“Ah, yes. The dry humor you were telling me about.”
Jeez, how much did they talk about me?
“Well, I’m glad you’ve gotten my serious boy laughing.” She squeezes my arm and then pats Xander’s cheek. “I’m off to bed. Don’t be a stranger, Caymen.”
“Night, Mom.” After his mom leaves, Xander moves to the mugs and scoops a few spoonfuls of powdered chocolate into each then pours the hot water. “This isn’t as good as Eddie’s but I hope it’ll do.”
“Do you have a bathroom somewhere?” Skye asks. “Or ten?”
He smiles. “The closest one is through that arch. First door on your right.”
“Thanks.”
She leaves and it’s just Xander and me standing side by side at the counter. His hip presses against my side as he reaches for a spoon. Then our hands brush as we reach for the same mug. We both pull back from it.
“Go ahead,” we say at the same time and then laugh. He takes a sip of the hot chocolate and then slides the mug to me.
The entire sides of our bodies are touching—shoulders, elbows, hips, thighs—all the way down to our feet. I can feel every tiny movement he makes.
“You’re killing me,” he says breathlessly.
“I’m sorry.” I take one step away, and he grabs me by the elbow and swings me to face him. Now the entire fronts of our bodies are touching. I take a sharp breath as heat pours down me. He backs me up against the counter. His palm pressing into my lower back feels like it could singe a handprint onto my skin.
I’m staring as hard as I can at the collar of his T-shirt.
“Caymen?”
“Yes?”
“You look terrified. Does this scare you?”
“More than anything.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t bring my mints.”
“And now the real answer . . .”
“Because I’m afraid that once you catch me, the game’s over.” I don’t believe I admitted that out loud to him when I hadn’t even admitted it to myself. But he called me out. He always calls me out.
His finger traces my cheekbone and my heart slams into my rib cage as the nerves from my cheek all the way down my arms buzz to life.
“I didn’t realize we were playing a game,” he says.
I smile. That was the same line he had used during our second meeting. I look at him, and as if that’s all he’d been waiting for, his lips meet mine. When they touch I feel electrified. He kisses me gently, his lips as warm as his hand.
Just when I’m about to go into attack mode, I hear Skye clear her throat and say, “I’m just going to take my hot chocolate to go, then. I’ll bring your mug back another time.”
I pull back and try to push Xander away, not wanting to be rude, but he doesn’t budge. Skye gives me the way to go smile and I realize she’s not offended at all.
“I’ll give her a ride home,” Xander says without looking away from me. His eyes are on fire. We both listen as Skye leaves the kitchen. Then he takes me by the waist and lifts me onto the counter. I wrap my legs and arms around him and press my lips to his. The action is more intense this time. My need more obvious.
He answers back, his tongue finding mine, his hands pulling me as close as possible. He tastes good, like salty chocolate. I let my hands explore his back through his T-shirt. I find his spine and outline each vertebra. A rush of emotions courses through my body, and I’m surprised when the one that overwhelms me is intense sadness, the one emotion I’ve been successfully repressing all night.
I am moments away from tears so I bury my head in his neck, hoping to suppress them. He freezes. He tries to back up, probably so he can look at me, but I cling tightly to him. He rubs a hand up and down my back.
“Caymen? What is it? I’m sorry. Was that too fast?” He takes me by the waist and slides me off the counter.
“No. It’s not that.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, you didn’t do anything. This is really bad timing for my denial to lift.” I’m not sure if he understood what I said because my emotions are making my speech thick.
“Talk to me. What happened?”
“Will you just hold me for a minute?” I’m trying to get my emotions in check before I try to explain.
He must realize he had dropped his hands to his sides because he takes a deep breath and then wraps them back around me. There is not a millimeter of space between us. His presence is the only thing keeping me together while the thoughts I should’ve been thinking all night finally surface.
What if my mom is pregnant? Having a baby is going to ruin us. We can’t afford it. And what kind of guy is Matthew? Is he going to run when he finds out? How can my mom have made the same mistake twice? If I thought I had a tiny bit of hope of leaving the doll store and starting a life of my own, this would make that almost impossible.
A single tear escapes and I swipe it away quickly with the back of my hand.
“You’re scaring me, Caymen. What is it?”
“My mom.”
“Is she okay?” He sounds alarmed.
“She might be pregnant.”
Chapter 32
Xander curses under his breath. “Man, Caymen, I’m sorry.” That’s all he says for a while. His fingers create a trail on my back: across, down, over, up. They repeat the pattern over and over. “When did you find out?”
“Tonight.” I sigh. “Or maybe she’s not. And I’m wishing so bad she’s not. But if she isn’t that means something else is wrong with her and that I’m a horrible daughter for thinking even for a split second that I’d rather her be anything but pregnant.”
He pushes me out by the shoulders and I let him. When we meet eyes he says, “What can I do?”
“Make this all a dream that I can wake up from tomorrow.”
He pulls on his bottom lip. “I feel like I took advantage of you tonight. I’m sorry. Had I known I would have never—”
“Stop,” I interrupt. “Don’t say that. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks. Way before I found out about my mom, back when you used to walk me to school.”
His eyes flicker to my lips then back to my eyes. “You wanted to kiss me?”
“‘Want’ is the correct word. I want to kiss you.” I lean forward and brush my lips against his.
He pulls back a little. “Now I’d really be a jerk if we kissed. Come on. Let’s talk.” He leads me down the hall by my hand to a large theater room. Several overstuffed recliners set on different levels face a big white screen.
“Wow,” I say, spinning in a circle. “This is where we need to watch The Shining.”
He lifts one side of his mouth into a half-smile then goes to a bookshelf full of DVDs and pulls out the one with Jack Nicholson sticking his creepy face through a gap in a door.
“You got it?”
“I did. You said we were going to watch it so I got it.”
I plop down in a recliner. “Well, put it on, then.”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Tonight we talk.” He replaces the movie and settles into the recliner next to mine.
“What were you doing before I got here?”
“Let me rephrase that: tonight we talk about you.”
“Can we just work up to it first? I’m not good at things like this.”
He nods. “Okay, before you got here? Let’s see, I was working on a history assignment.”
“Do you go to Dalton Academy or Oceanside?” They’re both private schools. I’m sure he goes to one or the other.
“Dalton.”
“Dalton . . . that’s your grandma’s last name.” Before I even finish the sentence I feel stupid for saying it. “Duh. That’s not a coincidence.”
He laughs. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For reminding me what it’s like to be treated like a normal person. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around someone who didn’t know who I was.”
I tilt my head. “Wait, who are you?”
He tugs on my hair with a smirk.
“Your parents are really nice.”
“When they get what they want, yes they are.”
“So have you been working on the website for your dad, then?”
He draws out a sigh. “That’s the thing. I have. I know, I know, I shouldn’t.”
I hold up my hands. “I said nothing.”
“So I had all these great ideas for the website to make it fresh and exciting and my dad completely disregarded all of them. He said, ‘No, clean and classic.’”
“For your clientele that’s probably better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not like teenagers are going to book rooms at your hotels. It’s businessmen and wealthy people. Clean and classic work for them.”
He closes his eyes for a second then says, “You’re right. Why didn’t he just say that?”
“Maybe he tried. You don’t listen to your dad very well.”
“Because he wants to shape me into this perfect little version of him and I feel smothered. I’m not him.”
“Isn’t it funny that you want to be nothing like your dad and I wish I knew if I am even a tiny bit like mine?”
“I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive.”
I touch his shoulder. “No, you’re not. I get what you’re saying. You don’t want to be defined by your father. Especially when from the outside you are so similar to him. But you aren’t him. You’ll always be different.” You’ll always be amazing. Why is it still so hard to say that last sentence out loud?
He takes my hand in his and runs his thumb along the back of it. “Your father would be so proud of you. Of who you are.”
My entire throat closes with the comment and my eyes fill with tears. I keep them at bay but am surprised by the strong reaction. By how much I needed to hear someone say that. “He lives in New York. He’s some fancy lawyer there.”
“You’ve looked him up?”
“I had to. I might need a kidney one day.”
He laughs.
“When I was twelve I read this story about some guy who hadn’t seen his father in years and then he ended up getting cancer. His father was a bone marrow match. Saved his life.”
Xander stares at me for so long I start to feel uncomfortable. “You don’t have to be on your deathbed to reach out to your father, you know.”
I rub at my forearm. “He walked away from my mom.”
He nods slowly. “You feel like wanting to see him means betraying your mother?”
I look up at the light but another tear escapes anyway. “He left her.”
“Her relationship with him doesn’t have to define yours.”
“He left me, too.”
“I’m sorry.” He runs the back of his knuckles along my cheek. “And what about your mom? Why is her possible pregnancy so devastating?”
“You think I’m overreacting?”
“I did not say that at all. I know I’d be upset if it were my mom. I just don’t want to project my reasons onto you. Tell me what’s going through your head.”
“I’m angry and hurt and ashamed all wrapped together into one emotional mess. I just don’t believe she would do this again.” I pull my knees up onto the chair and turn sideways to face him. “I feel guilty and selfish for wishing a person out of existence but I don’t want this change.”
“You’ll work through those feelings. You’ll melt when you hold the baby in your arms.”
“No, I won’t. I don’t like kids and kids don’t like me. We’ve come to this general consensus long ago.”