Never (Never, #1) (77)

I sit up a little bit on the lily pad, breathless, face flushed.

“What?” He props himself up, frowning a bit.

“Nothing.” I shake my head, flashing him a smile that the pirate would never buy. “I just lost my breath.”

He nods. “I do that to girls.”

I stare past him at the sky, let that comment slip off me like silk on skin, but it lands less lovely than that sounds.

“Girl,” he says, staring at me very intently.

I look over at him, waiting.

“Is there more?”

I frown at him a little, curiously mostly. “What do you mean?”

“To this.” He nods at me, glancing at his hand on my waist. “I feel like there’s more to do than just this, what we keep doing.”

“I mean, yes.” I scratch my neck. “Technically,” I add as an afterthought.

Peter perks up quite a bit. “More to kissing than kissing?”

“Well, yes.” I frown. “But then it becomes—do you remember when we spoke about sex?”

“Of course I do,” he says unconvincingly.

“Right, then do you remember what sex is?”

He scowls at me, face darkening even though he’s sitting in a sunbeam. “Course I remember. But remind me so I know you know too.”

I shake my head politely. “Actually, I would rather not if I don’t need to.”

“You need to,” he tells me without skipping a beat.

I sit up, tuck my feet under me, and hug my knees, then I give him a look. It’s gently reprimanding, softened both by how my frustration towards him dissipates when he blinks at me as well as by the giant poppies and tulips on the edge of the bank that hang over us like willows.

Peter moves in towards me, one of his eyebrows up. He touches my face. “You could show me?”

I breathe in. It takes me off guard. Why has this taken me off guard?

“Show me,” he tells me, his hand on my leg now. It’s casually demanding. It’s not a threat, more an expectation.

I shake my head at him. “I’m not ready to show you.”

He takes his hand back and rolls his eyes. “Do you not know how?”

“I do know how, but I’m not—” I shake my head. “I don’t want to.”

He stands up, proud and annoyed. “Why don’t you want to show me?”

And his name flashes through my mind like a burn.

Jem.

It shouldn’t though. So I grab a cold compress and smother it away.

I stand so we’re toe-to-toe. He has two freckles on his chest, on his right pectoral muscle, and when I put my head on his chest, they align perfectly with my chin and my nose, and sometimes I think it’s a sign. If I was looking for a sign, that might be one.

But my head isn’t on his chest, and I stare up at him with big eyes that feel small.

“Because I’ve never done it before,” I tell him, and then he laughs, and for some reason, it sounds mean.

“So you don’t know then.”

“Well, I suppose I don’t.” I give a small shrug.

Peter tilts his head, not letting go of my eyes. “Then how do you know you don’t want to?”

I stand up straighter and say to him rather clearly, “Because I know I don’t want to.”

He reaches for me, slips his hand around my waist how I always want him to, but in this very moment, I don’t want him to, and I don’t like it.

He tilts his head the other way. “But how would you know?”

“Because I know!” I say quickly and hotter than I mean to. “I’ve never been punched in the face before, and I know I don’t want to be.”

He rolls his eyes, a smirk on his mouth now. “We aren’t talking about punches, girl.”

He’s right. We aren’t. We’re talking about you shoving cake down my throat, forcing me to swallow it.

I stare up at him, breathing in and out to counts of four so I don’t look as upset as I feel. He doesn’t like it when people are upset.

Peter watches my face, looking for a crack in the door of my resolve, but it’s all sealed shut with nerves and a faraway memory of some snow dancing on my cheek or something.

“You really don’t want to find out about the more?” Peter presses.

I shake my head. “No.”

“One day?”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“With me?” he says.

I say nothing, and till I die, I will swear that no other name sailed through my mind.

Peter eyes me. “I wouldn’t like you to find out with anyone else…”

I nod. “Okay.”

“I would kill them,” he says with a perfectly straight face.

I breathe in and out to the count of four before I give him an easy smile. “You’re being hyperbolic, of course.”

He shrugs as he looks away. “Of course.”

I stare at my hands for a couple of seconds, out of things to say.

Peter ducks down so our eyes have to catch. “Are you sure you’re not the smallest bit curious about this now, here with me?”

“Peter,” I sigh.

He shakes his head, tired. “If I bought Calla here, she would wonder with me.”