BoysLikeYou.indd (17 page)

“Kiss?”

“Yeah. The one you promised. I’m gonna collect tonight.”

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I could have watched Nathan play his guitar and sing all night.

He was that good. No. He was better than good. He was

charismatic and hot and sexy and talented and…

I shivered just thinking of how he’d bent low over the mike,

guitar cradled in his hands when he sang, and of how his eyes

had never left me for the entire time he’d been on stage.

Not once.

He was riveting, and I was still buzzing from the high I’d

gotten watching him perform. Still buzzing from what he’d said

to me.

It was just after eleven by the time we pulled up to Nate’s

place. There was no moon and no stars, so it was pretty dark.

I stopped the car behind his father’s truck and tried to swallow

the lump in my throat.

Have you ever tried to swallow something that was as big as

a freaking golf ball? It’s not fun. Especially when you’re trying to act like everything is cool, when clearly, everything isn’t.

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It was the total opposite of cool. It was hot. And scary. And

exciting. And did I say hot?

My hair stuck to the back of my neck and I pushed at it

impatiently, exhaling as I tried to wipe my damp palms along

my dress without him noticing.

Nate hadn’t made a move to collect his
payment
yet, and I was pretty sure now was it.

I rotated my shoulders and glanced up at his house. It was as

dark as everything else. His parents had either gone out them-

selves or they were in bed already. Either way, it felt like there was no one around for miles.

“Are you gonna shut this thing off?”

“What?” I jumped at the sound of his voice. The little bit of

light from the dashboard illuminated his face— his strong chin,

high cheekbones, and a mouth that made me think of things.

It made me think about the kiss we’d shared the week before.

And what his body had felt like pressed up against mine. With

his longish hair and that little bit of stubble on his chin, he

looked dangerous. He looked
hot
.

And though he looked perfect, I knew that he was as

un- perfect as I was. We were damaged, the two of us, in ways

not a lot of people could understand. And for the first time since all the bad stuff had happened to me, I didn’t feel so alone. I

didn’t feel like the freak with too much shit inside her. The one who couldn’t talk. The one who fell into herself and hid.

I felt almost…normal.

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I felt like a girl, sitting in a car with a boy. A boy who she liked.

I turned the key and settled back in my seat, not sure what to

do or say, and for the first time, the monumental inexperience

of my life hit me in the face.

I
bet
Rachel
would
have
no
problem
knowing
what
to
do.

I’d seen her grab Nate at the Coffee House. I didn’t have to

be introduced to know she was his ex- girlfriend. She’d looked at Nate as if he was a yummy piece of chocolate. One that she’d

tasted. And when she looked my way, I could tell that she still

wanted him.

She was exactly as I’d imagined. Tanned. Blond. And

gorgeous. Every guy’s fantasy, and yet, he was here with me.

“Thanks,” Nate said suddenly.

“For what?”

“I was a total dick tonight. Thanks for not leaving.”

The radio was on low, an old song by The Fray, and for a few

seconds, we listened to it, Nate’s fingers tapping along the tops of his knees while he hummed the melody.

“Trevor was such a pussy when it came to music, ya know?”

My head rested against the back of the seat and I turned

slightly so that I could see him.

“What do you mean?”

“The Fray. Good band. Solid songwriting skills with a lot of

melody, but not a whole lot of guitar and drums. I like heavy

guitar and loud aggressive drums. Five Finger Death Punch is

more my speed.” Nate shook his head, his eyes ahead and his

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mind elsewhere. “But Trevor loved The Fray. He was real big

on melody, and it’s why we worked together so well. It’s why we

clicked. I was all about technique and arpeggio scales and fast

riffs, but he kept things in perspective, he smoothed things out, and together, man, we wrote some good songs.”

That surprised me and I sat up a little straighter.

“You wrote your own stuff?”

Earlier, at the Coffee House, Nate had played a bunch of

songs with Brent, showing off some impressive guitar skills

while singing all of the girls into a frenzy. He had something

real special, and though it had taken a few songs for him to open up, once he did, I was mesmerized.

He’d made me feel as if I was the only girl in the room, and

I’m pretty sure every other girl had felt the same way. How could they not? When he looked at me, I felt as if he was touching

something inside of me and that something was alive. It was hot

and aching and a little scared.

I wanted to be touched. I wanted to feel. And maybe to forget.

“Yeah,” he answered softly, bringing me back. “We wrote a

lot. Some of it was crap, but some of it was pretty good. We were gonna record them this summer, maybe put them up on iTunes

or something…”

Nate sighed and I felt his pain. I felt it cross my chest and hit me hard like an old friend saying hello.

“We were gonna go for it. Even talked about moving to LA

or New York when we graduated. And now…”

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He shuddered and ran his hands along the tops of his legs.

Back and forth. And then again.

“Shit,” he muttered. “How did I end up here?”

For a moment, I panicked. “Here with me?”

“No,” he answered. “Just here…here looking down a road

that I don’t recognize anymore. A road that I never thought I’d

be on, you know? Trevor was supposed to be with me. It was

always us against everyone else. Us and our music.”

“Nate, you can’t give up on your dreams. You don’t know

what’s going to happen. None of us do. Trevor could wake up

tomorrow.” But I knew the likelihood wasn’t great. I’d heard

Gram talking to one of her friends the day before. I’d heard

words like sepsis, brain damage, possible infection.

“It doesn’t matter what I say or think, Monroe. There is only

the truth. And the simple truth is that Trevor is laid up in a

hospital because of me. He might never wake up
because
of
me
.

Or if he does, he might be screwed up so badly he might wish

he’d just died. It sucks, and I can’t change a fucking thing, no

matter how bad I want to.”

He scrubbed at his eyes angrily, pushing his hair off his

face. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair because I’m sitting in a car

on a hot summer night with a beautiful girl. I’m smelling

her shampoo and imagining what it would feel like to hold

her. I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling, because I don’t

deserve them.”

He swore again. “But what makes it worse is that I
want
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be here with you and that makes me feel even worse. It makes

me feel guilty. I feel…”

He looked at me, and my heart melted a little more when I

saw moisture in the corners of his eyes. I undid my seatbelt and

moved closer, my eyes not leaving his. My heart felt like it was

gonna beat right out of my chest, it roared in my ears, heavy and strong and…

Alive.

I reached for him, my palm on his cheek, and my heart

turned over when he leaned into me. He closed his eyes, and I

gently wiped away the single tear that fell.

“What do you feel?” I asked so softly I barely heard myself,

and at first, I thought that maybe the words had only echoed

inside my head.

His hands moved into my hair and I couldn’t move if I wanted

to. When my eyes focused, I gazed into his. I saw the pain that

lay there. The anguish and the sorrow. But I saw something else.

“Do you have to ask?” he said hoarsely.

I stared into his eyes for so long that my vision blurred.

His fingers wrapped around my skull, tangling in my hair and

pulling me even closer. I smelled mint gum and something

subtle, but nice.

It was hot in the car, but his body heat made it ten times

more so, and my dress clung to my skin, my hair to the back of

my neck.

He rested his forehead on mine and drew in a ragged breath

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that I felt deep in my own lungs. Every single inch of me felt as if it was on fire. Hot. Achy. Tremulous.

I swear my limbs had melted into rubber the moment he

touched me, and I was afraid that if he let go, I’d pitch forward.

My hands crept up his chest. I felt his beating heart and the heat from his body through his shirt, and he groaned a little when I

continued upward until I wrapped them around his neck. I couldn’t think about anything other than getting closer to him. I shifted

my hips and he moved so that I was practically sitting in his lap.

“God, Monroe. This is so wrong.”

No way was it wrong. It was so right.

I had to swallow that damn lump again, and when I did, I

managed to croak. “Why?”

“It’s so wrong to
feel
, to be with you when Trevor is— ”

“Stop it,” I said loudly, pushing at him once and then again

until he was forced to look into my eyes. “What happened is

done. You can’t change anything, Nate. At some point, you’re

going to have to forgive yourself and just…live again.”

Holy hell. If my therapist could hear me now, he’d be fist-

pumping his way to the freaking moon.

“Is that what you’re doing, Monroe? Have you forgiven

yourself?”

For a few moments, there was no sound other than the breeze

buffeting the hood of the car and our breaths falling in short,

hard spurts. Images I didn’t ever want to see flashed before my

eyes, and I shook my head violently.

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“I don’t want to talk about Malcolm.”

For a second, he said nothing and then he exhaled and I

could feel him pulling away, but I needed something more.
He

needed something more.

“I haven’t forgiven myself. I don’t think I ever will but…” I

paused as the enormity of the words in my head washed over

me. They pressed into my chest and made it hard to breathe

or speak.

When I spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “I’m learning to

live again and that’s a start.”

“It’s hard,” he said, his dark eyes hooded, his gaze on my mouth.

My hands encircled his neck and I felt his fist in my hair

as I bent forward. “I know,” I breathed into him, my mouth

hovering above his.

Our noses touched and my breath caught at the back of my

throat. I think I whimpered or maybe I sobbed. I don’t know. I

couldn’t hear. I could barely function.

Because when he moved enough so that his lips were on

mine, everything stopped except us.

There was nothing but Nathan and this hot Louisiana night.

There was nothing but the need to connect to someone so badly

I felt it ache in every part of my body.

His mouth was warm, his lips firm as he slid them over

mine. Bombs could have been going off for all I knew, because

it sure as heck felt like it. My world was rocking and I was

letting it.

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Nate’s scent, the feel of his hair between my fingers, his hard

chest and legs beneath my body— all of it rushed through me.

And oh God, could he kiss.

I opened my mouth beneath his and he groaned into me,

shifting yet again so that now I straddled him. I let him kiss me with all the ferocious need and anguish inside him, and I have

no idea how long we were like that— connected on every level,

touching each other, tasting each other— and when he broke

away, I whimpered again.

“Don’t stop,” I said throatily, running my hand across his jaw.

“Monroe, if I don’t stop,” he said huskily. “If we don’t…”

Something like pain crossed his face, and suddenly I was aware

of a few things.

My skirt had ridden up to my hips, and the bright pink boy

undies I had on were there for him to see. In fact, one of his

hands was on the small of my back, holding me in place.

Holding me against him.

Against
him.

“Shit,” I said, wriggling like mad to move away. By the look

on his face, I think I made things worse. “I’m sorry.”

I kneeled on the seat beside him, biting my lip and not sure what to do. His arm slipped around me, pulling me into his warmth.