“You’re not making me uncomfortable.” I sigh, covering my face with my hands. I’ve thought about fucking her. I’ve thought about how her curves would feel under my palms, ample and soft, how her lips would taste, like cherries or cinnamon, how her body would feel pressed warm against mine, how safe and protected I would make her feel. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Halston.”
“You were my best friend this summer,” she says, her voice softer, quieter. “I told you more than I’ve ever told anyone before. I was myself with you, unfiltered, unedited. For whatever it’s worth, I just wanted you to know that.”
“Likewise.”
“It’s too bad we can’t be friends.” Halston leans back in my leather chair, her hands resting on her stomach. “But I understand. I don’t want to jeopardize your career or anything. Just miss talking to you, is all.”
“I miss talking to you too.”
Her eyelids flutter, and she flashes a sleepy smile. Rising, I grab a pillow and blanket from a hall closet and make the sofa into a bed. I’d let her have the guestroom, but having that extra floor between us feels safer tonight.
“Here,” I help her to the sofa, keeping back as she makes herself comfortable.
Spreading the covers over her body, she reaches toward me, her hand resting on mine. “Thank you. If you didn’t answer your door tonight, I was probably going to sleep at the park.”
She says it like it’s no big deal, like she’s done it hundreds of times before.
“You’re fearless,” I say. “That’s not always a good thing.”
Halston lets her hand fall from mine before rolling to her side. “I know.”
Within seconds, she’s out, and I switch off the lamp beside her.
Every time I closed my eyes this week, I saw her. Every waking moment of every hour of every day, I thought of her. And now that she’s here, in my house, it takes everything I have to walk away, when all I want to do is stay all night by her side, devouring books, reading our favorite lines to each other until we give in to the inevitable.
But the inevitable can’t happen.
I won’t allow it.
She’s gone before the sun comes up, her blanket neatly folded at the end of the sofa and a scribbled note left on the coffee table.
Kerouac,
You’re a good man, maybe even the best one I’ve ever known.
xoxo—
Absinthe
PS – “I love sleep. My life has a tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” – Ernest Hemingway
PPS – Those are friendly and “appropriate” x’s and o’s.
I fold the paper in half and press it between the pages of Philip Roth’s Goodbye, Columbus.
If things were different, she could be mine.
And we could be happy.
Chapter 26
Halston
My heart pounds in my ears as I head to Chem II. I’ve been dreading fourth block all day, knowing I’ll have to spend ninety minutes next to Thane Bennett, asshole extraordinaire.
He tried calling me Saturday. Texted me Sunday.
I ignored him the entire weekend.
Walking into class, I feel his eyes on me. I’m seconds from asking Caldwell for a new lab partner when a substitute takes the desk up front.
Shit.
Finding my seat, I fish my pen and notebook from my bag and face forward.
“So you’re just going to keep ignoring me?” Thane breaks the silence with a stupid question.
“Mm-hm.”
“I’m sorry. I screwed up,” he whispers, leaning close. His cologne invades my space, but I secretly like the scent so I don’t say anything. “I like you. And I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait as long as you want.”
His hand reaches under the desk, his fingers interlacing with mine.
“Think about it at least?” he asks.
The sub writes her name on the whiteboard up front, and I focus on the red ink and her terrible handwriting. Thane leaves me alone for the next forty-five minutes, but when the mid-block bell rings and the sub tells us to take five, he follows me out to the hall.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stopping short outside the classroom.
“I thought we could talk for a minute.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” My arms fold.
His hand drags along his jaw, and he wears a sad, pathetic expression which unfortunately almost makes me feel sorry for him.
“I spent all weekend thinking about how I screwed up,” he says. “I stayed home. I didn’t go out. I just lay around, thinking about you.”
“Sounds like you wasted a perfectly good weekend.”
“I’m serious, Halston. Give me another chance and I won’t screw it up this time.”
My lips part, and I’m seconds from giving him a resounding “no” when Kerouac comes around the corner.
“Is this student bothering you, Miss Kessler?” he asks, jaw flexing.
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “We’re just talking.”
He glares at Thane, sizing him up and looking down his nose. I didn’t give him any details Friday night other than telling him Thane wanted to fuck me, but clearly that rubbed Kerouac the wrong way.
“Okay. You can go now,” I say, shooing him away.
His head cocks, eyes narrowing in my direction this time. “Miss Kessler, I’m your principal, and you will speak to me with respect in my school.”
My brows lift. I can’t tell if he’s joking, so I laugh until his jaw flexes and his nostrils flare.
The halls empty just as the tardy bell rings.
“We should get back,” Thane says, reaching for my hand.
“I need a word with Miss Kessler,” Kerouac’s voice is stern yet impossibly sexy. I wonder if he has any idea how badly he’s turning me on right now?
As soon as Thane’s out of earshot, I whisper, “It’s really hard to take you seriously when you talk to me like that.”
“Talk to you like what? The way I’d speak to any other student in this school?” he asks. “I really hope you’re not expecting preferential treatment.”
“I’ve learned never to expect anything from anyone,” I say.
His expression softens. “Was he bothering you?”
“No. He was actually apologizing.”
Kerouac’s face hardens, like it’s a bad thing Thane apologized. “Just be careful.”
“Thanks, daaaad,” I say in a slow, schmoopy voice.
“And don’t call me that. I’m not nearly old enough to be your father.” He releases a heavy breath like I frustrate him. “The emotional health and welfare of my students is one of my top priorities as an administrator.”
“So you’re invested in every relationship in Rosefield High? Ensuring nobody gets hurt and everyone lives happily ever after?”
Sara Bliss, Rosefield’s notoriously ditzy art teacher, passes us in the hall, smiling when she sees Kerouac and nearly tripping over her faded Birkenstocks.
“Get back to class, Miss Kessler,” he says, watching with folded arms as I walk away.
He cares about me.
And he likes me.
He won’t admit it—not even to himself.
But I know.
“Before I forget,” Uncle Vic says at dinner that night, “I ran into Ford Hawthorne earlier. Invited him over for dinner this Friday.”
I almost choke on my mashed potatoes before reaching for my glass of water.
“Wonderful! I’d love to finally meet him. Bree talks about him so much, I feel like I already know him, but I’ve been dying to put a face with that name.” Aunt Tab flitters about. She’ll do just about anything for a chance to play hostess.
“I have a date that night,” I say.
Bree’s attention lands on me, though she says nothing.
“You’re still seeing that Bennett boy?” Tab asks. “He seems very nice. We’d love to meet him sometime. You should bring him over for dinner! You could eat here and then afterwards, have your little date.”
I mean, I hadn’t decided if I was going to forgive him yet, but I’m not in the mood to explain the intricacies of the past week to my aunt and uncle over a plate of quiche Lorraine.