Page 75 of Wanted You More

All I can do is stare because I finally get it. It all goes back to what Bailey said. The image of us together wouldn’t look good for him.

Too many people would question it. Maybe accuse him of something bad.

“Bailey,” I find myself whispering, shaking my head, and picturing the pretty brunette despite not wanting to think about her pearly-white smile, bubbly personality, or big boobs.

“What about her?”

The words are out before I can process the truth in them. “You’d never cheat on anyone. That isn’t who you are.” My shoulders lift weakly. “It’s always made no sense why you’d endure being with someone who seems like they want to change you rather than fall in love with the person you are. But now I get it. You’re with her because you know you’d never risk hurting her by being with me.”

He’s using her as a block.

Another barrier.

It’s smart.

It keeps his morals intact, along with the shiny reputation he’s building for himself.

I lift my hands in surrender. “You win, Noah. I won’t push anymore. Or tease. If you want to pretend like we’re just friends then I’ll play along. But I’m done trying to get you to be honest with yourself. It’s a losing battle that I don’t have the energy to fight.”

His eyes close. “Stop.”

“No.Youstop.” I mean, honestly, this is exhausting. How much back and forth can one person handle before they get whiplash? “I’m getting rope burn from all this tug of war we’re constantly playing. You’re right. I’m eighteen. You’re twenty-three. Maybe it’s time we act our ages. I’m in college, so that should give me plenty of experiences while I’m at it.”

His eyes open and glare at me. “Whatever you’re thinking—”

“What I’m thinking is that my life and what I do in it is none of your business,” I cut him off in a steel tone that offers him little room to mess with me. This time when I step toward him, it’s in challenge. One I know he’s not going to take. Because that means succumbing. “Unless you’re going to do something about it that makes me think otherwise.”

Standing mere inches from each other in silence only adds to the growing tension that thickens the air.

I wait for him to say something.

Anything at all.

An excuse.

A reason to turn me down.

And what he does instead leaves me more confused than ever.

Because when he closes the distance between us and cups my cheek with one of his palms, the last thing I expect him to do is lean down and press his lips against mine.

It’s softer than I anticipated it’d be.

Gentle, like he’s afraid I’ll break.

Before I can process that he’s kissing me and return it, it’s over. He keeps his palm on my cheek, rests his forehead against mine for a second longer, and then lets out a heavy breath.

When he moves away from me and looks down at my jacket, I notice the distance in his eyes that turns to sadness.

He says, “Keep the jacket,” and turns toward his truck.

That’s when I start to wonder if the kiss was his way of saying goodbye.

“Noah,” I call out, voice cracking in uncertainty.

As he walks away, he says, “Be eighteen, Austen. Live your life. It’s better this way.”

It’s better this way.

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