Page 49 of Escaping Our Reality

“That much fun, huh?”

“I don’t see how anyone could think studying in groups is a productive way to spend time. Studying is a solo activity. Study groups are just a way to gossip and waste time while pretending to be effective.”

I hear her rustling around, the sounds of her body moving beneath the sheets of her bed causes my body to instantly react. Adjusting myself, I try to focus and have a somewhat civilized conversation. “Well, you study with me.”

“We don’t studywitheach other, Ry. We studynexttoeach other.”

“And your classmate, Hudson, was there?” I try to sound as lighthearted as possible, but the question still comes out with a healthy dose of bitter sarcasm. There’s just something about that little douche that pisses me off. And I’ve never even met him.

“Yes. And of course, he had to ask all sorts of questions about my new boyfriend. I think he’s more obsessed with you than I am.” Her laugh makes the back of my throat tickle.

If she’s obsessed, then I’m fucking captivated. Imprisoned. Held hostage. Tortured.

I think last night proved that. I nearly went too far. She touched my chest, and I couldn’t even think straight. And then I couldn’t keep my damn hands off her. I wanted to rip that shirt right off her body, wanted nothing more than to roll my tongue across her breast.

But I stopped myself.

I refuse to do anything more than just kissing—and maybe a little heavy petting, you know, over the clothes, middle-school-style—until she’s legal in the eyes of the law. I guess, really, I’m just using her age as an excuse to force myself to slow down.

Because when I’m with her? I feel like a damn jet engine flying through the atmosphere at six-hundred miles per hour.

I don’t know when she will turn eighteen, but I don’t know how much longer I can wait before touching her. I thought she said her birthday was this month.

I make a mental note to ask her. But that’s not the question I called to ask tonight.

“So, I hear, there’s this little thing called Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Now, I’m not much on tradition, but I’m pretty sure the boyfriend is supposed to do something for the girlfriend. What do you say? Feel like doing something special?”

Now, I’ve just got to figure out what the hell to do to make it special. Since I’m an asshole, I haven’t planned anything yet.

“Oh Ry, that’s an amazing offer. I didn’t think you realized it was almost Valentine’s Day.”

“I do own a calendar, Lulu. It’s not like I built a sun dial and counted out the months.”

She giggles. “Well, I’d love to. But… I already have plans.”

Well, that knocks the wind right out of my lungs. Red anger and green jealousy color my eyes. My fist grips the phone so damn hard, my finger slips, bleeping the number four in our ears. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that, you idiot. I have plans with my parents.”

My brow furrows. “You have Valentine’s Day plans with your parents?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Not Valentine’s Day plans. Ummm… birthday plans.”

Holy shit.

“Lulu, I swear on all that’s holy, if you turned eighteen and didn’t tell me, I’ll flip my shit.”

She ignores my question. “What time is it?”

Frustrated, I turn my wrist to check my watch. “Ten minutes after midnight.”

“Then, I turn eighteen now. Today’s my birthday, Ry. I was born on Valentine’s Day.”

Holy shit.She’s legal.

My mouth is as dry as cotton. My brain swirls with an emotional fog so thick, I can’t even think straight. I’m excited. And incredibly sad. She didn’t say anything. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighs. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated to buy me a present.”

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