“You can ask people for help. It’s not a sign of weakness.”
Crap. She thinks I was being noble, going into the St. Clairs’ house by myself. Not acting out of self-preservation. I’m torn between wanting to set her straight and wanting to stay the guy she thinks I am. The guy I used to think I am.
“I wasn’t worried about looking weak,” I hedge, shifting restlessly. I should get out of here and check on Charlie instead of leaving him alone with Cal. But with Ivy still swiping gently at my face, I can’t bring myself to leave. It feels good, and she’s wearing some kind of light, citrusy perfume that smells fantastic, and all I want is to stay cocooned in here for as long as possible and not think about what comes next.
“Well, I hope you weren’t worried about me and Cal,” Ivy says. “We can take care of ourselves. And we’re all in this together, so…” She steps back and tilts her head critically. “You have the start of an impressive bruise, but hopefully you won’t need stitches. Just keep a bandage on it overnight, at least.” She turns for the medicine cabinet once more and pulls out a carton of Band-Aids, adding, “Has the Tylenol kicked in yet?”
“Yeah,” I say. Either that, or Charlie didn’t hit me as hard as it felt at the time. But I already miss her tending to me, so I add, “You sure you got all the blood off?”
“Positive. Only one thing left to do.” Ivy rinses the facecloth in the sink, then wrings it dry and tosses it into a hamper before unwrapping a Band-Aid. She presses it firmly against my temple. “There. Almost as good as new. Don’t do that again, okay?” Her hand brushes my cheek, and she leans forward to plant a light kiss on my forehead.
It feels like a signal; or maybe I just think that because I’ve been hoping for one. “Wait,” I say. Her hair’s hanging in her face again, and I catch hold of the ends before she can pull back, my eyes locking with hers. “I don’t think you’re done.”
“Sure I am. You’re fine,” she says, but she doesn’t move away. Her lips part, and her lashes flutter as color floods her cheeks. It’s one of the great mysteries of the universe why Carlton High guys aren’t lined up outside Ivy’s door. She’s cute from a distance, but up close like this? She’s beautiful. “What else could you possibly need?”
“I need…” I tuck the hair behind her ear, then trail my hand down until I’m cupping the back of her neck. “You.”
Ivy shivers, leaning forward until her soft lips graze mine. It’s not enough, though; it’s nowhere near enough. I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her closer for a long, lingering kiss. Any questions that might’ve been floating around my brain about whether this is a bad idea—and yeah, there were more than a few—disappear at the sensation of her mouth against mine. Kissing Ivy is both familiar and exhilarating, like coming back to a place I wish I hadn’t left and finding it’s even better than I remember.
“Guys?” Ivy springs backward as Cal’s voice floats our way. She doesn’t get quite far enough to keep his eyebrows from rising when he pokes his head through the doorframe, but whatever he saw wasn’t enough to throw him off course. “Charlie told me what he thinks whoever tore apart his house was looking for, and we have a problem. Wait, let me rephrase that,” he adds, anticipating Ivy’s inevitable correction. “We have a new problem.”
She goes still. “Is someone here? Is it the police?”
“No. No one’s here,” Cal says, leaning against the doorway. Ivy exhales in relief and starts putting the bandages away. “Except the guy we came with. In other words, a very drunk Charlie.” He’s looking only at Ivy, not me, and dread starts pooling in my stomach.
I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone with Charlie.
“A very what?” Ivy asks distractedly. She shuts the medicine cabinet, then does a double take as she catches sight of her reflection in its mirrored door. She tries to put what’s left of her ponytail back together, but eventually gives up and tugs the elastic out of her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders.
“Charlie’s hammered,” Cal says, backing out of the doorway so Ivy can join him in the hall. I get up, too, but Cal still won’t look me in the eye. “He was freaked about Boney, and then freaked about his house getting torn apart, so his solution was to break into his parents’ vodka.” He clears his throat and adds, “Which, I guess, beats overdosing on the Oxycontin that he stole.”