Page 3 of Hold You Close
I push against his chest playfully. “You’re so mean.”
“But you love me, remember?” He drops a kiss on my lips, then lowers his head to whisper in my ear. “And I love you. It just took me longer to realize it.”
A lump forms in my throat, and for a second I’m scared I’m going to embarrass myself by crying. But after a few deep breaths, I’m okay again. More than okay, actually—I’m a new person. Everything is different now. My entire life is him.
“God, I’m so happy, Ian. This changes everything.”
“It does?”
“Yes.” I’m smiling again.
He picks up his head and looks down at me. “I don’t want you to change, London. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
“I mean my life—it’s going to be different now.”
“Different how?”
“Well, for one thing, I won’t be going to Northwestern in the fall.”
He looks confused. “You won’t?”
“No, silly. I want to be with you.”
He brushes the hair back from my face. “What about that scholarship?”
I shrug. “I got one to UNLV too. I’ll take that offer instead.”
“But UNLV isn’t your dream school. Northwestern is.”
“You’re my dream. I don’t care about anything else.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and his expression has changed. There's something in his eyes I can't read.
But then he kisses me once more. “Come on. We better get going.”
We drag ourselves out of bed and get dressed.
On the short ride home, I alternate between replaying every delicious moment from the night before and fantasizing about everything yet to come. Ian is silent too, and I wonder if he’s doing the same.
When he pulls into the driveway of the house I share with my dad, he gets out of the car and walks me to the front door.
“See you in a few hours,” I say. “Thanks for . . . everything.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you at the party.”
I let myself into the house and float dreamily up the stairs, humming a song we danced to last night.
“London?” my dad calls from the second-floor bedroom he uses as an office. “That you?”
“It’s me.” I pause in the doorway and see him hunched over his computer. The poor man has terrible posture.
“Did you have a good time?” he asks.
“Yes. A wonderful time.”
“Good.” He smiles at me briefly before focusing on the screen again. It’s nothing new—my dad has always been a workaholic. We have that in common. I don’t know who was more proud the day I got the scholarship offer from Northwestern, him or me. He’s going to take the news hard when I tell him I’ve decided not to accept it.
But I don’t care, I think stubbornly as I continue down the hall to my room. The only thing that matters to me now is being with Ian. I might be only seventeen, but I swear I’ve loved Ian Chase since the day I met him.
