press my lips together to keep from blubbering like an idiot. I nod, and then hold up my hand in a wave to Aaron. He can barely even look at me but tries to smile anyway. I say good night, and then Deacon and I leave.
* * *
I pull into Deacon’s driveway and he sets down the empty to-go cup we got from the drive-through. He caps the pen he grabbed from my console and then turns the cup in the holder so I can see his drawing. He draws on everything. “Look,” he says. “It’s us.” I glance at the new school–style figures and respective . . . positions before lifting my gaze to Deacon’s.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “And what exactly are we doing?”
Deacon chuckles and tosses the pen into the console before unclicking his seat belt. “Don’t be gross—we’re playing cricket, obviously.” I tilt my head and realize that with a lot of creative license, that could be true. “So . . . ,” he says with a devilish little smile. “Want to come in for a while?” Pinpricks race up my arms; there’s a flutter in my stomach under his attention. This would be so much easier if I didn’t find him completely adorable.
“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” I respond with a laugh, and look away.
“Come on,” he says playfully. “Before you have a boyfriend.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I am,” he says immediately. “I most definitely am.”
“Oh, stop,” I tell him. “He won’t really be my boyfriend, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says, and looks out the windshield toward his house. When he turns back to me, his smile softens. “We’ll stay downstairs,” he offers quietly. “Clothes on.”
There’s a pang in my chest, an impending loneliness. “And then what?” I ask. I’m making a point, but part of me wants an answer I know he can’t give.
“And then I’ll be really sweet,” he says. All of the joking is gone from his expression, replaced with vulnerability—a look that tells me he’d do anything to be with me. Be close to me. But I’ve fallen for that look before, and it’s always ended with regret.
Truth is, I don’t know what Deacon wants anymore—it’s not just physical. Whatever it is must scare him, though, and I’m the one who ends up getting hurt. So I make the concerted effort to resist his temptation, even if sometimes I’d like nothing more than to surround myself with his affection.
“I can’t,” I say quietly, putting my hand on his cheek, unable to keep myself from touching him. Deacon turns his face to kiss the heel of my palm, his lips warm and soft. His eyes steady on mine as my resolve wavers.
“But I really want you to,” he murmurs against my skin.
My insides melt, but I don’t let that sway me. Deacon knows exactly what to say and how to say it. But this is all because I have another assignment, our feelings heightened because I’m leaving. I know better than to think it’s real.
“You’re a really good friend,” I tell him finally, ending our evening.
Despite the rejection, Deacon kisses my hand again and then leans in to quickly kiss my cheek. He grabs his bag from the floor, and I can’t decide if I want him to argue or get out before I change my mind. I’m going to miss him like crazy. And I never miss him more than I do just before I’m gone. I may be a little nostalgic right now.
“Wait,” I say. Deacon’s breath catches, but before my comment can be misinterpreted, I work the extra car key off the ring in the ignition. “So you can use it while I’m gone,” I tell him.
He smiles and holds out his hand, looking disappointed that I didn’t have a different offer. Back when we were dating, I’d leave Deacon my Honda while I was on assignment so he could use it. My father wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, saying Deacon could afford his own car. But then Deacon would ask him how big his carbon footprint was and my father would laugh and tell him to go home.
I’ll be gone for two weeks this time—longest
* * *
I pull into Deacon’s driveway and he sets down the empty to-go cup we got from the drive-through. He caps the pen he grabbed from my console and then turns the cup in the holder so I can see his drawing. He draws on everything. “Look,” he says. “It’s us.” I glance at the new school–style figures and respective . . . positions before lifting my gaze to Deacon’s.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “And what exactly are we doing?”
Deacon chuckles and tosses the pen into the console before unclicking his seat belt. “Don’t be gross—we’re playing cricket, obviously.” I tilt my head and realize that with a lot of creative license, that could be true. “So . . . ,” he says with a devilish little smile. “Want to come in for a while?” Pinpricks race up my arms; there’s a flutter in my stomach under his attention. This would be so much easier if I didn’t find him completely adorable.
“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” I respond with a laugh, and look away.
“Come on,” he says playfully. “Before you have a boyfriend.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I am,” he says immediately. “I most definitely am.”
“Oh, stop,” I tell him. “He won’t really be my boyfriend, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says, and looks out the windshield toward his house. When he turns back to me, his smile softens. “We’ll stay downstairs,” he offers quietly. “Clothes on.”
There’s a pang in my chest, an impending loneliness. “And then what?” I ask. I’m making a point, but part of me wants an answer I know he can’t give.
“And then I’ll be really sweet,” he says. All of the joking is gone from his expression, replaced with vulnerability—a look that tells me he’d do anything to be with me. Be close to me. But I’ve fallen for that look before, and it’s always ended with regret.
Truth is, I don’t know what Deacon wants anymore—it’s not just physical. Whatever it is must scare him, though, and I’m the one who ends up getting hurt. So I make the concerted effort to resist his temptation, even if sometimes I’d like nothing more than to surround myself with his affection.
“I can’t,” I say quietly, putting my hand on his cheek, unable to keep myself from touching him. Deacon turns his face to kiss the heel of my palm, his lips warm and soft. His eyes steady on mine as my resolve wavers.
“But I really want you to,” he murmurs against my skin.
My insides melt, but I don’t let that sway me. Deacon knows exactly what to say and how to say it. But this is all because I have another assignment, our feelings heightened because I’m leaving. I know better than to think it’s real.
“You’re a really good friend,” I tell him finally, ending our evening.
Despite the rejection, Deacon kisses my hand again and then leans in to quickly kiss my cheek. He grabs his bag from the floor, and I can’t decide if I want him to argue or get out before I change my mind. I’m going to miss him like crazy. And I never miss him more than I do just before I’m gone. I may be a little nostalgic right now.
“Wait,” I say. Deacon’s breath catches, but before my comment can be misinterpreted, I work the extra car key off the ring in the ignition. “So you can use it while I’m gone,” I tell him.
He smiles and holds out his hand, looking disappointed that I didn’t have a different offer. Back when we were dating, I’d leave Deacon my Honda while I was on assignment so he could use it. My father wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, saying Deacon could afford his own car. But then Deacon would ask him how big his carbon footprint was and my father would laugh and tell him to go home.
I’ll be gone for two weeks this time—longest
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