Page 43 of Lose You to Find Me

I snort. Maybe that was a sign all along. Anybody who needs to get drunk to kiss somebody else probably isn’t going to last with them long-term.

Resting my head back against the seat, I close my eyes and heave out a deep breath. “This is probably a bad idea. Us here tonight.”

I’m met with momentary silence. “If you think that, then why are you here?”

Pressing my lips together, I turn my head to look at the girl I can’t stop thinking about no matter how hard I try. My first kiss. My first everything. What she doesn’t know is that I was nervous as hell to kiss her that night too. I’d wanted to since the night we were put in a closet together all those months before.

She fidgets the longer I study her. Her hair isn’t sticking to her cheeks anymore but pulled behind her ears. It always looks darker when it’s wet, almost brunette, similar to the color of her eyes.

She’s effortlessly beautiful no matter what, even without makeup and looking like my parents’ dog Frank when he gets stuck out in the rain.

It hurts to be this close to her and still not have her at all.

“Caleb?” she asks.

My nostrils flare with a sudden burst of emotion that I try swallowing. Because I don’t want to think about how beautiful she is. I want to remember how much she hurt me. How I’m with Emma now. How much easier it’d be if I could let everything we’ve been through go.

“My dad is dying,” I say, voice cracking with weakness. “And it feels like I can’t keep my head above water long enough to breathe. Every time I think about him leaving us, I–I—”

I swipe at my face and try collecting my shattered thoughts before I start crying. I feel the tears pricking my eyes and heat creep up the back of my neck the longer I hold it in.

Crying shows your weakness. That’s what’s been drilled into my head by society. By all my football coaches who’ve ever told me not to let people know they’ve defeated me. I can be angry, but I can’t give in.

Forcing another deep breath, I say, “I try not to think about it by keeping busy with school and the store, but there’s always a reminder because everything I do isbecauseof him.” Closing my eyes and squeezing them shut, I whisper, “And I just need the thoughts to turn off for a while. So I shouldn’t be here. But…”

But I don’t have anywhere else I can go.

That’s the excuse I make.

Icouldbe at my apartment.

Icouldbe with Emma.

I’m not though.

I’m with the one person whose touch physically calms me. One single brush of her hand against mine, and I melt into nearly a decade of memories. I’ve always been comfortable enough to tell her anything because she was the one person I could talk to about whatever weighed me down.

Now is no different.

Her fingers tug at mine until our hands are molded together so tightly nothing can get in between them.

“I meant what I said at the library,” she tells me. “I’m here for you. For whatever you need.”

Those words sink into my chest, jump-starting the tight organ in my rib cage that feels like it’s going to explode the second her fingers dance up my arm and massage the tense muscles along the way.

Whatever you need.

What if I told her all I need is her?

I could risk it, but I don’t know how much more disappointment I can take in this lifetime.

Suddenly, there’s nothing innocent about the touches that we share. I lean in first, but Raine meets me halfway. That’s when touching turns into kissing, which turns into moaning. One second she’s in the seat beside me, the next she’s straddling my lap.

Her damp shirt is off.

No bra.

My jeans are unbuttoned with the zipper pulled down.

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