She peeks her head around the doorway of the bathroom and eyes the book in my hands. “Careful. That’s a good one. It might change your mind about writing a romance novel.”
I scrunch up my nose and shake my head. She laughs and disappears back into the bathroom again.
I open the first page of the book, expecting to skim over it. Before I know it, I’m on page ten.
Page seventeen.
Page twenty.
Thirty-seven.
Jesus, this is like crack.
“Fallon?”
“Yeah?” she says from the bathroom.
“Have you finished this book yet?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I need you to finish it before you move to New York so you can tell me if she finds out he’s really her brother.”
She reappears in the doorway in a flash. “What?!” she yells. “He’s her brother?”
I grin. “Gotcha.”
She rolls her eyes and disappears into the bathroom again. I force myself to stop reading and toss the book aside. I look around Fallon’s room and it already looks different from when I was in here an hour ago. She’s removed all the pictures from her nightstand and I didn’t even get a good look at them earlier. Her closet is almost empty, sans a few boxes on the floor.
I did notice when I walked in that she still had on the dress, though. I was hoping she wouldn’t change her mind and pack it before I had a chance to intervene.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye, so I glance at the bathroom. She’s standing in the doorway.
My eyes fall to the dress first. I have to give myself props for picking that one out. There’s just enough showing at her neckline to keep me good and happy, but I’m not even positive I’ll be able to look away from her face long enough to stare at her cleavage.
I can’t tell what’s different about her because it doesn’t even look like she’s wearing makeup, but she somehow looks even more beautiful than before. I’m glad I pushed my luck and asked her to wear her hair up, because she has it pulled up into some messy little knot on top of her head and I’m really digging it. I stand up and walk to where she’s propped up in the doorway. I lift my hands to the doorframe above her head and I smile down at her. “Fucking beautiful,” I whisper.
She smiles and then ducks her head. “I feel stupid.”
“I barely know you, so I’m not about to argue with you over your level of intelligence, because you could very well be as dumb as a rock. But at least you’re pretty.”
She laughs and focuses on my eyes for a beat, but then her focus falls to my mouth and God, I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her so bad it hurts and now I can’t smile anymore because I’m in too much pain.
“What’s wrong?”
I grimace and grip the doorframe tighter. “I want to kiss you really, really bad and I’m doing everything in my power not to do that yet.”
She pulls her neck back and her eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Do you always look like you’re about to puke when you feel like kissing a girl?”
I shake my head. “Not until you.”
She huffs and pushes past me. That did not come out how I meant it. “I didn’t mean the thought of kissing you makes me sick. I meant I want to kiss you so bad it’s making my stomach hurt. Kind of like blue balls, but in my stomach instead of my balls.”
She starts laughing and brings both of her hands up to her forehead. “What am I gonna do with you, Ben the Writer?”
“You could kiss me and make me feel better.”
She shakes her head and walks toward her bed. “No way.” She sits down on her bed and picks up the book I was just reading. “I read a lot of romance, so I know when the timing is right. If we’re going to kiss, it has to be book-worthy. After you kiss me, I want you to forget all about that Abitha chick you keep talking about.”
I make my way to the other side of the bed and lie down next to where she’s propped against the headboard. I roll onto my side and lift up on my elbow. “Abitha who?”
She grins at me. “Exactly. From now on when you meet a girl, you better be comparing them to me instead of her.”
“Using you as a standard is completely unfair to the rest of the female population.”
She rolls her eyes, assuming I’m kidding again. But in all honesty, the thought of comparing anyone to Fallon is ridiculous. There’s no comparison. And it sucks that I’ve only spent a few hours with her and I already know that. I almost wish I’d never met her. Because I don’t do real girlfriends and she’s moving to New York and we’re only eighteen and so . . . many . . . things.