Solving for Ex (25 page)

“I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride. Because I know no other way,” Vincent finished.

Whoa.

I had been looking out at the foggy sunset when I was saying that line, daydreaming. But, I now realized, Vincent was looking right at me. He leaned in, brushed his nose with mine, and kissed me lightly. I let my eyes drift shut, lingered there for a moment, and felt my shoulders relax. Then I drew back, and with my eyes still closed, leaned against the pillows, tilting my head toward the sky. I opened my eyes, and a thousand stars filled my vision. So many points of light in such a huge sky.

what had used to be essential points

We sat there for a long time, watching the stars emerge through the trees on the horizon, taking the crisp air into our lungs and blowing it back out in billowing white clouds.

The chill in the air became so intense, so quickly, that it felt like it had reached through my skin and wrapped around my bones. Vincent must have seen me shiver, because he shrugged out of his heavy canvas jacket and draped it across my shoulders. I looked up at him, even though I knew it would start him kissing me again.

He was already watching me, his eyes trained on mine. Searching them for something. His eyes moved down to my lips for one second. But then, strangely, they focused on something just over my shoulder, and…

“Ashley!” he shouted, wrapping his left arm around my shoulders and pulling me tight to him, while grabbing one of the apples and chucking it at the inside of the truck bed, right next to where I’d just been sitting. The apple broke into about twenty pieces, sending a spray of cold, sticky juice everywhere. I closed one eye against the sting of flying apple juice, and swiped at the cheek beneath it.

“What the hell, Vincent?”

“There was a spider. Definitely a spider. Probably a black widow. Maybe.”

His fingers still wrapped around my shoulder. He held on so tight that I could feel them digging into the skin, even through my coat. And that’s when I realized that he was shaking. His arm across my back was trembling, and so was his whole body. Just the slightest bit. I would have never noticed it if I wasn’t pressed up against him, so close that his breath, smelling of rich chocolate, steamed against my cheek.

“You’re afraid of spiders?” A smile teased at corners of my mouth. He still held me tight to him, and I fought the urge to relax against his arm, to lay my head on his shoulder.

He flushed, though he didn’t look away. “Some of them can kill you. I didn’t want…” He reached up into my hair and plucked something out.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“What? What is it?” I prayed there was not a damn dead spider in my hair.

“It’s…when the apple broke…” He held up a tiny, white piece of apple, then dropped it and went back in for some more. Only with one hand, though—the other one wrapped firmly around my shoulder, still.

I giggled, at first nervously, then at the flush that continued to creep up his cheeks as he fished bits of apple out of my hair. “It’s okay,” I said.

Did that come out quieter than I meant it to? I didn’t know. Couldn’t be bothered with the thought, actually, because then, all I could pay attention to was his strong jaw, and the smooth fullness of his lips. The ones that were just an inch from mine.

“Yes. Now you know,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I’m afraid of spiders. But, Ashley Price,” he moved even closer to me, so that his breath tickled my lips when he spoke, “I am not afraid of you.”

He tilted my chin up and brushed his lips against mine, feather light, soft, and delicious.

My whole body trembled. It knew, maybe more than I did, that this was the time to make the choice. Break it to Vincent that Brendan would always be the only one for me, or break it to myself that maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t true.

I was so tired of the struggle of wanting-and-not-having. I deserved this. I deserved to be wanted and adored, and to be really, truly happy about it. Vincent liked me, and there was no reason for me not to like him too.

So I fell into him. He was waiting for me, I knew, because I felt his body relax too, and a little puff of air blew against my upper lip when he pressed in, molding his lips to mine. His fingers, having stopped clutching my shoulder, played along my hairline and under my jaw. He held me firmly and gently at the same time, like something he was afraid to lose. Like a treasure.

My heart didn’t thrum wildly in my chest, and I wasn’t overwhelmed with love for Vincent. But I did love the way I felt now—like I was sweet, and desirable, like I existed as something powerful all on my own. Like people should want me.

I really loved it.

Which is probably why, instead of just letting him kiss me, I reached up and threaded my fingers through Vincent’s gorgeous curls, and opened my lips, letting his breath mingle with mine. And when he pulled away, grazing my bottom lip with his teeth gently enough to make me want more, I went after it, clutching at his shirt, pressing my chest against his, and letting the quietest moaning sigh tell Vincent that I was definitely not afraid of him either.

He pulled away, leaning his forehead against mine. When he spoke, his breath brushed my face again, and I shivered when a little tingle ran down my spine. “We are in a truck bed. So I think it’s probably a good idea for us to stop this right now, and get you home by ten. Like I promised.”

I swallowed and said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Grinning, we climbed out of the truck bed, picked everything up, and climbed into the cab. Vincent looked at me, studying me for a moment. “It was nothing.”

My heart burned, then dropped. “What? What do you—”

“The drive. Three hours. It was so worth it. Even if it was just for that last kiss.”

I had to look down. I knew my expression was a mixture of giddiness and confusion and embarrassment.

We pulled up to my house. I looked up to the second floor. My light was still on.

Vincent cupped my face in his hand again, and swiped at my cheek with his thumb. His gaze was steady, pressing into me in a way that was not unpleasant. At all. “I think you still had some apple guts there,” he said.

confusion of discontent

I couldn’t believe I finally let Vincent Cole kiss me. Hell, I more than let him—I kissed him back. I even let him French kiss me. I definitely enjoyed it.

And I definitely had swollen, tingling lips by the time it got so cold that he took off his jacket, wrapped it around my shoulders and helped me down from the truck bed like a perfect gentleman. When he drove me home, walked me to the door, and said goodnight without trying to get his hands up my shirt or down my pants, I was actually floored. Right before he left, he took my hand, kissed it, and looked into my eyes. “Every night you turned me down was worth it, if all I ever get is just this one.”

I just stood there, with my stomach sinking, feeling like I should be smiling bigger, like my heart should be doing jumping jacks inside my chest. Like I should be a little more excited about this. I didn’t know what to say, but of course, he did.

“Tell me it’s not just this one, though,” he said, cupping his hand around my jaw. He leaned in and planted the most gentle kiss I could imagine on the corner of my mouth. “I do feel bad about what happened at Brendan’s. We shouldn’t have trashed everything like that.” I suddenly wanted, very badly, for him to kiss me again. Hard. A lot.

“Can I see you? Tomorrow?” he asked, his eyes glinting in the light from the front porch.

“I….” How could I say no? I looked at him, how beautiful he was, how nicely he was dressed, how good he smelled. Why would I want to say no? Maybe he really meant it. Maybe I was overreacting about that one time he cheated on that one little test.

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s great.”

“Thank you,” he said. It sounded almost like a prayer. I smiled and ducked inside.

Ω

That night, I lay in bed, waiting for the warm fuzzies to come. I had a boyfriend. Someone who drove halfway across the state to see me over Thanksgiving break, who decked out his rented truck bed and put together a picnic just for me, who begged to see me again tomorrow.

But instead of feeling the creeping warmth that would push my face into an unshakable grin and keep me up imagining picnic dates as far as my calendar could see, all I felt was tired. I fell into a black, dreamless sleep.

Ω

The next morning, I forced myself out of bed and into the shower. I had been so exhausted last night, and maybe so eager to crawl into bed and try to get excited that Vincent was my boyfriend, that I’d fallen asleep in the same clothes I’d worn the day before. I had brought some cute sweaters back with me, and I should have worn one of those and bothered to do my hair. Instead I threw on a hoodie that was fraying at the cuffs, and my most broken-in jeans. I tied my hair in a hasty ponytail and sighed deeply on my way out the door.

I knew something was wrong. I knew it. But I didn’t want to know it.

Ω

I didn’t even hear half the things he said in the truck on the way to the diner. Some stuff about lacrosse, and another party he was going to when he got back to Pittsburgh—designated driver, he assured me. Everything punctuated by an occasional wave of his cologne in front of my face.

“What’ll you have, honey?” the waitress asked.

“Just the banana pancakes, please.”

“No bananas today, hon.”

“What?” I looked at her like she’d said they only served worms and pigs’ feet.

“No bananas,” she said, slowly and loudly, like I was mentally impaired.

“Regular pancakes sounds great,” Vincent said, grabbing my menu from me to hand back to the waitress, and flashing his white-toothed grin. “I’ll have that too.” I swear she looked like she’d melt on the spot.

I tried to ignore the vaguely sick feeling in my stomach.

Maybe it was the diner. Maybe it was the way the waitress couldn’t do my regular order, or that it had tables and chairs instead of booths. Maybe it was that Vincent held the door for me, and pulled the chair out before I sat down.

The metal chair legs squealed as Vincent scooted up to the table. A shiver ran down my spine.

“So?” Vincent reached out and covered my hand with his, flashing that killer dimple at the same time. I wanted to pull my hand away, but instead I just sat there, fighting it. Willing this to feel all right. “How did you sleep?”

“Um,” I said, using a swig of coffee to buy myself a couple more seconds. “Okay. You?”

“I dreamed about you,” he said, ducking his head a little and trying to look me in the eye. Damn, there was no question that those eyes were swoon-worthy. Deep melty brown and just like the hot chocolate we’d shared last night.

I raised my eyebrows at him, against my hormones’ better judgment.

“I did!” He laughed. “I dreamed that we were taking a walk through those woods. And for the first time, I didn’t have to dream about what it would be like to kiss you.”

My stomach twisted. Oh, God. This wasn’t good. My heart should have been fluttering like a damn butterfly, and I should have wanted to drag him out of the diner by his belt loops, throw him into the cab of that truck, and jump him.