. To make me feel like this.
His arm tightened around my waist, tugging me closer against him.
I yelped, the bruised extraction points grinding against the hard denim of his jeans.
“Shit, sorry, I forgot.” He dropped his arms and took a step back, staring down at the floor.
I rubbed my hand over the throbbing spot on my hip and tried to catch his eye. “It’s okay. I’m just still a little sore.”
“I shouldn’t have…” He reached out, his touch skimming along the edge of my t-shirt.
I peered up at him, my cheeks heating as he kept his hands on me. “Really, LJ. It’s okay. And thank you for everything.”
His head shot up. “Of course. I owe you.” His smile sobered and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “You saved my dad’s life. The debt doesn’t get any bigger than that.”
And with his words a chill ran through my body. My hand shot to my lips. His hesitancy came back to me. How much of this was because he wanted me too, and how much of it was because he’d written me a blank check for what he’d do to repay me for something I’d never had any intention of cashing in on?
What happened if the transplant didn’t work? What happened if his dad got sick again and the Marisa Magic ended? How would they look at me then? How could I face him or his family?
My throat tightened and I took a step back, letting his hand drop. “This—” I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears making it hard to see. “This was really sweet of you, LJ.”
His eyebrows dipped. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, I’m just tired. The doctors said I should take it easy.”
His face fell. “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He rushed toward me.
Stepping back again, I dropped my gaze as his searched my face. “Can you give me a ride home?”
“Why don’t you stay here? Is your mom back yet? Did she message you?”
My lips trembled before I slammed them together to keep in the sound trying to claw its way out of my throat. With a strained smile, I shook my head.
I didn’t need to check. She’d turn up when she wanted, just like she always did.
Staying here would hurt. It would shred my heart to be in the four walls with my best friend who gave in to what I wanted because of what I’d done for his family. I refused to use his gratitude to manipulate him into getting what I wanted. I wouldn’t be like my mother.
But leaving and going back to my empty house would hurt more.
“Do you want the bottom bunk tonight? Can you climb?”
I forced the words out and mustered a pitiful smile. “I’ll be good. Then I’ll be out of your way.”
His mouth opened and snapped shut.
We walked up the basement stairs and through the indoor carnival he’d put together for me. On the second floor, I walked into his bedroom.
It was huge compared to mine, big enough to fit the double bunk bed along with his desk, dresser, TV and two bean bag chairs.
I went straight to the ladder and climbed up, crawling under the blankets.
His head popped up at the top of the ladder. “Do you want to change? There’s pajamas in your drawer.”
I curled the blanket tighter around myself. “I’m good. Just so sleepy all the sudden, kind of like I’m drunk.” Although I’d never been drunk. Other kids snuck into their parents’ liquor cabinet; I got in trouble for hiding my mom’s booze.
“I’ll bring you up some water. Do you need anything else?”
The concern in his voice turned my embarrassment into guilt.
“No, just let me sleep it off, and tomorrow everything will be back to normal.” And we can forget all about our kiss. We can forget how I thought this would change everything. We can forget about ever being more than friends.
9
LJ
PRESENT
Laying in my bed, I stared up at the ceiling. Marisa had been back for three weeks. I’d played three games—well, not exactly played, but suited up for and bench-warmed. We edged closer to the end of September and the season was already a quarter over.
Brutal would be the only word to describe this semester. If Coach Saunders’s sidelining me and Monday dinners didn’t kill me, Marisa would. There had been a Monday dinner reprieve for the last two weeks with all the beginning-of-the-season work Coach had going on, but this week, I wasn’t so lucky.
My arms and legs were tight and climbing out of bed in the morning would take a solid ten minutes of psyching myself up for my screaming muscles. Working out in the gym seemed to be the only way to expend all the excess energy, since I wasn’t on the field. At least we were winning. It was tighter than last season, but we were pulling out wins, which didn’t make me feel any better about my chances of getting off the bench.
If we could win without me on the field, he’d keep me out for the rest of the season.
There was a knock at my door and it opened before I could say come in. Only one person would do that.
“LJ, Ron messaged to say dinner is at four on Monday. Of course he doesn’t give a damn what I might have going on, but it is what it is. You know you don’t have to come, right?” Marisa walked in wearing her pajamas. The long sleeve t-shirt and shorts combo had always been killer, but it was even worse now. She’d fling her legs up over the side of the couch while studying or hop up on the counter while I was cooking, swinging her legs back and forth. Or, worst of all, she’d burrow her feet under the side of my leg when we watched TV.
That usually meant I spent the rest of the show with a pillow welded to my lap, or I’d find a reason—any reason—to head upstairs straight into a cold shower.
Bed head Marisa. Falling asleep on my shoulder on the couch Marisa. Studying intently at the kitchen table Marisa. They were all driving me crazy.
“That’s fine. My last class finishes at 3:45, so I’ll meet you there.”
She sat on the edge of my bed in her pajama shorts and long sleeved t-shirt. “There’s a new application up for the Guggenheim Fellowship in Venice.”