A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(50)

The flower fields.

Wes pulls over into the rough dirt on the side of the road, and climbs  out of the truck, flipping the tailgate down before walking to my side  and meeting me just as I'm about to step from my seat.

"Levi and his date are going to some party at the river. I … I didn't want  to go. I hope that's okay with you?" His lips are crooked, and I'm  struck by the fact that Wes wanted to get me alone, and he's slightly  bashful about it.

"I love it here," I say, the only answer to give. The air is sweet. I've  forgotten what it's like out here at night, and I'm sure that's why Wes  brought me. The flowers are all sleeping, but their scent is almost  like a potion for the soul. When I was a little girl, I was convinced  that my hair would soak it up, and in the morning, I would sniff the  strands in search of it. But it was always gone. The magic that happens  out here-you can't bottle it. It doesn't come home with you. It stays  with the petals and with the earth, ready and waiting for you to visit  when you need to feel spellbound for a little while.

I need that right now.

Wes knew.

I climb into the bed of the truck where Wes has laid an open sleeping  bag. I smile up at him, raising a brow, and his eyebrows shoot up.

"I swear to god, for stargazing. Cross my heart," he says, actually making the motion.         

     



 

"I know," I roll my eyes. When I turn away, though, I think about how  alone we are and how much I want his hands on my body. I pull my boots  from my feet and set them along with my purse in the corner of the bed,  then nestle into Wes's side, his fingers slowly curling around my arm. I  love the tickle of his fingertips.

"You haven't checked your phone once tonight," Wes says, his head falling to the side until it rests against mine.

"I haven't," I realize. My father very well could have left after I did.  But for some reason, I have this strange sense of faith that he stayed  home. My instincts taunt me, preparing me for disappointment, but the  faith remains.

"Your boss was okay with you taking the night off?" Wes asks.

"Sort of," I say. "He told me he'd save all of the gum from this weekend for next."

Wes turns his head to take me in fully and scrunches his face.

"That means I'm getting all the gum, doesn't it," he says.

"Pretty much," I say, ignoring his stare and snuggling back into his  hold. He chuckles eventually, and I let my hand rest on his chest,  feeling it shake with his laugh.

As we both grow quiet, the sound of the crickets in the fields takes  over, and my eyes begin to wander around the sky. I haven't looked up in  years. I notice the stars, but I don't really tend to them. I'm glad  Wes made me do this.

"When I was little, after my mom left? I used to try to guess what star  she was staring at, and it felt good to think that we were looking at  the same one," I say. I feel his head shift, and I know he's looking at  me. I swallow.

"You miss her," he says. It isn't a question. He's reading me. He's always read me.

"I do. It guts me sometimes," I say.

We lay in silence for a few more minutes before he asks for more. It's  as if he knows I need to get used to shedding layers before I remove a  new one.

"Tell me about her," he says.

My breath comes slow, and I let it fill me completely before I speak. I  need this time to think of her, because I don't remember much. And that  hurts most of all.

"She had blond hair-wavy, like mine. And she always wore ripped jeans  and old T-shirts. She … she liked art. She had a potter's wheel in our  spare bathroom. I used to put my Play-Doh on it when I was a kid. She  never got mad," I say. It takes me a few quiet seconds to realize I'm  smiling, and I start to correct it, to scowl, because that's what I've  told myself to do when I think of her. But I stop, my head falling to  look at Wes, and when his eyes catch mine, my mouth curves back into  place. They are happy memories, and I'm allowed to have them.

"She sounds like she loved you," he says.

I consider his words for a moment, and I don't have a whole response. I  only shrug, because I'm so unsure if she did. She left. She disappeared.  And if she loved me, surely she would have stayed.

"When I was twelve, I thought about running away. I wanted to find her.  Taryn was going to go with me. My dad found out about our plans, and  that's when he started going to Jim's on Saturdays," I say, twisting  back so my body is flush with the truck bed, my eyes locked on the stars  and the thin layer of clouds threatening to hide them.

"He was probably afraid of losing you," Wes says. I let go of a heavy  breath, not wanting to give my father any excuse. "I'm not saying it was  the right choice. But … I think he was just running scared. I also think  he's done avoiding."

"We'll see," I whisper. "We'll see."

My mind lingers in hope for a while, and I let myself remember good  times for just a little longer. It feels safe to remember out here in my  flower fields, in Wes's arms. My thoughts never dive into worrying, and  I never feel the urge to run. In fact, the longer Wes's fingers tickle  up and down my arm, the more I want them to roam along more of me.

As long minutes turn into half an hour, my breathing shifts into a slow  and quiet rhythm, and I become acutely aware of everywhere my body is  touching Wes's. My right leg is against his, and my torso is turned just  enough so my arm can reach over his chest, my fingers grabbing a fist  full of his shirt to hold my hand in place. His body is just as still,  and the more minutes that pass, the more I consider he may be  inventorying the same touches.

"Wes?" I ask finally, my heart beating so hard it's drumming can be felt in my bones.

"Uh huh?" he says, his voice quiet as his face falls toward mine. His  eyes are different-maybe a little hazed, definitely anxious.         

     



 

"Now would be a killer time to kiss me," I say, pinning my lip in my  teeth the second I do. My skin feels warm instantly, despite the cool  air picking up with the late night breeze.

"Okay," he says, his voice cracking like a boy hitting puberty. I giggle  at him, and he rolls his eyes closed. "Not cool, making fun of your  boyfriend who is seriously panic-attack nervous about kissing you alone  in the bed of his pickup truck."

"Boyfriend," I whisper, looking away from him and smiling. Wow, I hadn't  thought about the word that goes along with him. I hadn't considered a  label or any word for what we are. I just know I need him. God do I need  him in my life. He's been missing.

I look back at him and smile so large my cheeks ache quickly.

"Yeah," he says, his voice deep, vibrating in his chest against my hand, which he reaches for and holds tightly. "Boyfriend."

I leave my eyes on his and let my lips tingle with expectation.

"You've kissed me before," I shrug slightly, the right side of my lip raising a little more, dimpling my cheek. He mimics me.

"Yeah, but not … not like this," he says, his smile sliding into a more  serious look, his eyes moving from mine to my mouth. The tingling  quickly becomes numbness under his scrutiny.

"I know," I breathe.

Inside my closed fist, the one wrapped in his hand, my palm is sweating.  My heart is pounding, and my body is rushing with adrenaline. This is  almost the same feeling I get when I step up into the box to swing  against a really fast pitcher, only, I'm less sure of everything right  now. My hookups and make-out sessions at parties and down at the river  or the beach have been meaningless. But this-every this with Wes-it  means everything.

I inhale deeply, lifting myself by pressing against his chest. He holds  my weight and watches me carefully as I sit up next to him and slide one  leg over his body, straddling his lap. We've been in this position  before-the first time we kissed. Only this time, I feel different.

Wes's eyes study my every movement, and his breath stills. My hands  slide down his chest, along the lines of buttons on his shirt, and I  slowly pull each one through its hole. I push his shirt open and pull on  the ends tucked in his pants, his stomach and chest now bare in front  of me. My eyes widen at the contours of every muscle on his  perfectly-formed body. Without pause, I lean forward and press my lips  on his stomach, working my way up him until I kiss the center of his  chest.

Wes takes a sharp breath as I blow coolness over the small area where my  tongue tastes him, and I feel his hands begin to gather the skirt of my  dress into his fists. I peer up at him as I lean forward and kiss him  again, and I feel his muscles tighten. He's caught between being my  savior and being my seducer, and right now, I don't need saving-I need  his touch.

My hands find his, and I cover them, guiding them up my body with my  dress until it's gathered around my waist and his fingers have found my  bare skin underneath. His gaze bores into me, and I nod slowly, my  movement continuing as his hands slide inches at a time under my dress  until his palms have found my breasts.