Sweet Nothing(37)

“Here you go.” Luke settles next to me. “All set?”

I nod. “Thanks.” I like that he sits close enough that it’s clear we’re together, but not so close it will make other people feel uncomfortable. Not that anyone would notice, judging from the bikini-clad girls in the shallow end, sticking their tongues down their boyfriends’ throats between shots.

“So we heard about your little field trip today.” Waverly stretches out next to the pool, crossing one tanned leg over the other. I steal at glance at Luke. But he’s already looking at me.

“Yeah. It was a good time. Perfect weather, perfect company…couldn’t have asked for a better day,” he says without looking away. “I’m just glad we got to keep it going.”

Me, too.

“I took the theatre kids to the beach for a sunrise picnic last year,” Waverly continues. “We had just wrapped a show—Pippin, I think—and they were still wired after we broke down the set. So we got breakfast and went out to the beach and watched the sun rise.”

“Good for you.” Luke offers her a brief but genuine smile. “I bet they had a great time.”

“Well, I did hear some of the kids saying it was one of their best Allford memories. But whatever.”

“He. Is. Amazing,” Gwen’s breathy whisper tickles my ear. “Seriously. Date. Him.”

I smile as Waverly launches into Allford’s fall musical lineup. Luke nods politely.

“He is pretty great, isn’t he?” I whisper back.

“Those are all great shows. You guys are gonna have an awesome season,” Luke says, loudly enough to bring me back to him. “So this place is cool. I love the…” He leans toward me, his eyes bright with amusement. “… what do you call it? Décor?”

I stifle a laugh. “Décor. Definitely. Very good décor.”

“I kind of want to go check the place out. Look around a little.” He pokes me in the small of my back. Hard.

“I’ll go,” I blurt out.

“I bet you will.” Waverly smiles a closed-lip smile. Amusement? Jealousy? Annoyance? It’s hard to tell.

“Have fun, kids. Stay in school. Don’t do drugs.” Gwen lifts her glass over her head in a solo toast.

“Check, check, and check.” Luke jumps up and helps me to standing. “We’ll be back.”

“Décor, Luke? Seriously?” I smile as we weave our way around the pool’s edge. “Well, I had to find some way to steal you away.” Luke slips his hand in mine. Our fingers intertwine naturally. “Décor seemed like as good an option as any.”

“Fair enough. Where are we going?”

“Right here.” Around the corner from the exit door is a tiny nook, too small for lounge furniture. Beyond the wall is our own private view of Miami.

I lean over the ledge, watching crowds of people weave through each other on the streets below. Groups of giggling girls hoping their eye makeup and asses will help them pass for 21. Barbie and Ken: Miami Style. (She’s in an emerald bodycon dress, with blonde hair almost to her waist. His hair is slicked back like a plastic doll’s, and his “tan” is deeper than hers.) My gaze flits from one group to the next. Then I feel Luke close behind me, and the streets go blurry, like a watercolor that hasn’t yet dried.

“It’s a beautiful view, don’t you think?” I say.

He presses the length of his body against mine. “Yeah,” he murmurs into my ear. “I do.” He rests his hands on my hips and turns me around to face him. “But this is even better. I want to see you.”

I let myself look up at him. Drink him in. There’s something so safe about him. He’s solid. Stable. Everything my life hasn’t been in the past six months. Fuck, everything my life hasn’t been for as long as I can remember.

“I’m glad you asked me to come out tonight. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I got home,” he says.

“Same.” Everything about him is distracting: the curve of his mouth, the color of his eyes, the lines of his chest. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, either.”

“Good.” He cups the back of my neck with his hand; strokes my throat with his thumb. Presses me into the wall. “So do you think, maybe, you’d want to go out again?” He bends down and kisses my jaw, my cheek, my chin. Everywhere but my mouth. My body burns with wanting.

“And again,” I nod.

“And again after that, and again after that.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because—” He pulls back, just enough to look into my eyes. “I like you.” His words are so simple. And yet, I don’t remember the last time I’ve heard them. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard them. It’s almost too much. I’m not sure I can handle this kind of close. How could he possibly like me, when he doesn’t really know who I am?