And They Were Roommates(76)

Except he’s not kissing me. I’m kissing him.

Like two years ago.

Abruptly, I pull back. Do I ever learn from my mistakes? “Sorry. I’m—I should’ve asked. But. Do you at least know what you’re thinking now?”

Jasper doesn’t look horrified, even though I expect him to run away, slamming through the wall so forcefully that only the outline of his body remains. Instead, he peruses up and down my body in a way that makes my heart simultaneously plummet and explode.

Then my own shirt collar is tugged, and I’m being lightly shoved against the bedpost. Jasper cups my jaw and kisses me with the passion of someone starved for weeks. For two years. Every second thought I’ve had about Jasper melts out of my head, his touch lancing electricity through my core. This is nothing like our first kiss years ago. It’s more. It’s too much.

A muffled sound leaves me as I place my hands on his chest. “Jasper—”

His hand travels from my jaw to my hips, shoving our bodies closer. He’s barely unruffled, only a few hairs escaped from his stubby ponytail, yet my lips are already swollen and my uniform is a wreck. “Please, Charlie, can you stop arguing with me just this once?”

My body screams at me to finally listen to him.

I try to regain my balance on the bedpost, but my legs are too close to giving out. “Somewhere else.”

Jasper is merciful enough to oblige, but I barely catch my breath before his arm is wrapped around my waist and he’s pushing me into our bookshelf, pinning an arm over my head. Fluttering pages fall to the carpet. Shakespeare, Jasper’s poetry—that’s all I catch before his lips are on mine again.

“This isn’t much better,” I manage on a gasp.

“Never liked poetry much,” he says. “Poets are snobs.”

“You are a poet.”

He pulls back with a soft, low laugh. His blue eyes search my face, the same way they do when I read my writing aloud. The look that constantly floods my head with so much heat, I can’t think straight.

“What are you doing?” I cover myself with a palm, but he gently brings it down.

“Why do you always hide your face?” Jasper says. “I like your face.”

“Wh-what?”

“I said, I like your face. It’s my favorite part about you.”

I thrust my hand over his mouth instead. “I heard you.”

“Why don’t you want me to keep saying that?” he asks, muffled through my fingers.

“Because, well, you’re really close—and—I’m insecure about it.” My hand falls gradually off his mouth after admitting the truth I’ve never said aloud.

“But you have no reason to be insecure.”

“Thanks,” I drone. “No longer insecure.”

“I’m serious,” Jasper says. “I’m not sure what you see when you look in the mirror, Charlie, but I have a hypothesis that it isn’t what others see.”

I’ve tried to tell myself this for years but could never believe it. For some reason, right now, it feels like a piece of me is starting to.

My lips are back on his in seconds. We tumble into his side of the room until we fall on his bed. I finally yank off his ridiculous headband and thread my hands through his hair, and he does the same to my curls. Our teeth clink, and my glasses slide up my face. I pull away for air, and he gives me the chance. He’s listening. I’m listening too. What I’ve wanted all along.

Good. All I need is to get this—him—out of my system. And he just needs to be quiet. That’s all this is.

But what if it’s not?

“Wait” heaves out of me.

Jasper stops. “What’s wrong?”

“Does this—Does this mean you want to be together?”

His chest rises and falls as he takes me in. At first, I think I’ve worked him into a panic again, but his lopsided dimple pops. “Is it not obvious?”

It is. But if what Jasper says is true, that he’ll figure out a way to keep me at Valentine—us together, at a place like this, the spotlight would be huge. To students. Instructors. His aunt.

All that attention. On me.

Dread rolls through me, and my heart squeezes tight.

My gaze drifts away from Jasper, but he leads my chin back with his pointer finger. “Hey,” he says. “I do. Want us to be together.” His smile softens, almost shy now. “And if you’ll allow it, I would be honored to take you to the mixer. As your date.”

I imagine us walking hand in hand into the mixer tomorrow. All those eyes following us. Slowly, I nod.

His face falls gradually, emptily. “You don’t want to.”

It’s not a question. The words fall out from under him.

I stare back into his pained eyes. My hands itch to pull him closer. My heart tells me to let go of my fears and say yes.

But my brain won’t let me this time.





Chapter 40

THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT




THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 14

Xavier thumps my back so hard that I lurch like a pinball flipper. His crisp black suit was definitely tailored to account for his biceps, but his bow tie threatens to snap off his thick neck any second. “Stop messing with your cuffs.”

“Okay,” I say as we walk through the crowds of other black suits heading to the mixer early, only to move on to my tie and collar. Apparently, sister academy students are walked over in single-file lines by instructors right before. Because if they weren’t, we would all run off into the woods and crash mouths.