Falling for the Ghost of You(34)

I am a silly teenage girl, I'll admit it, and like any other silly girl that's being ignored, I decide there's only one thing to do:

Make him suffer.



I don't want to be too obvious, but I do make an effort to dress up a little more around Zane. Instead of my usual old t-shirts and old jeans, I pair short skirts with cute flirty tops that show a little more cleavage than I'm usually comfortable with. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Our month together is almost up, and I’ve already packed up most of my belongings and hauled them over to Jane’s house. I feel this...nail biting urgency. I feel like if something is going to happen between us, it has to happen now, or I will lose him forever. And that's a thought I couldn't bear.



Friday night.

I am oddly agitated and restless. Zane is home for a change, but locked away in his room. He's barely said two words to me.

Okay, so I have a terrible idea, and I'm trying to work up the nerve to go through with it.

It's a really bad, really slutty idea. I should be ashamed of myself for considering it.

I'm going to do it.

Before I know it, I'm standing in front of his door, holding my pink towel. After taking a deep breath, I knock lightly on his door.

Without waiting for a response, I let myself in. Zane is at his desk, doing something on his laptop. My heart stumbles when I realize he is shirtless.

"I...uh, I'm going to shake a shower. Wait, I mean take!"

I flush with embarrassment, but Zane barely turns around. "Go for it," he mutters indifferently.

Son of a b!

"Thanks!" I grunt, and stomp past him to the bathroom, slamming the door for good measure.

I am fuming as I strip off my clothes. How dare he act like I'm nothing to him but an inconvenience! I thought—I don't know what I thought. We, at least, used to be friends. Zane would have teased me mercilessly over my awkwardness. Now he can't stand to look at me.

Angry tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them back. I let myself relax under the spray of the steaming hot shower, taking my time washing my hair and scrubbing my skin with my coconut scented body wash.

How long have I been in here for? Half an hour? Maybe longer. I shut off the water and reach for my fluffy pink towel. After I dry off my hair and body, I wrap the towel tightly around myself and tuck it in the front between my breasts. It's just long enough to cover my torso and graze the top of my thighs. Um. Much shorter than I anticipated.

Well, I've managed to steam up the bathroom good. I swipe at the fogged up mirror with a hand towel and glare at my reflection. I try to practice making sexy faces, but I quickly give up, feeling completely ridiculous. Like one of those girls who uploads thirty pictures of herself making duck faces in the mirror. Why do girls do that? I make the duck, and it's not sexy at all. Creepy, maybe.

What is Zane doing right now? Is he wondering if I've drowned in here? Is he even still in his room? I half hope not.

Well, I can't stay in here forever—can I? I run my hands through my hair, pushing it back from my face. Gosh, I look freaked. Well, it's now or never.

Here I go.

Nope. Okay...and now.

I open the door and take a tiny step out. A cloud of coconut scented steam wafts past me. Zane is still at his laptop! He doesn't turn around, but I can tell by the sudden tensing of his back and shoulders that he knows I'm there.

I clear my throat, clutching the towel against me. "I forgot my clothes," I mumble in a way that is more mentally challenged than seductive.

Oh, well. But I've finally gotten his attention. Zane's head comes up slowly, and I catch a glimpse of his achingly handsome profile. A tiny muscle jumps in his clenched jaw. Is he mad? The only light comes from the bathroom behind me, and the muted glow of the laptop's screen, too dim to read his expression.

The silence yawns between us, growing until it becomes a living thing that fills the room, robbing us of our voices, and turning us to stone.

My eyes suddenly snag on my reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet doors. I search for Zane's image, and my gaze catches his and holds. We stare at each other through the mirror for seconds that feel like a lifetime.

I am utterly blown away by the sudden certainty that if he turns around, or if I were to go to him—touch the smooth curves of his back like I so badly wanted to—I would be spending the night in his bed. That dark tortured look he's giving me right now silently promises that.

Do I want that? I don't know. I want him. God, do I want him. But what do I know about sex? I'm just a seventeen year old virgin who doesn't know how to kiss right.

Finally, Zane tears his gaze away from mine, back to his laptop. His voice is rough and strained when he mutters, "Get dressed."

Only he can turn me on and piss me off at the same time. Who does he think he is?! Half-naked here, and looking damn good, if I have to say so myself (obviously I do). Will he be able to maintain his indifference if I "accidentally" drop my towel right now?