xxxii. makes me feel the way you do

I know Reese is following without having to check. I hardly hear his voice over the pounding music but it’s a constant echo in the back of my head.

The number of people has doubled since we’ve been here. It’s not as fun as usual, since it’s hard finding my way to the front door through the crowd. I stumble and force myself between bodies as a result, giving up soon enough when I spot a side door in the distance over the countless moving heads in my path and head in its direction instead.

All the while my face burns as the short embarrassing conversation with Reese loops in my head like an old, ominous merry-go-round. I’ve never been more humiliated in my life.

Okay, maybe I have been, but not in front of him! Not from my own mouth. Oh, to go back ten minutes in time or better yet, a few hours to stop the night from getting to this point.

The side door leads to a patio. I tilt my face toward the sky in silent thanks to the stars, fishing my phone out of my pocket as I hop off the platform. I’m already thinking of pulling up a car service as I make my way down the narrow walkway between the houses that leads onto the sidewalk. For now, I focus on getting to the opening ahead of me that leads me to freedom.

Once I get past that barrier, this night and all its woes will fade into an absent dream. I’ll never speak of it and if I do, it will be nothing but a confused questioning of whether it ever happened.

“Kira!”

My heart stutters but instead of acknowledging him, I pick up my pace. All I have to do is get to the sidewalk and instant amnesia. Relief. I’m not sure whether it’ll be the same effect if Reese continues to hound me about it, I’ll try to do it all the same.

I’m mere feet away—*feet away*—from my end goal when gentle winding arms wrap around my waist, forcing me to a stop. He doesn’t physically force me, per se. The fact alone that his arms are around me plants my feet on the concrete.

“Kira, please,” Reese says gruffly. His chest is heaving against my back and he sounds like he’s ran up and down the hill this house sits at the bottom of. “What is it?” he adds softly. His lips are next to my ear but thankfully not on me. I don’t see the night ending any better if that’s ever the case.

Gently—so beautifully gentle—his arms retreat, his hands resting on my stomach before sliding to my hips. He’s feeling me up. It’s not gropey or weird but that’s what he’s doing. But when said hands begin moving up and down my sides in slow, soothing motions, I feel my knees begin to wobble.

He’s been so touchy all night and it only seems to be getting bolder with every hour. When I imagined Reese over the years, his being affectionate was one of the last things I wondered about. I’ve seen him with girls (ones he’s dated and otherwise) and while I’ve seen a bit of hand-holding and some flirting, there isn’t much else—no kissing or groping, or anything of the sort. He's not one to post his partners either.

None of that really matters though because I shouldn’t even let him touch me. Not with our history. Sure, I understand why he treated me the way he did but a part of me still wasn’t over it. Though it seems my body doesn’t care much about my mind.

I almost curse on a sigh. No one, and I do mean *no one*, has ever made me react like this to a simple touch. I don’t know what it is about this guy. I’ve never known.

Since the day I realized I like boys, Reese has always been the standard for me. Maybe it had been those clear crystal eyes and heavy curls at first. Or the forsaken dimples and dreamy smile; I’ll blame my attraction to those on my adolescent hormones. Over time though, it became more. Sure those things got ten times more dangerous with age, but then it turned into his love for animals. His constant state of chill made me want to be closer—to be with him—plus witnessing his general accepting and encouraging nature…

Standing here, under his hands, Reese Jamison is reminding me that he’s it for me. And he has no clue.

Reese turns me slowly to face him and I keep my gaze away from his. I have to get myself under control. My insides are quivering and I’m trying my hardest to keep it all internal. If I start trembling like a leaf in winter, skies knows I’ll lose it. I’ll be nothing but putty in his hands if he decides to take advantage of it and it will be no different than if I’m intoxicated.

“What was that?” Despite the vibrating house next to us, his voice is barely more than a whisper.

Turning my head to glance at the side of the house, I force myself back into that uncomfortable space. Why I’d gotten mad at him upstairs. The rushing thoughts are enough to sober me a little.

I’ve never been one to hide my feelings when it comes to certain things. With the right people, I tend to approach certain topics wearily or with a bit more care than I will a stranger who upset me.

Reese has always been someone I cared about, even though he wasn’t the most approachable. So I give myself time to think about my response. And not so surprisingly, he does the same; waiting patiently with his thumbs alternating between firm presses into my hips with slow barely there circles and easing a second later.

I meet his gaze again when I’m ready to talk. He’s already staring at me in a way that makes me feel small but in a vulnerable way. The safety I feel in his presence is still in place, which makes it easier for me not to feel embarrassed when I ask my question.

“Did you bring me here because you knew she’d be here?” It’s not an accusation.

Equally, his response isn’t a defense. “No.” His expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t look away. “But I knew there was a possibility she might be.”

I inhale deeply, tilting my head back and staring at the starry heavens. It stings, and I’m not sure why yet. “Why would you bring me here at all?”

A small part of me can’t help but feel used. He can say that and believe it, but subconsciously did he bring me here to make her jealous? Not that I can make someone like that jealous anyway. Or maybe I’m some kind of eye candy—a trophy, I’d called him. Someone to be on his arm, who’d been in the right place at the right time when we bumped into each other earlier in the night. Then everyone kept asking if I was his girlfriend…

The tiny fissure inside me where all my insecurities live begins to crack at the edges, coming alive and spreading. We’re not dating, we’re not anything, but I won’t let myself be a pawn, not even for him.

The pad of his finger presses against my chin, a subtle way for me to bring my gaze back to his.

“When I saw you tonight,” he mutters, his eyes searching mine, “I forgot all about that possibility, Kira. She doesn’t matter. I wanted to hang out with you. In a space where no one knows us.” He pauses and adds humorously, “Well, where no one knows you.”

I shake my head to convey that that doesn’t make me feel any better.

“I didn’t bring you here as some kind of game, Kira,” he clarifies. “I genuinely wanted to hang out with you somewhere that isn’t surrounded by people we go to school with.

For the first time at least. I was going to ask you at some point then I saw you tonight and-” he shrugs with a sheepish expression, “-kinda jumped at the opportunity, I guess.”

“Why?” The question is out without much thought.

I can spend days, weeks, after this wondering about it to myself, or I can ask him.

This is the opposite of what we’ve always been. Every time he smiles or even looks at me pleasantly, I wonder when we’ll go back to normal. When he’ll switch to hating me again. I don’t want that to be my normal—for that to be the main fear in the back of my mind when I see him.

His eyes are still searching my face for something and does this for a few more seconds. Then he says, “Because I like you.”