Nobody in Particular(49)

But she doesn’t. She just watches me through dimly lit, green eyes. Her forehead creases, and I realize I need to say something. Anything. Because if she really just said what I think she just said, then …

“I said it was awesome,” I murmur. “You and Alfie. But I meant it was the worst thing I’d ever seen.”

Rose steps in front of me, grabbing my head between two hands and, when I respond by tipping my chin up and parting my lips, she pulls me roughly in to kiss her.

As our lips meet, she makes a small, strangled sound. Something like surprise and relief all in one. And wanting. Her fingers trail down my cheeks to rest at my neck, and her chest meets mine. And in the darkness, under the cover of the woods, I press my body flush against hers and kiss her with a desperation I didn’t know I could feel.

All at once, she breaks away and steps back from me. I gasp from shock and adrenaline, and lean forward to rest my hands on my knees. Meanwhile, Rose touches her mouth with her fingertips, staring into the distance. “What are we doing?” she asks.

Good question, I think, trying to focus. She kissed me. Rose kissed me. And I’m awake.

Rose kissed me, and now she’s pacing back and forth. “What are we doing?” she asks again. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry I did that. Oh my god.”

I watch her go forward and backward, blinking, while I let myself fall back against the tree.

Rose kissed me, Rose, Rose, she—

She stops short and opens her mouth. Then she apparently thinks better of it, because she throws her hands up into the air. I think it’s my turn to say something.

“You okay?” I ask, mostly because she very obviously isn’t.

“Yes. No. Maybe?” She clasps her hands in front of her, and she sort of looks like she’s praying. “What should we do? Should we go back? Maybe we should go back.”

Does she mean to school? Or back in time? “Do you want to go back?” I ask.

She hugs herself, and her fingernails dig harsh dents into her jacket sleeve. “I—I, um. No? No.”

She looks like her thoughts are a whirlwind. But for me, the world is crisp, and clear, and simple.

“Neither do I,” I say, and she finally meets my eyes. And I see everything in them. Everything.

She approaches me with a fierce look, and I stare her down, steady and totally sure. She rests her forehead against mine first, her breath trembling. I think she’s expecting me to pull away, or tell her this is a bad idea. I don’t do either of those things. I just wait for her to figure out her next move. Every second she spends like this tightens the pit of my stomach more and more, until it feels like I might die if I can’t taste her again.

Then, finally, she breathes out and presses her lips against mine again.

And I’m done for.





TWENTY-ONE

DANNI




I’m shocked by how quickly Rose and I settle into something called “us.”

Obviously, there are rules to “us.” Rule one, no one can know about us. That’s easy enough, because I’m only out to Rachel, and Rose is only out to her parents, so it’s not like either of us are exactly racing to announce we’re together. There’s a little weirdness there on my end because the media—and half the people we know—still seem convinced Rose and Alfie are a thing, but Rose insists that there’s never been anything there with Alfie past the one kiss, and I believe her. I just wish the rest of the world knew that.

Rule number two, which sort of ties into rule one, is that we more or less act the same around each other as we did right before our first kiss. That means I hang out with Molly, and Rose with Eleanor. During the days, anyway. Rose points out that it’ll be easier for us to hide that there’s “something between us”—her words for “I don’t really know what we are, but we sure as hell aren’t platonic”—if there aren’t too many eyes on us.

Rose is not wrong. If I’m even in the same room as her, I find it hard to wrench my eyes away. Whenever she’s close enough to touch, but I can’t reach out and brush her hand, or her shoulder, or her perfect, perfect collarbone, I find it hard to form a coherent thought. I don’t think I have it in me to be subtle.

To be fair, I can’t help it if nothing else in the room is ever as interesting to look at as she is.

Rule number three is, every door is always locked. And if a door can’t be locked, we don’t risk it.

Or at least, that’s what I thought rule number three was. Except right now, I’m in the ballroom practicing piano, and Rose has abandoned her makeshift homework station to hover very, very closely behind me. I ignore her until she sweeps my hair to one side and kisses the exposed skin where the base of my neck meets the top of my spine.

Jesus Christ.

Obviously, I can’t be expected to focus on piano under these conditions, and I let my hands fall into my lap as I swing around.

“Rose,” I say, and she gives me an innocent look.

“Yes?”

“We’re in a public place.”

She steps closer to me, placing a leg on either side of my knees, letting her long waves hang around my face. It takes superhuman strength for me not to hook my hands around the back of her thighs and pull her down to me. “We’re in a room with the curtains drawn and the door closed,” she says.