Page 62 of Undeniable

Crouching, I tapped lightly on the glass first before I attempted to break into her room.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long. There was the muffled sound of quiet movement from inside and only a second later, the curtain opened and the blinds drew up.

Her first reaction was a mischievous smile, which I returned with my own. Then she shook her head and pocketed her phone. I helped her pull up the window, and she was out just as quickly.

The first thing I did was the first thing I always did when we were alone—I kissed her breathless. I cupped her face in my hands and leaned down, brushing my lips against hers softly. It deepened quickly; she parted her lips on a quiet moan and I took the opportunity to slip my tongue against hers.

By the time we parted, her eyes were glazed, lids heavy. I brushed my thumb across the pink tinting her cheeks and stared down fondly at the way her lips swelled.

“I was just about to text you back,” she said with a tired smile.

“I couldn’t wait. Let’s go.” I didn’t wait for her response, instead taking her hand and leading her to my truck which was idling at the end of my driveway.

“I thought you’d still be packing,” she stated when we were finally in the truck and safely half a mile down the road.

The windows were down and music played softly in the background. We were heading to our favorite spot—the one place where we both knew we wouldn’t be disturbed.

Tucked under my arm, she scooted closer. It was hot, but she still found her way next to me. The only place I wanted her to be.

I placed a kiss on top of her head and smoothed her red hair back down. “Finished earlier. I didn’t get to see you today, so I couldn’t be packing all night, either.”

She didn’t say anything, but I could feel her smile against my shoulder. We rode in silence the rest of the way, and I had a feeling we were both lost in thought. The reminder that it was our last night kept us grounded in the moment, taking in every single second to hopefully remember it better.

If I could bottle up our month together, I would. And then live contentedly for the rest of my life.

The turn was overgrown and easy to miss unless you knew exactly where you were going. I pulled into the brush just off Kirby Street and was happy to see it was as expected. No parties or bonfires that night, only an empty field.

I parked by the tree closest to the entrance and together—because she wouldn’t let me do it myself—Ivy and I arranged the few blankets and pillows I’d gathered from my room in the bed of the truck. Once it was just the way she wanted it, I turned the music a little louder, opened the doors, and joined her in the back.

Settled back into the pillows, I pulled her into my side. She rested her head on my chest, one of her legs tossed over mine, and we both peered up at the cloudless sky. One of the perks of living so far away from the bright city lights was being able to see each and every star on a clear night.

“I didn’t think I was going to see you until tomorrow.”

I sighed and tightened my grip around her. “I didn’t want to say goodbye in front of everyone else,” I began. “I wanted to say our own private goodbye. Take all the time we want. Or at least the next”—I glanced down at my phone screen—“five hours and thirty-two minutes.”

There was more I wanted to say, more I wanted her to know. But I kept quiet, and she did, too. Both of us doing that thing where we got lost in our heads. Our own unspoken thoughts took up too much damn room and made it impossible to be comfortable in the bed of the truck.

It was no secret to either of us that my plan had gone wrong. I thought it would be easy to let her go. For us to let each other go, but every day we spent together made it clear it would be anything but easy.

I’d sorely underestimated her. And my own feelings.

And although I hadn’t exactly voiced how much I hated the thought of leaving, she knew. She knew that I hated being right about what would end up happening between us—that we’d part ways with fun memories and nothing more. That it was better to try than to never know what could have been.

I wasn’t sure if that was true anymore.

“Are you coming back for your birthday?”

Ivy pulled back, brushed a stray piece of hair from her face and furrowed her brow at me.

“You leave at the end of the month for school, but your birthday is in September. I know you said something about your mom throwing your dad a huge fiftieth-birthday party. Are you coming back for that?” I asked.

“Yeah. Forrest and I both said we would. Every one of his birthdays for the past nineteen years has been about us, so we weren’t going to miss it. We don’t have a game that week anyway. So, it worked out.”

It was a stroke of luck—or just really poor timing—that Ivy’s mom had twins on her husband’s birthday.

“I’ll be here, too.”

She sat up straighter, leaning on her elbow to look down at me. “How? What about—”

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