Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I’ve never taken more care with my postshower skin care routine. Sure, it’s just toner and a moisturizer, two products I usually slap on while on my way to pee. Tonight, however, my skin is singing by the time I walk out of the bathroom and find Cole reading in bed.
I’m sorry, let me paint a better picture.
Ahem. Cole is lying back on the bed in nothing but his pajama pants. His legs are crossed at the ankles. One hand is resting behind his head on the pillow—elongating his toned stomach. His other hand cradles a paperback on top of his abs.
He doesn’t pause his reading on my account. I think there’s only so many times a person can try to strike up conversation and get shot down before they realize it’s probably best to not bother at all. Hopefully he just thinks I’m in a quiet mood.
I skim around the edge of the bed and walk up along my side. Cole’s T-shirt—the one I slept with last night—is folded neatly by my pillow. He put it there again. Before I can help myself, I reach out and feel the material between my thumb and pointer finger, rubbing the soft cotton. Maybe I’m a tactile person, because it actually calms me down a little.
I feel Cole’s gaze on me, but by the time I glance up, he’s reading his book again.
This is it, I think.
Now or never.
I gave myself the last few hours to come to terms with what I have to do: come clean once and for all.
I took the shower; I dawdled and delayed. Here I am with the perfect opportunity, and what do I do?
I hurry under my covers, tuck them up to my chin, then reach up and turn off my lamp. My half of the room goes dim.
Now.
No.
Now! Just say it and be done!
It’ll change things forever.
That ship has sailed. You’re hugging the guy’s T-shirt. Just do it!
I go to turn over, but then Cole stands up to do his nighttime routine in the bathroom.
No problem, I’ll wait up for him.
But then when he walks back out a few minutes later, he lies down, and his lamp cuts off.
Now the room is good and dark.
Good going . . . you waited too long, and now it’s too late.
I listen to him getting comfortable.
“Night, Paige.”
“Night,” I reply lamely.
No. NO!
A few minutes pass—enough time for me to sufficiently berate myself for not being braver—and then I speak up.
“Psst . . . Cole? Are you awake?”
“What?”
He sounds groggy, like maybe he was asleep and I woke him up.
“No. Never mind. Go to sleep.”
I roll over and face the window.
“Now you have to say it. Don’t leave me hanging or I won’t be able to sleep.”
“It’s okay, forget it.”
He takes ahold of my arm in the dark and rolls me over, flat onto my back. “What?”
“You’re not tired?”
“You’ve been acting weird and quiet for the last few hours. Please, for the love of god—”
“Okay . . . well, I have a question I’ve been wondering about for a while, actually.”
“What’s it about?”
“Us.”
There’s a long delay, and then he replies, “Am I going to have to pry it out of you, or are you going to get on with it?”
“I’ll get on with it. Yeah . . . I can. Let me just—”
I sit up all the way, leaning my back against the headboard. I feel for his T-shirt and clutch it to me and speak like I’m inside a Catholic confessional, like nothing I say can be held against me. That’s how those work, right? I’m not sure. Where’s the pope when you need him?
“Paige,” he prompts.
“Did you . . . have you . . .” It’s like I’ve got a tenuous grasp on the English language, like that little boy in the viral video asking, “Have you ever had a dream that, that, that you, um, you, could, you could do, you, you, um, you want, you want, you, you could do anything?”
That’s me.
“Do you sometimes think about the kiss we shared a few months ago?” I finally force it out. Then I press my face into his shirt, waiting for the inevitable heartbreaking comment that’s about to come.
He doesn’t answer within half a millisecond, so I immediately panic.
“Yeah, me neither! Good night!”
I lie flat again, roll over, and squeeze my eyes closed, praying with every fiber of my being that a sinkhole suddenly erupts beneath us and we go down in a crumbling heap of rubble. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? A nice big boulder, smack to the forehead.
Cole chuckles, and my eyes ping open.
“I can’t believe you’re even asking me that right now . . .”
I frown, confused. “Because I should already know the answer?”
He sighs. “Paige . . . yes, I think about it. I think about it all the time.”