THIRTY-TWO
The real J. T. Renner kisses with his whole damn body too.
He’s hungry, catching my lips hard and pressing firmly. And it feels good, like a long-awaited release.
Maybe I’m no longer able to distinguish between dream and reality. But I kiss him back without inhibition. Because this doesn’t feel like the first time. It’s an indescribably familiar feeling, like déjà vu on steroids.
He traces my jaw, threading his hands into my hair and angling my head just so as his tongue slides against mine. I lean in, bringing myself closer to his body. I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he pants as I drag my fingers down his back, admiring each muscly ridge along the way.
I peer at him and contemplate requesting specifics. How many months, weeks, days, hours, seconds, exactly? I’m a woman of detail and precision, after all. But bringing arithmetic into this seems like a surefire way to kill the vibe and sabotage the hottest moment of my entire life. So I keep kissing him. And kissing him. Absorbing every bit of him as if making up for lost time.
I don’t know how much time has passed. It feels like hours, but simultaneously only seconds. Either way, it isn’t nearly as much time as I’d like. Somehow, we end up horizontal, with him on top of me.
By the time he pulls back and we sit upright, my lips are swollen and numb. He gives me that heart-stopping smile before wrapping his arms around my waist. A deep breath escapes me as I nestle my forehead against the cove of his neck and relish his lemony scent. This feels safe. Real.
For the past two days, I’ve desperately tried to untangle and separate dream vs. reality. But here, with him, the two collide and fuse together, rendering them indistinguishable.
I think about what he said when we were sitting in the park watching the sun go down, about how I need to live life to the fullest. Take chances. Stop dwelling and worrying. Normal me hasn’t asked anyone to prom for fear of being turned down. Normal me would rather just stress and despair over being dateless than take the chance. But I don’t want to live that way. I want to take more chances, do more that makes me happy. I can’t think of anything that would make me happier than going to prom with Renner. My mortal enemy.
“Renner. This is gonna sound random . . . ,” I start.
He smirks. “Uh-oh.”
“Do you maybe, um . . . want to go to prom with me?” I ask. It comes out more like doyouwannagotopromwithme. It’s also much louder than intended. I’ve practically yelled it in his face and I don’t even care.
Maybe I’m experiencing endorphin overload. Maybe Renner’s kiss is making me delusional. But I expect him to smile and shout Yes from the rooftop （literally）。 Instead, my words hit dead air like a foghorn. He blinks like I’ve just splashed him in the face with ice water.
And that’s when the door creaks open.
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” It’s Andie.
Renner jumps back like I’m a disease.
Andie’s expression flickers with suspicion. “What are you guys doing up here?”
Redness heats Renner’s cheeks as he drags a hand over the back of his neck, almost like he’s guilty of something. “Nothing. Just talking about . . .”
“Prom,” I blurt, crumbling under Andie’s stare.
Her face lights up and she gives Renner an expectant look. “Okay, that reminds me. We need to talk about your tie. I don’t know if it’s the lighting, but the picture you sent me doesn’t go with the color of my dress.”
My stomach sinks like a bag of bricks tossed into the frothy ocean. Renner and Andie are going to prom together?
Renner’s eyes dodge mine and immediately dart to his shoes. “Uh, does that really matter? Orange ties aren’t really easy to find—”
“It matters. The pictures will be forever.”
“So . . . you guys are going to prom together?” I ask.
Renner’s eyes remain glued to his feet, blatantly avoiding me. “Yeah.”
My vision blurs. Sweat practically rains down my forehead. I turn away and say something to the effect of, “Oh. Um, cool.” This must be what it feels like to have an out-of-body experience. And I thought time travel felt strange.
This is the point where I question every decision I’ve ever made that led me here. I’m positively mortified. What I wouldn’t give to defect to a remote jungle. I’ve watched enough Discovery Channel. I’d have a decent shot in the wilderness, trading twigs and berries with forest animals. I didn’t think anything could be worse than dropping my tampons in front of Clay Diaz. But asking Renner to prom takes the cake. What was I thinking?