The Girl Who Fell (19 page)

Alec jogs to my car, opens my door. “Why does it feel like forever since I've seen you?”

“Because I'm just that magnetic?”

When I get out, he pins me against the car with his hips, flirts his mouth to mine. “That is an understatement.” He bites at my bottom lip. “You ready?”

I swallow hard, a lump suddenly blocking my throat. Ready for what?

Alec guides me into his warm house, through the living room and kitchen until we reach a set of sliding doors at the back. “I wanted to start here, considering our origins.” He looks at my clothes, one long gaze over my jacket to my boots as he opens the sliding door a crack. “Unless you'll be too cold.”

The frosty air whistles into the hot room and it steals some of my anxiety. “Outside is good.”

He ushers me through the door. The sky is littered with stars and the air drafts cold into my lungs. “Over here.” He leads me to a jungle gym, a smaller version of the one in the park, but only just. It offers monkey bars, a rope ladder, and a twisting slide. Lights poke out of the house's windows like yellow eyes, but the lawn is fenced off from the neighborhood and we are alone. Alec settles me onto the wooden slats of the platform. He hovers over me, a growing shadow in the dusk.

“I don't think it's a good idea to make me wait to see you.” He moves the tip of his sneaker to meet the side of my boot. A rush surges, like always.

“Shall I rearrange the holidays then?”

“Yes, please. They are terribly inconvenient.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“That's my girl.”

“Your girl, huh?”

He stares at me. “I hope so.”

I shift my back against the post, a blush deepening on my face.

“My shy girl,” he adds.

“A little.”

“Yet another thing I like about you.”

“There's a list?”

“A list I've only started.”

“So smooth.”

He recoils as if I've slapped him. “Why would you say that?”

“I don't know. I didn't mean it in a bad way. I'm just nervous. Forget it.”

“Forgotten.” He stretches his leg so that his foot nudges my hip. My hand covers the curve of his shin. “Does it make you nervous that you touching my shin makes me crazy?”

“No,” I lie.

He nudges his leg closer, stares at me for an eternity. A car drives slowly through the cul-de-sac before its engine fades. Otherwise, the early evening is calm. Quiet. Holding its breath for us.

Chilled air spirals around our bodies. I draw my coat closed at my neck.

“Please don't.” Alec opens the collar of my jacket, separates the sides. He lets the back of one finger slide down the trail of my exposed neck and my lungs surge, push out toward him. Cool air floats over my skin, making gooseflesh rise. He hears my breath catch and withdraws his hand. He floats above me, half hanging from the bar above us. Disappointment floods through my veins, which he senses somehow. A Cheshire grin lights his face. “You like when I touch you.”

So much. God, too much. My insides skip and I throw a nervous laugh. “I do.”

“Would it be weird if I asked you to say it?”

I force the words out, my nerves tripping over their own edges. My insides blush with the admission. “I like the way you feel. Next to me. Your hands. All of it.”

He nudges his knee between mine and I open my legs enough to let him in. The seams of our jeans rub together.

“I want to go slow if that's what you want.”

It is. And isn't. “No.”

Alec's fingers drop to find my neckline. He cups the curve of my neck, lets his thumb travel my tapering collarbone. I tilt my head back, giving him more room, more permission. His fingers glide to the V of my peacoat. He reaches inside and with one hand, he unbuttons two . . . then three buttons of my shirt. I try to look down, but he catches my chin, moves my gaze back on his. His fingers are so delicate I can hardly feel him at all. Instead, I feel the coil of desire twist between my legs.

He gently slides my jacket, my shirt down off my shoulder. I feel the cool air lick the slope of my chest. I wonder if my skin glows in the fading light. I wonder if he likes it. I arch my back, begging for him to touch me. But he doesn't. He leaves me like that. Exposed and wanting.

“Is it too cold?”

“No.” The cold is a rush.

He sits next to me. Lies back. Props himself onto an elbow and stares at me. I try to breathe. I study his long body, the lean, rippled muscles that peek out from between the lip of his pants and his fleece that has hiked up just that little bit. I want to run my fingers over that band of skin, but I'm afraid I won't do it right.

His eyes drop to my chest. He breathes in. Stares. Breathes out. Stares. “Can I see you? Out here?”

“I'm right here.” Even though I know what he means.

He rests his hand against his own chest, gazes at mine. “I want to see more of you. Just a little. Just for a second.”

“Uh, no.” I dart my eyes around the yard.

“There's no one here.”

“I can't.” I'm not even comfortable being on display when I'm fully clothed.

“You can.” He shoots me a measured, steady glance. “It's only a matter of if you want to.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “I don't want to.”

“Okay,” he says as he crawls to me. He lingers his lips to mine. “But you should know that I want to see you. That I've never wanted anything more.”

The electricity of his words melts me. My hand drifts to my bra, but then stills. Alec sees my hesitation.

“Only if you want to, Zephyr.” He looks around. “It's just you and me. I'd do it for you. Anything you asked.”

And then it visits again, that fear that I'm not good enough, that I don't know enough to make Alec happy.

I hold my breath, readying. My fingers slide my shirt to the side and roll the cup of my bra under my breast. The air greets this bit of my nakedness. Alec watches my face and I force myself to study his, to not look away.

And the thrill is deep. Like skinny-dipping. The raw, unlawful act of exposing your private bits to the air. I bite my lip, hard.

“God, I love you,” he says.

A screech in the distance pulls my attention, asks me: What are you doing? This can't be right. I fold in my shoulders trying to hide, but Alec slips toward me with the confidence of a hunting snake. He holds his head steady just in front of me, right in front of my naked breast, but he doesn't touch me. I reach for his hair then, wanting him to cover me, protect me. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. I comb my fingers through his hair, trying to pull him closer.

He hovers. His hot breath teases me. I lean into him. The heat between my legs has become a voice and it's screaming inside of me. And just when I think I can't take it a moment longer, he reaches me. His hands explore my body and I pull him closer, deeper.

By the time we get to his bedroom I'm shaking. We lie on the bed floating somewhere between excitement and exhaustion. Alec's body is pressed up against mine, our shirts off. He strokes my hair at the temple. “I'll miss you,” he whispers.

“I don't have to leave for a while.”

He tucks a curl behind my ear. “No, I mean next year. When you'll be hundreds of miles away.”

“I don't know anything for sure yet.” Like how I'll survive without seeing him every day.

He kisses me on the cheek. “I love being with you, Zephyr actually.”

I look through hooded eyes, flirting even now. I want to tempt his tongue to mine, tempt his tongue to my chest, my neck, my arm, my . . . I press into him harder, wrap my legs around his.

He drops his head into my shoulder. “Don't. I'll devour you right here.”

Devour? A flush of want heats my skin.

“You have no idea how you make me feel.”

But I do.

“I want to show you something.” Alec reaches for his bedside table. I hear the wood slide of the drawer. “Here.” He hands me a letter. I see the Michigan return address, know what it is. Hate that it is here, now, in bed with us.

I don't want to open it. I don't want to read the words. I unfold the paper and I know it makes me a shitty person, but I pray he got rejected. Gregg's words revisit, justify:
We're all selfish sometimes
.

But Alec didn't get rejected from the University of Michigan. The proof is in my hands.

He watches me read. “Crazy, huh?”

“Not totally crazy. I mean, you kind of knew, right?” I force a smile. It kills me I haven't heard from Boston College yet.

“What's wrong?” he asks.

Sadness haunts my face, cracks my words. “Nothing. I'm really happy for you.”

He strokes my cheek. “So why do you look like you're about to cry?”

I sit up, pull a pillow to my chest. As if a square of feathers could protect my heart. “It just seems so real now. Everyone's hearing about their plans for next year and . . . I don't know . . . what if I'm the loser who gets left behind?” Gregg's pep talk is lost to me in this moment and I am rudderless again.

“You're not a loser, Zephyr, and I would never leave you.”

My exhale sobs, my words rush. “Well”—I shake the paper—“this letter doesn't exactly inspire a lot of hope that we'll be together next year. They want you there in July, Alec. July. That's half a year away. It might as well be tomorrow. God, how can this all be happening? I was fine last night, you know. I was actually dumb enough to believe Gregg when he said I'd hear soon, that I was worthy of Boston College. But I don't have a letter. You do. You know what your future holds. All I know is how far away Michigan is. It's so far, Alec. On another planet far.”

“Zephyr?”

I pull in a deep breath, try to calm my rampage. The silence of Alec's room battles with the cacophony in my head. “Yeah?” I whisper.

“What do you mean about last night?”

I stop, stumble. “What?”

He repeats the question with a hard stare, his posture suddenly too straight. “Did you see Gregg on Thanksgiving? You said you were with your mom.”

“I was, but our families have this tradi—”

“You were with him last night?”

I search his eyes. “Not like that. I mean, yeah, I was at his house, but I wasn't
with
him with him.”

“Is that why you didn't answer my calls?”

“No.” I reach for him, but he stands, begins to pace the room. “I was going to tell you but then we went outside and everything was so perf—”

“Did you have your phone turned off?”

“Yes, but Al—”

“Did he try to kiss you again?” He bends to pick up my shirt off the floor, rounds it into a ball and hands it to me.

“God no! It wasn't like that.” I scramble to the edge of the bed, shimmy my top on.

“You need to tell me if you're into him.”

“I told you, he's like a brother to me. It couldn't be anything more. Ever.” And then. “And he's with Lani.”

“That's supposed to make me feel better?” he says, sarcasm dripping. “How do I know you weren't taking your tits out for
him
?”

“What?
No!
God, I would never.”

His laugh comes hard and quick. “Are you sure?”

What's happening here? “I don't want anything to do with him that way. This is so nothing to freak out about. You have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” He runs both of his hands through his hair and pulls at the back, locking his head between his stiff elbows. The muscles in his arms bulge. “How can I? You're over at his house without telling me, hanging out, doing fuck knows what, lying and telling me you're with your mom.”

“I
was
with my mom.”

He turns on me, quick. “You should have told me you were going over to his place. You should have answered my calls.” His voice is almost a whisper now as he paces the floor. “You promised you wouldn't see him and you did. Then you keep it a secret. How do you think this makes me feel, Zephyr?”

“You asked me to hang back, Alec. I did. I barely even talk to Gregg anymore.”

“You've justified all this in your head already, haven't you?”

“What? No!”

“If you really loved me you would ha—”

“I do love you.” I reach for his arm, but he shrugs me off.

“I need to be alone.”

“Are you kidding?” What about our perfect night? The night to ourselves? God, what have I done? “Gregg is so not anything to me. You have to believe that.”

“You should have been honest, Zephyr. Half truths after the fact don't count.”

“You're right. It was stupid. I should have told you right when I got here.”

“No. You should have respected me, told me yesterday. I opened up to you. I came clean about my insecurities.” He gives a harsh nod toward the door. “I have to think.”

“Alec, please . . .”

He points to the door. “Go.”

The one word is a punch to my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

I gather my coat and slip down the carpeted stairs, out the front door. The spotlights blare, accusing me in their own way. Tears bite against my skin but I brush them away as I start my car, wondering if I'll ever see clearly again.

It is an ache to breathe.

•  •  •

Somehow I manage to drive home, though tears obscure my vision. Maybe that's why I'm slow to realize Finn's in the middle of our dirt drive, spinning in circles, looking disoriented and lost out here on his own. Did Mom leave the back gate unlatched? I jump out of the car, kneel to him and he whimpers. His eyes are glazed, remote.

“You look like I feel, buddy. Come on.” I take hold of his collar, walk him to my car where I have to help him jump into the front seat. He collapses in a heap.