Just Friends(29)

“Mm-hmm. I didn’t want to ruin it either,” he says. “But come on, that wasn’t an answer. You’re acting like a politician right now.”

“Well, if you want me to be completely honest with you—”

“Which I do.”

“Then… I honestly can’t remember a time when I wasn’t a little bit obsessed with you.”

The sound of a wave breaking is the only thing that dares make noise in the wake of my confession, and I think I might fall forever through the empty space, until finally, Declan breaks into a grin and catches me.

“You’re joking,” he teases.

“I’m not.”

“No, be serious with me right now. You’re telling me that when I was five years old and had thick black-framed glasses attached to me via necklace and my two front teeth weren’t close enough to be considered neighbors, you were ‘a little bit obsessed’ with me?” he challenges, eyebrows raised.

“Yes! Dead serious!”

“And this is our first date, why?” he shouts at the sky.

“Because! You know why!” I say instead of the actual answer.

“Because…?” he challenges again with a teasing smile, refusing to let it go.

“Because so many girls threw themselves at you and they were all so impossibly pretty, and you still didn’t want them. So, I took it as evidence that if you didn’t want them, you definitely didn’t want me. Actually, no. You know what it was?” I say, more to myself than him. “I thought you enjoyed my friendship because it was a nice escape from all the unwanted attention you got. So, I wasn’t going to be the idiot who added to your list of people you needed to avoid.” I laugh to ease the honesty of my admission.

I look down, focusing on drawing circles in the sand.

Without speaking, he takes my chin in his hand and turns my face to him.

“Blair,” he pleads. “You are impossibly pretty. And I know I never acted on it, but trust that I always wanted to. You are the only girl whose attention I wanted, before I even knew other girls existed. And even after discovering other girls did, and do in fact, exist, the same is true. It’s always been you for me.” His green eyes don’t so much as waver. It’s like he refuses to blink until I believe him.

I try my best to soak it in. To stare back into his eyes and accept that what I wanted my entire life was happening. But I rasp out a breathless laugh, shaking my head out of his grasp.

“Now that we’re… dating, I don’t think you’re supposed to know that other girls exist.”

He pins me with a glare, playfully shoves my shoulder.

“You are impossible to compliment,” he says, exasperated.

“No, no. I’m sorry. You’re right. I am impossibly pretty,” I say.

He throws his head back with laughter. “Okay, but I’m serious,” he says, voice level. “You’ve seen me through every stage of life, and you never preferred me more or less based on how football was going. It sounds so stereotypical, but you saw the way people at school went from not paying attention to me at all, to gawking at me in the hallways after winning championships. If they said my name, it was because the word football was attached to it. I never liked that. I still found myself only caring about what you thought of me. And it was never the football you cared about. The way you spoke to me never changed.”

“Of course not, Declan. That stuff is awesome but it’s kind of irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. At least, inasmuch as it relates to my obsession with you,” I say not so ironically. “I’m proud of your accomplishments, don’t get me wrong. But you could do anything and I would find it impressive. You know that.”

He smiles like the sentiment is still novel to him. Special and new.

And then without speaking, he starts to move toward me. I relax onto my back in the sand, and he crawls over me, boxing me in with his hands on either side of my face, his lean body hovering above mine, muscles in his shoulders straining with the effort. And then his face slowly morphs into a smile of pure wonder, lighting up his eyes. “I enjoy that answer very much.”

“Of course you would.” I heckle.

His shoulders bounce as he laughs above me. The moonlight illuminates his messy tousle of hair from behind and I take a turn giggling in disbelief as the improbability of this new reality settles between us. He goes quiet at the sound, like he needs to be still to marvel at me. And when I realize, I go still too. But then his face parts in a grin again and his head drops. It’s like playing a game of hot potato, lobbing the imaginary force of it back and forth. Laughter begetting laughter begetting laughter.

Finally, the last of our laughter fizzles out like finishing the last sip of bubbly, and we allow the silence. I think he’s a second away from bending his elbows and lowering his mouth onto mine when he says, “Wanna play the question game?”

“Sure,” I exhale, a mixture of shock and unmet want.

He quickly bends his elbows and tucks his hands into his chest, unfolding next to me onto his back. The crash of waves fills the pause as he situates himself.

“Okay. First question,” Declan says. “If a crystal ball could tell you anything about your future, what would you want to know?”

I catch him looking at something in his left hand.