Page 51 of The List of Things

I feel my cheeks heat up. I look out, noticing how much higher up we are, far too high for my liking.

“You get the same way.”

“Not like you,” He argues back.

“Yes, exactly like me. When you are talking about football, even romance movies you get excited and chatty… You’re the same way.”

“I like what I like,” He replies. “I like running... I like it a lot actually. I like driving home because the ride is nice. I like cats, and I like dogs. I like strawberry milkshakes. I really really like The Notebook, more than even I can comprehend. I think it’s the best movie of all time. I can’t say I like football because I don’t, I love football.”

“And what other things do you like besides Romance movies? What other things do you love besides Football?” I question, needing to know the things that make him who he is, just like he’s learning the things that make me who I am.

“I love my sister. Brianne, I’ve told you she’s my best friend. I visit her once a week. I actually really love cooking, it’s fun, and it’s relaxing. I like cars. I don’t work on them, I’m not knowledgeable on that, and I don’t have time to be, but my dad loved cars, so I learned a lot about models, and makes, and that kind of stuff. The Jeep I drive was his, and it was a lot nicer when he drove it. It’s more loved now. I love my Jeep, that’s another thing. It’s my prized possession,” He tells me, and I see the way his eyes light up when he talks about his dad. Someone he very obviously looks up to.

“Did your dad play?” I ask, and he nods.

“He was amazing in high school, but he tore his rotator cuff, and that was enough for him to not want to play anymore, but it’s what made him and my mom meet. She was a cheerleader, and he was a football player, the picture perfect couple.”

I think about him, and Leah again, my mind trailing back to his picture perfect cheerleader, and him, the American dream quarterback. My heart stills at the fact that I’m jealous when I have no right to be. I shake the thought.

“Will you keep your Jeep forever?” I ask, and he nods.

“Until the old thing falls apart. Stop interrupting me, let me talk about the things I like,” He pokes fun at me, and I smirk, leaning into his warmth, feeling the vibrations from his chest as his deep voice continues. “I like music, not as much as you do, but I do like to listen to it no matter what I do. When I’m working out, or when I’m doing school work,” I furrow my brows at him.

“You never listened to music when I tutored you,” I challenge him.

“Because you were teaching me, I was in your space, and you didn’t listen to music when you worked so neither did I. You didn’t pay much attention to me in Professor Gallen’s class because you were always so focused on him, but I always had an earbud in. It helps me concentrate,” I hadn’t ever noticed that.

After we would chat before class I wouldn’t turn to him again, I’d keep my eyes on Gallen, and leave before anyone could talk to me.

“What kind of music?” I ask, wanting to hear him talk more.

“I like some of the things you like, Harry Styles and Taylor Swift because of my sister. But I really like a little bit of everything. Rock music, like Foo Fighters, and Metallica. My dad always listened to alternative music. I love Greta Van Fleet, I think my dad would have really liked them too if he was still here. When I work out and play I like to listen to Drake. I listen to country a good bit too.”

I scrunch my nose up to that.

“Country music is good. Chris Stapleton and Kelsea Ballerini are awesome. And don’t forget that Taylor Swift used to be country too, don’t think I’ve forgotten that. I think if you gave it a chance you might like it,” He nudges me, and I shrug. “Back to things I like. I like bubble baths, I don’t care what anyone thinks, they’re soothing, and I have a big tub. I like those Pink Drinks from Starbucks… I like you…”

I look up at him, thinking he’ll be looking down at me right now, but he’s not.

“That was smooth...”

He smirks, shrugging his shoulders once more. He’s got the perfect lopsided grin. The kind that’s perfect because it’s crooked and imperfect. He’s pretty when he smiles. He’s pretty when he does anything. Pretty isn’t the word I’d use when talking about men most of the time. I’d probably use the exact opposite, but I think it’s the best way to describe him... He’s a pretty person, especially now, at the top of the Ferris wheel. Washington is behind him, the sunset too. I can almost place him as a handsome shadow now that the sun is pouring in around him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” His tone is full of sarcasm, and I roll my eyes.

He takes a soft hold of my jaw, tilting my chin up, and then letting his hand slide down my exposed throat. He curves his hand around my jawline until his fingers are touching the hair behind my ear.

“Don’t sound too excited,” My lips are dangerously close, almost touching his.

“I can’t have you getting any ideas, can I?” He asks, and then he kisses me again.

Our lips mold together, they fit with one another, and with every move he makes it feels more perfect. There’s no way to be physically closer to him, but god do I wish I was.

It’s hard to think when I’m around Bellamy because every time he kisses me, every time his lips come close to brushing mine it feels like I lose every bit of sense, and knowledge I’ve ever learned. I break the kiss this time, knowing that my senses are far too jumbled, and we are way too high in the air for that kind of feeling.

“Cross it off the list,” I tell him, an electric feeling still radiating in my stomach after that kiss.

“Already done Ryn,” We settle into each other again, the two of us sitting closely with no intention of moving until we’re back on the ground.

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