can’t be healthy.”
“I’m a growing boy.”
I laughed. I really hoped not. The guy was already too much, this force of energy that still stole my breath when he entered the room. Over the last four weeks, we’d been hanging out a lot. The friendship we both needed was blossoming, growing, emerging into something indefinable.
I valued it more than I ever believed I could, though remained reserved, fortified behind the barriers I knew instinctively to put into place, an intuitive command to guard my heart and guard it well.
Enforcing that rule had somehow begun to feel hypocritical, a deceitful mask that I hid behind because the thoughts swirling through my head about Christian could not be contained by the definition I’d set for us.
I’d come to depend on his company, thirsted for it, wanted it.
Wanted him.
Days were spent doing my best to ignore the stirring that gripped me inside when I saw him, to ignore how much I wanted to glide my hands over the strength rippling beneath the denim and cloth covering his body. It was so screwed up, the direction my thoughts veered whenever the man was near, and he was never far because I couldn’t get him out of my head. Here I’d told him nothing could ever happen between us, while I allowed my mind to go there, to imagine what his back would feel like under my fingers as I clung to him, what my bare skin would feel like against his. I’d never desired before. I’d been curious but less than enraptured by the idea of sex, then was left wholeheartedly disillusioned by it in the wake of the pathetic experience I’d had.
Until I met Christian.
Now it throbbed in my consciousness and skimmed along my skin.
I wanted to feel him.
But I sensed it deep. He would break my heart. Just sitting here, I understood somehow he already was. Slowly, surely, these little fault lines in my defenses were splintering, fissuring. From across the table, I studied Christian, wondering how one person could shift something so dramatically inside of me, scare me and give me this joy I didn’t know what to do with at the same time. How did he make me feel the most insecure I’d ever felt in my entire life, yet manage to make me feel the safest in his presence?
“So how’s your math class going?” Christian wiped a napkin over his mouth, sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh as he pushed his plate away. Completely casual, he appeared to be unaware of the chaos he created in me.
“Okay, thanks to you.”
A smirk pulled at his mouth. “What would you do without me, Elizabeth?”
“Oh, I don’t know, find another cute boy to help me with math,” I said, anticipating his reaction if I teased him a little.
For a flash, his eyes narrowed. Then a dangerous grin spread across his face. “So I’m just dispensable, huh? Easily replaced?” He hunched and lowered, pressed his chest into the table to meet me at eye level, this slow playfulness coming across him. “How about I let you fail next time?”
“Well, how about I feed you the wrong answers when we study for our next government test?” I countered.
He faked a disbelieving laugh, a gentle ribbing that twisted its way straight to my heart. He was so cute like this, like a harmless boy and not the man who made me fearful, not the one who urged me to hold on to my affections, careful not to let them go.
“You’re going to feed me the wrong answers, huh? You?” he challenged.
The entire meal I’d felt his leg stretched under the table, reaching, giving in to casual brushes, then receding as if they hadn’t happened.
Now Christian abruptly extended his leg, wove it between my legs, direct and bold. My breath caught. It was the closest we’d ever come to an embrace.
I averted my gaze, but couldn’t for long because I could feel him staring at me.
His voice dropped. “You, sweet Elizabeth, the most innocent girl I know, are going to feed me the wrong answers? I bet you’ve never even told a lie.”
Heat flooded
“I’m a growing boy.”
I laughed. I really hoped not. The guy was already too much, this force of energy that still stole my breath when he entered the room. Over the last four weeks, we’d been hanging out a lot. The friendship we both needed was blossoming, growing, emerging into something indefinable.
I valued it more than I ever believed I could, though remained reserved, fortified behind the barriers I knew instinctively to put into place, an intuitive command to guard my heart and guard it well.
Enforcing that rule had somehow begun to feel hypocritical, a deceitful mask that I hid behind because the thoughts swirling through my head about Christian could not be contained by the definition I’d set for us.
I’d come to depend on his company, thirsted for it, wanted it.
Wanted him.
Days were spent doing my best to ignore the stirring that gripped me inside when I saw him, to ignore how much I wanted to glide my hands over the strength rippling beneath the denim and cloth covering his body. It was so screwed up, the direction my thoughts veered whenever the man was near, and he was never far because I couldn’t get him out of my head. Here I’d told him nothing could ever happen between us, while I allowed my mind to go there, to imagine what his back would feel like under my fingers as I clung to him, what my bare skin would feel like against his. I’d never desired before. I’d been curious but less than enraptured by the idea of sex, then was left wholeheartedly disillusioned by it in the wake of the pathetic experience I’d had.
Until I met Christian.
Now it throbbed in my consciousness and skimmed along my skin.
I wanted to feel him.
But I sensed it deep. He would break my heart. Just sitting here, I understood somehow he already was. Slowly, surely, these little fault lines in my defenses were splintering, fissuring. From across the table, I studied Christian, wondering how one person could shift something so dramatically inside of me, scare me and give me this joy I didn’t know what to do with at the same time. How did he make me feel the most insecure I’d ever felt in my entire life, yet manage to make me feel the safest in his presence?
“So how’s your math class going?” Christian wiped a napkin over his mouth, sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh as he pushed his plate away. Completely casual, he appeared to be unaware of the chaos he created in me.
“Okay, thanks to you.”
A smirk pulled at his mouth. “What would you do without me, Elizabeth?”
“Oh, I don’t know, find another cute boy to help me with math,” I said, anticipating his reaction if I teased him a little.
For a flash, his eyes narrowed. Then a dangerous grin spread across his face. “So I’m just dispensable, huh? Easily replaced?” He hunched and lowered, pressed his chest into the table to meet me at eye level, this slow playfulness coming across him. “How about I let you fail next time?”
“Well, how about I feed you the wrong answers when we study for our next government test?” I countered.
He faked a disbelieving laugh, a gentle ribbing that twisted its way straight to my heart. He was so cute like this, like a harmless boy and not the man who made me fearful, not the one who urged me to hold on to my affections, careful not to let them go.
“You’re going to feed me the wrong answers, huh? You?” he challenged.
The entire meal I’d felt his leg stretched under the table, reaching, giving in to casual brushes, then receding as if they hadn’t happened.
Now Christian abruptly extended his leg, wove it between my legs, direct and bold. My breath caught. It was the closest we’d ever come to an embrace.
I averted my gaze, but couldn’t for long because I could feel him staring at me.
His voice dropped. “You, sweet Elizabeth, the most innocent girl I know, are going to feed me the wrong answers? I bet you’ve never even told a lie.”
Heat flooded
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