You and Everything After(33)

“I fucking love the Beach Boys,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh, falling with all of my weight into his chest while he wraps his arms tightly around me, then works his fingers through my hair until he can see my face.

“That was…pretty much the strangest mood killer I’ve ever heard,” I say, unable to hide my giggle and the smile that is permanently tattooed under my nose. It’s bliss. This…everything…this moment—it’s bliss.

“You know, that song? The one about California girls, and how perfect your skin and hair and shit is. They’re just dead on, that’s all,” he says, nuzzling his nose against my neck and taking small bites out of my ear.

“You should write them, tell them to change up their lyrics. That song would be so much better your way—California girls have perfect skin and shit.” I can’t even fully finish the sentence without laughing, and Ty can no longer hold his in either.

“Was I even close? God, how does that song go?” he pulls me against his side and tugs one of my pillows over so he can tuck it under his head. He’s humming the tune to California Girls, and his chest is vibrating with every note. He’s actually not a horrible singer. I wonder if he’d ever sing me to sleep?

“You have a nice voice,” I say. When he looks down at me with a pinched brow, I reach up and cross my heart. “I swear, I’m not feeding your ego. You have a nice voice.”

“Lots of choir. Nate’s actually better. He stole the solo from me in the community Christmas play one year when we were kids. Little thief,” he says, still wearing that same smile he does every time he talks about his brother. I love it.

His stare at me is intense. His smile is soft, but there’s something working behind his eyes. “Penny for your thoughts?” I ask.

He smiles at my question at first, then watches his hand as he slides his fingers deeper through my hair, fanning the strands out along my bare shoulder. “My mom always says that,” he says. “She’s going to like you.”

God I hope so.



Ty



I have been lying here with Cass, her and me alone, on her bed, for more than an hour. And I still haven’t taken her clothes off.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Normally, I would start to think that I must not be into a chick. No, screw that…normally I wouldn’t even be here by this point. I wouldn’t even worry about making up a good excuse. I’d just leave. But leaving is kind of the very last thing that I want to do. Rowe just came back, and she made a face at Cass, one that I could tell meant, “He’s leaving soon, right?” She left with her things to shower. She does that, showers late at night—I only know her habits because my brother stalks her in the hall. Ever since he ran into her that first night, he leaves our door open in the evening and listens for any sign of her.

I should probably go. But I don’t want to. And I don’t think Cass wants me to go. It’s weird how I can lie in one spot—not even a hint of sex on the horizon—and still be this content to be with a girl. It’s more than content. I feel whole. I haven’t felt that since…since Kelly.

“I should go,” I finally get myself to speak.

“What if I just hide you? I’ll keep you under my covers. Rowe won’t even notice,” she says, and I flip her cover over my six-foot frame, my feet dangling out.

“I think she might notice,” I say, pulling the cover back and stroking her hair from her face so I can kiss her forehead.

“How’d it happen?” I think this question has been on her mind for hours, days maybe. I wish I could get inside other people’s heads, because I wonder if it’s the first question people have when they meet me. Was I born this way, or did something happen along the way? I don’t mind answering. I never do. But I don’t think Cass has really ever cared to know, until now.

“Accident,” I say, simple at first.

“Like, a car accident?”

I smile softly and shake my head. “No, not a car accident,” I say, pushing myself to a sitting position, my weight held by my arms for balance. Cass moves her head to my lap, and it strikes me that this is something nobody has ever done to me. It feels strangely intimate, the kind of intimacy that goes along with trust. “It was at this lake that Nate and I always went to over the summer near our grandparents’ house. There was this one area, lots of cliffs and a deep, pooled area. The summer before, Nate watched a bunch of teenagers jump from the cliffs into the water. He was too afraid to try, and he regretted it for an entire year. It was all he’d talk about.”