Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl(81)

“Beck,” I whisper right before his lips touch mine.

He pauses, his eyelids lifting open. “Yeah?”

“C-can I hear you say it?” I whisper. “I’ve never heard anyone say it to me without a manipulative meaning behind it.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “Willow, I love you.”

He says it so easily, without any effort, without wanting anything in return.

I’ve often wondered what it would be like to hear the word love and not cringe. When I was younger, it used to happen, but only because I was so naive. Maybe I’m being naive still, but I really don’t think so. And I don’t cringe. I don’t run. I don’t think of lists and jobs and classes. I think of Beck and everything he’s done for me: when he saved me from sleeping in the car, when he comforted me during the rougher days, when he didn’t judge me for the bad choices I made, when he made me laugh, even when he made me almost pee my pants.

Then I hold my breath and let every single damn syllable sink into my heart.

“I love you, too,” I whisper. “I think I have for a while.”

His eyes widen, but that look only lasts for a heartbeat. Then his lips are on mine. His hands soon find my body, slipping underneath my shirt. His fingers brush my nipples, and my back bows up, my knees pressing against his hips. He repeats the movement again, whispering that he can stop if I need him to. I don’t want him to stop, though.

Ever.

And that’s exactly what I tell him.

He peels off my shirt, and I tug down his pajama bottoms and boxers. Then he lays me back down on the bed and slips his fingers inside me as his tongue parts my lips. He feels me until I can’t breathe. Kisses me until I can’t think straight. Loves me until everything seems right and nothing seems wrong.

I never want him to let me go.

His thoughts seem to match mine as he only moves away to put on a condom. Then he places his body over mine, kissing me slowly, as if memorizing every single brush of our lips.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, looking into my eyes.

I nod with a hint of nerves surfacing. But I shove the feeling down and wrap my legs around his waist, really wanting to do this.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you, too,” he promises.

Then he kisses me as he slips inside, and I hold on to him, never wanting to let go.

It might not be perfection, but I think it’s definitely close.





Chapter Twenty-Five



Willow



The next few days move by slowly, but in the best way possible. Beck and I spend a lot of time messing around, laughing, and burning dinner because I apparently suck at cooking food that doesn’t come processed and in a box. Beck finds my sucky cooking skills pretty funny, even when I set off all the smoke alarms in the house, and his laughter makes not panicking a bit easier.

To alleviate even more of my stress, I decided to accept a job at the library and a tutoring job at the college. Beck tries to talk me out of taking two, but I want to be able to afford everything on my own, even a discounted, reasonable rent price. I also decide to have Van mail me my final paycheck instead of picking it up, never wanting to go back to that place again.

Van doesn’t seem very happy about me quitting, but I am. And I really start feeling like myself again: the planner, the good choice maker, the girl who loves spending time with her best friend—well, I guess my boyfriend now, which is new to me and completely unplanned. That’s okay. I’m starting to realize that unplanned things sometimes turn out to be wonderful.

Everything seems to be going great until I finally have to accept that I can no longer keep washing my outfit and re-wearing it. I have to return to the apartment to get my stuff and my car. So, on a very early Friday morning, Beck and I climb into his car and drive back to a place I hope to never see again.

Just being there puts me in a foul mood, and I wonder if that’s how I’ve been for years: a walking foul mood. I decide to ask Beck this since he seems to know me pretty well.

“You’re not a walking foul mood.” He rolls his eyes as he grabs the blankets off my bed and stuffs them into a box. “You’re not even in a foul mood right now. You’re just sad because this place reminds you of too many bad times.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I open the top dresser drawer to clean out my clothes, finding the snow globe Beck gave me. I smile as I pick it up.

“What are you looking at?” Beck asks, stepping up beside me. He has on jeans that are covered with dust from moving furniture, a long-sleeved grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and strands of his hair are askew. He looks so sexy. I can’t figure out how the hell I managed to keep my hands off him for so long.