Authors: Rian Kelley
Chapter Twenty-One
Truman is waiting for her when she leaves her house the next morning. He’s leaning against the passenger door of the Tundra, dressed in snug jeans and a V-neck sweater the color of moss. Of course, his clothes fit him too well, accentuate his best features, and leave her little chance of ignoring his better qualities.
So her original strategy, formed in the middle of the night when Truman was as far away from her physically as he was likely to get, is already a failure. She simply cannot pretend he’s the ugly duckling. Nor can she ignore her reaction to him.
At least she’s not a complete hormone. She feels his smile first, almost as a physical touch, before her body remembers the feel of him.
“Sleep well?” he asks.
He’s smiling smugly, like he already knows the answer to that question, so she brushes him aside and opens the passenger door. He slides her back pack off her shoulder and drops it in
the bed of the truck, then turns back to her in time to plant a too-brief kiss on her lips and tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
It’s a tender gesture he soon follows up with a whispered confession, “Yeah, I didn’t sleep much, either.”
His face is just inches from hers. She can smell the minty tooth paste he used this morning and feel his warm breath as it flows over her lips.
“Really?” she says, and sits back. “I slept like a rock.”
“Liar.” His laughter is little more than breath. He places his lips against her ear and accuses softly, “You thought about me, Genny. And after having your way with me in here,” he taps her forehead, “you laid awake trying to come up with a plan that would keep it from happening in real time.”
Genny’s whole body goes from steady to stand by in two seconds.
“Are you guessing, or did you see this?” she asks, breathless and tripping over her words.
“It’s a guess,” he admits, “but I’m learning how your mind works.” The smile fades from his face. “You don’t trust me. Not
yet. Not a hundred percent. And you don’t trust yourself, either.”
“You’re right,” she admits. More truth she allowed herself to face in the early morning hours: He’s experienced. He’s more man than boy. And she’s no match for him. She’s no match for her feelings, either. And that’s her biggest worry.
He nods and decides, “Good. Caution can take us the distance, and that’s what I want, Genny.”
“I think I want that, too.”
“So we move forward in slow motion,” he reminds her. “Until further notice, it’s hand-holding and a few kisses that will keep our blood flowing.” He steps back and leans against the open door. “Anything more requires a rational conversation and mutual agreement.”
“What do you see for us,” Genny asks. “Up here.” She taps the soft skin at his temple.
“The future is in constant motion,” he reminds her. “People change. Their minds. Their hearts.”
“Is that what happens?” she presses. “Do we change our minds?”
“If we move beyond what we’re ready for,” he says, “we’re over.”
“Did you see that happen?”
“I’ve seen it both ways,” he admits. “But the closer we become, the less I see.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe because we’re closer to making a move that will change us.”
“I don’t want that,” she says. She wants this moment, and the feelings she has for Truman to flow into the future.
“It’s impossible to stay the same,” he says. “We’ll grow closer and that will make us stronger, or it’ll tear us apart.”
“And it all comes down to pacing?”
He nods. “Exactly.”
He gazes at her a moment longer, thoughtful, the calm expression on his face unmoving. She wants to run her fingers over his cheek, feel again the warmth of his golden skin under her fingers, but that would probably be against the rules. And it would definitely undermine her resolutions. Yesterday, she
promised not to tempt him. Last night, after he walked her home, she lay in bed promising herself that she wouldn’t rush anywhere anytime soon. She knows it will be a challenge.
“Why are you OK with that?” she says.
“I believe in us. We’ll learn to trust each other, and our feelings. We just need to give ourselves time.”
That look is back in his eyes, intense but seeking to reassure her.
“OK.” She wants to believe, too. Most of the time she’s already there.
He reaches for her shoulder harness and pulls it over her lap, connecting it. Then he shuts the door and walks around the hood of the truck. The sun warms his skin and turns his eyes to jade.
Genny feels but ignores the stares they receive as she and Truman make their way from the student parking lot to the green belt outside the school. She can’t as easily disregard the comments she overhears—just pieces of conversation, but the most cutting remarks she’s heard in a long time. She knows Truman
hears them too. She feels his body grow tense beside her and a few times his hand contracts around hers until she gasps in protest.
“Sorry, Genny.” He loosens his grip but pulls her closer.
The girls think Genny is either easy or on the rebound. The guys think Truman is either a super hero—he got the ice princess to melt a little—or a chump headed for heartbreak.
Genny tries to lighten the mood. She tips her head back, until her hair is brushing his shoulder and her lips are just a few inches from his ear, and whispers, “But you are my super hero.”
Target accomplished. After a moment of stunned silence, Truman laughs. It’s tighter than usual, but the building pressure is shattered.
“I don’t like them talking about you,” he says.
“We’re of interest today,” Genny reasons. “We might even make the top ten list next week. But after that, our fifteen minutes are up.”
“So our strategy is to ignore these morons?”
“Or have fun with them,” she says, thinking back to Mrs.
Lombardi’s advice. Of course, Genny no longer wants to make Hunter roll over and beg for another chance, but it might be worthwhile to play their audience.
Truman holds the door open for her and Genny slips through, her shoulder brushing against his chest. She blocks her physical reaction to his closeness by thinking of Elmer Fudd. Another trick she came up with in the middle of the night, tuned into old TV. It doesn’t work as well as she hoped. Truman wouldn’t look so bad in a hunting cap.
This makes her smile and Truman ducks his head and asks for her thoughts.
“Have you ever been rabbit hunting?”
His eyes narrow, expressing his puzzlement. “No. Why?”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Ever stutter?” She’s laughing now and the tension in Truman’s jaw eases. His smile is genuine.
“Exactly who are you describing?”
“Did you get Looney Tunes in Scotland?”
“Crazy people? I don’t think any country is exempt.”
Genny almost doubles over with laughter. She leans into his side and welcomes the strength of his arm as it wraps around her waist. When she gazes up at Truman, his eyes are warm and indulgent. He waits for her to explain.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he invites.
“Elmer Fudd,” Genny confesses.
“The guy with the gun? Bugs Bunny’s nemesis?”
“It wasn’t a comparison, though,” she rushes to assure him. “At least, not an effective one.” But then she stops and thinks about how easy it was to move away from the warm flush his closeness gave her and into a normal conversation with physical awareness existing only at the edge of her awareness. “Correction. It did work.”
“What worked?”
“Well, I did lay awake last night trying to figure out a way I could keep my resolutions.”
“What resolutions?” he presses.
He stops their forward progress and turns her so that he’s leaning against the wall outside their history class and she’s standing directly in front of him, with nowhere to look except at his exceptional chest, or up and into his hypnotic gaze.
She chooses his eyes, that way she can watch his reaction to her words.
“Not to tempt you,” she reminds him. “But also to stay true to my feelings. Everything about you fascinates me, not just your body. That just gets in the way sometimes. So I’m trying to ignore my body’s response to yours.”
“By thinking of Elmer Fudd?”
“It’s working,” she points out.
“Great.” But he doesn’t sound enthusiastic. “So I should throw up a mental picture of Olive Oil anytime I want to kiss you?”
Genny shrugs, clearly not liking the comparison, and Truman laughs. He traces the curve of her cheek with an index finger.
“It’s OK Genny. We could use a little help,” he says, then shakes his head. “Elmer Fudd. You couldn’t do better than that?”
They’re interrupted when Mr. Cooke peers around the side of the door.
“Coming in?” he asks, poised to close the door.
Truman straightens up. “Yes, Sir.” He places a discreet hand on Genny’s hip and guides her in front of him.
The morning progresses in the same way. Truman walks her to class. He doesn’t kiss her, but he either takes her hand or places his in a neutral position on her body. In history class, he pays more attention to Genny scribbling notes than to taking any himself. In calculus, she works the problems on the board, but he finishes so much faster than her that she borrows his paper and follows the map of his reasoning to its conclusion, testing her skill against his and always finding his answers correct. So she copies them.
By French class, Serena is no longer hinting for info about Genny and Truman, she’s demanding a full disclosure of the weekend, beginning with her father’s baseball game and finishing with up-to-the-minute facts.
Genny tells her most of the details. She doesn’t talk about Siobhan—it’s not her story to tell—and she briefly considers filling her BFF in about Truman’s ability to see into the future, but she thinks Serena would have to see it to believe it. And then there’s the danger of her pal finding it so romantic, that Truman
saw
her, was drawn to her before even meeting her, that Genny may never hear the end of it. Of course she doesn’t drop a hint about exactly how close she’d like to get to Truman. That’s a topic that doesn’t need fanning.
“It’s happening so fast.” Genny worries her bottom lip with her teeth.”
“Passion,” Serena concludes. “It’s about time. Puts what you had with Hunter to shame, doesn’t it?”
Passion
. Yes, and Genny never wants to live without it.
“I haven’t really thought about Hunter.” She feels a few twinges of guilt about that, and some wispy, wish it could have been different thoughts about trying to rebuild their friendship. It’s not like they went so far they can’t turn to a new page. Already, Genny feels more for Truman, and shared more with him than she ever did with Hunter, the boyfriend.
“I saw him earlier,” Serena reveals. “You had eyes only for your
novio
, but you walked right past him and Hunter’s face was like watching an avalanche.”
“I’m sorry about that.” She doesn’t want to hurt Hunter. She doesn’t want him to want her anymore. She misses his easy companionship, but not the time they spent trying to have more than that.
“He was his usual sunny self, then his face got this punctured look and turned white and sickly.”
“He wouldn’t even talk to me on Friday,” Genny says, feeling defensive.
“I’m just saying, the boy was full of regret.” Serena stares at her a moment, then she reaches over and squeezes Genny’s hand. “Serves him right,
mija
.”
Genny pretends to gaze at the list of irregular French verbs in her open text book. Her lips twist in frustration as she contemplates Hunter’s feelings.
It’s not her fault.
He
broke up with her. Although it was probably only a matter of time, and exposure to Truman, before Genny would have ended things with Hunter. She would have tried to save their friendship, though.