Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Stay.”
Aleks looks at where my hand is around his wrist, his gaze finding mine before he’s staring at the point of contact again.
“Please?” I add when he’s still frozen after a moment. “Just… sit here. Talk to me.”
I pat the bed next to me, scooting over and up until my back is against the pillows.
Aleks looks at the invitation like it’s the gateway to hell.
“I’m too drunk to lie down yet,” I say. “I’ll get the spins.”
He swallows, but concedes, sitting next to me. He’s still stiff, not fully relaxing against the pillows.
“Oh, my God. Relax, Suter. I’m not going to puke on you,” I tease, and then I thread my arm through his and lay my head on his shoulder, tucking my sock-covered feet under his legs. “Mmm, you’re always so warm, like a furnace.”
I nuzzle in, and after a few breaths, I feel Aleks marginally relax.
“Dude. Did you see Jerry do that keg stand?” I giggle on a hiccup. “No wonder he passed out on the couch after.”
“I was more impressed with your slap the bag performance,” Aleks says, his fingers coming up to play with my hair. I sigh contently at the first brush of his nails against my scalp. “Who knew you were such a wine-o?”
“I get it from my mama.”
He chuckles at that, and then we’re reminiscing on the night and all the craziness that occurred. From the people we saw making out and jumping in the pool to the ones who were dancing on the kitchen island or taking bong hits that would knock a grown man on his ass.
Eventually, we quiet, Aleks still playing with my hair as I fiddle with the string of his hoodie.
“I’m going to miss high school, I think,” I admit on a sigh. “I mean, not all of it. Like, not the schoolwork and stuff but… I don’t know. We’ve had it kind of good, haven’t we? It’s been… fun.”
Aleks smirks, but when I glance at him, I see a sort of distance in his eyes. “I suppose so.”
I wonder if he’s thinking about his mom, and immediately feel like a jerk for assuming he’s had the same high school experience as me when I know his time has been full of ups and downs. He moved to a whole new country. The woman he considered his mother died while he was gone. He’s in this place where everything is different — the language, the culture, even aspects of the sport he loves.
The longer I stare at him, the harder my heart beats.
This boy came into my life just two years ago, and now, he’s my best friend. I can’t imagine not talking to him every morning and night. I can’t imagine weekends without him teasing me as I attempt to write new songs, or nights during the season where I wouldn’t be there cheering him on as he plays hockey. I can’t imagine sleeping in this house and not knowing he’s right down the hall.
Now, we’re seniors, weeks away from graduating and going on to live our separate lives. I’m going to college in the fall, unless by some miracle my music takes off before then, which seems highly unlikely considering how many artists out there want the same big break I do. And Aleks? He’s already been drafted to the NHL. Sure, he’ll be here for the rest of this year and maybe play another season with the junior league next year, but then he’ll be gone. And who knows what will happen next for me…
But we have tonight.
The words hit me out of nowhere, harsh at first, and then melty like butter as they slink into every corner of my body.
We have tonight.
I swallow, my heart picking up speed as I feel my hands moving before I can tell them what to do. I go from playing with the string on his hoodie to tracing the line of his jaw, shivering a bit at the slight stubble there that tickles my palm.
I think I feel his jaw harden under my touch, think I hear his heart start racing to match the pace of mine.
I don’t let myself overthink it before I’m climbing into his lap.
I expect Aleks to stop me. I expect him to laugh and ask me what the hell I’m doing.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, his hands find my hips, gripping me hard enough to bruise as I straddle him. That bolt of electricity between my legs is back with a vengeance when I’m fully seated, when the seam of his jeans is flush against the cotton panties under my skirt.
I shake at the contact, my confidence a little rockier now that I’m on top of him. I do my best not to show how nervous I am as I fist my hands in his hoodie, my eyes tracing his neck, his jaw, before I find his lips.