Page 110 of Bump and Run

He gives a short smile. “Looks a lot like yours, Eliza Pierce.”

“Sorry...” I turn away. “I didn’t mean to bring up this shit… I just felt like talking and you were standing there…”

“Hey.” He places his hands on my shoulders to draw me back to him. “You don’t have to apologize. You can talk to me anytime about anything. That’s why I’m here.”

For a second, I believe him. I believe that everything will be okay and that I really can tell him everything.

The second passes.

“Don’t let them see your weaknesses,” I quote. “Isn’t that what Cary Pierce always says?”

He shrugs. “Well… I hate to say this, but… Cary Pierce is kind of a dick.”

I laugh and Junior pulls me closer, wrapping his large arms around me in a perfect embrace.

“There she is…” he says, reacting to my smile.

I hold him tighter, entwining my fingers together behind his back to stay there forever.

His lips graze my head and he smells my hair. His arms flex slightly, holding me with an even tighter grip and I nearly cry again.

“We should get back downstairs…” I say, pulling away. “Before they start wondering what we’re doing up here…”

Junior nods but his eyes say differently. “Wait...”

“What?”

“You look really beautiful right now and I don’t want to waste it.”

He pulls me closer and kisses me. Happiness grows in me and I cling to his wild lips on mine. Every taste, every smell. Everything about him drives me as crazy as it always has.

“You’re perfect, Eliza Pierce,” he says.

I chuckle. “Promise?”

Junior steps back and draws an X over his chest.

* * *

“Eliza! Is that you?”

I shove the paper sack into my messenger bag, hiding it away as I kick the front door closed behind me. “Yeah!”

“Come here for a minute.”

I shake out my tension and throw on a smile before walking into the kitchen. “Hey, Dad.”

He sits at the counter with a cup of coffee in one hand and a sports magazine in the other. I lay my bag down on the counter’s edge, along with my stack of notebooks.

“Where have you been?” he asks. “You didn’t come home last night.”

“Yeah… I, uh…” I walk to the fridge and pull it open. “I stayed the night on Grant’s floor,” I lie. “I was up a little too late doing homework and today we did some shopping.”

Dad stares at the notebooks. “What kind of homework?”

“Just memorizing a scene for class this week.”

He pulls a loose page out from the notebook on top and I cringe on the inside. “Why do you have Junior Morgan’s math homework?”

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