Page 62 of A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime

“Definitely. You’re stronger than you think. You just need to stretch your wings, and eventually fly.” He settles his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles, electricity sparking where we touch. “When do you turn eighteen?”

“Christmas Day,” I admit.

“Coming up then.” He doesn’t remove his hand from mine, and I like that. His possessive touch, the way he’s studying me. “Are you doing anything special?”

“I was going to have a party the day after,” I admit.

“Where?”

“At my parents’ apartment. But I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“None of them are real.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I take his silence as agreement. Until he says, “I’m your friend.”

Until this very moment, I would’ve never described Crew Lancaster as my friend.

“Are you really?” I whisper.

“I’m whatever you want me to be.” He curls his fingers around mine and lifts our linked hands, bringing them to his mouth, where he brushes the softest kiss against my knuckles.

I feel that touch all the way to my soul, settling deep in my bones. I lean toward him, my lips parting, my mouth dry, wishing I could find the words to explain how he makes me feel.

Like anything is possible.

“You should have the party,” he says.

Pulling my hand from his grip, I settle back in my seat. “I don’t think so. I’m going to cancel it.”

“Maybe you should let me take you out for your birthday.” He settles his hand over mine once more, as if he can’t stop touching me.

Why is he being so nice? Why does he suddenly care? It’s like he knew what I was doing last night. Touching myself while thinking of him, and now he’s here, and I don’t understand his mood change.

I wonder if he has ulterior motives…

“You want to take me out for my birthday? Why?” My voice squeaks, and I press my lips together.

The server appears, interrupting us, and Crew lets go of my hand. I sink it into my lap, clutching my hands together, nerves eating at me as the server mentions a few specials while I frantically scan the menu items.

“What would you like?” she chirps at me.

Slightly panicked, I order a salad, earning an incredulous look from Crew before he orders a cheeseburger and fries.

My stomach cramps at the thought of eating a burger, and I immediately regret my choice. But I’m not changing it.

No way can I eat a burger and fries in front of him.

When the server leaves, the conversation turns lighter. We talk about school. Art. The places we’ve been, the things we’ve seen. He discusses his brothers. His sister. I tell him about my parents, but I don’t go into too much depth. I don’t want him to know how lately, our relationship feels fractured. I don’t like how it makes me feel.

By the time our meals arrive, I’m starving, and I stare at my salad in dismay, the scent of Crew’s lunch wafting toward me, making my stomach growl. I watch as he brings the burger to his mouth and takes a big bite, my gaze lingering on his lips. How he chews. Swallows. Grabs a couple of fries and dips them in ketchup before he drops them into his mouth.

I stab my fork in the bowl of salad like I’m trying to murder lettuce and kale, shoveling it in, frustration rippling through me as I eat, wishing there were at least pieces of chicken in it. It’s good, but I bet I’ll end up hungry again within the hour.

“You’re watching me eat as if you want to steal the burger out of my hands,” Crew says at one point, amusement in his voice.

“It looks delicious,” I admit.

---