Foreign Exchange (21 page)

I take a step closer and feel the heat of his chest against me. I remember when we’d been on the plane, what seems like a year ago. How much I wanted him to kiss me. His eyes roam my face, from my eyes, down to my lips, over to where his hand rests on my cheek. His hand slips down so it’s on my neck and his thumb strokes my jaw.

My mouth opens slightly. I have to say it. I have to be closer to him.

“Kiss me.”

His throat bobbles as he swallows. But he doesn’t move into me. I nod my head, to encourage him, hardly believing that he’s not already doing it. My desire is so
strong I have a hard time believing he isn’t feeling it too. But he doesn’t move, like he’s frozen by my request. His thumb even stops moving along my jaw.

I don’t know what else to say, so I whisper, “Don’t you want to?” I feel my forehead crinkle with the question, suddenly
unsure if I want the answer.

H
is hand moves around the back of my neck, grips me strongly, and his face contorts almost like he’s in pain. He nods, but he’s not looking at me anymore.

“Do you feel like…are you holding back?”
Is it Tristan
, I think, but don’t want to say her name out loud for fear of breaking the moment. After all the stress of the last two days, I need this release. And by his pained face, I think he needs it, too.

His nod is almost imperceptible, but it’s there. He’s holding back. He wants this as much as I do
, but he won’t let himself. I’m so nervous. I’ve never been like this with a guy before and he’s probably done this a million times, but I take his hand and place it on my waist. Then I slide it up the side of my body, but this time I bring it right along the edge of my breast.

He watches our hands intently, but still doesn’t move.

I wet my lips and move closer, pull him closer. But just as our lips are about to connect, I move my head a little and connect a soft kiss
to his lower cheek.

His skin is a little rough with
budding whiskers, but I love the feel of it. The simple contact isn’t enough. The moment my lips pull away, I need more. More of his musky scent. More of my body close against his. I readjust myself so I’m right up against him. His head has dipped to take my kiss, at least he’s not fighting it, so I place another soft one further along his jaw. My hand gently moves in circles in his hair, I can’t seem to stop it, but his stays rigid on my side. It still hasn’t moved.

I
touch another soft kiss up between his neck and his ear and he lets out a small sound.

“Do you want this
, too?” My words in his ear are barely a breath. But this time I’m sure of the answer before his hand moves from my neck and up into my hair. His breathing is deeper, more labored. “Prove it.”

Both his hands move into my hair, and he grip
s me tightly, so tightly, and he turns my face to him.

I nod. “Kiss me,” I say again, and I
know
he wants to. But he still has this tense jaw like he won’t let himself. “Why not?” I ask. I’m not going to say her name, but if this is bothering him so much, he needs to get it out.

He swallows again. “I…I promised myself I’d let you decide about this. I’d let you
… be the one to…to take it somewhere if you…if you want to,” he says. I’ve never heard him this flustered. “Whether it’s my sister or my reputation, or... whatever has bothered you about me, I promised myself... I wouldn’t scare you off again.”

I
remember how he’d told me back in Michigan that he doesn’t take promises lightly. I want to tell him things are so different now. But are they? Or are we just grasping onto each other because we're in crisis mode? Will it go back to the way things were when we get back home—his little flirting games at school and me sitting on the sidelines watching, like all the others who couldn’t hold his interest? I remember how much it hurt the first time I’d seen him take Amelia's hand. How much more would it hurt now?

The thing is, I don’t care. I want this. I want to be closer to him, even if it’s just for tonight. I know I’ll regret it if I let myself get scared
off.

“I do want this,” I say. “No matter what comes later
.”

I wait until he meets my eyes again.
It’s true. He’s my friend. Even if this doesn’t go anywhere, he’ll always be my friend, and I need to be closer to him tonight. “I want you, Sawyer.”

His breath comes out slow
and ragged, and he moves his face closer to mine. But he still doesn’t touch his lips to mine. “Kiss me,” he says. “It has to be your choice.”

I wet my lips again. “I’ve never done this before,” I whisper. And it’s not that I’ve never kissed a boy before, but never like this. Never
being the aggressor with a guy with so much more experience. Never where I’ve wanted it more than I’ve wanted air.

“You ha
ve nothing to live up to, Jamie,” he whispers. “This, is just you and me.”

T
hat’s all it takes. Just like that, I forget about every girl he’s been with, every rule Tristan’s made about staying away from her brother, every reason I’ve ever given myself for holding back from him.

I bring my lips clos
er until they touch his. Neither of our hands moves. I don’t think either of us is breathing. I don’t exactly kiss him, but just feel his lips with mine for a second. His are velvety soft and warm. I let my lips melt into his and finally deepen into a real kiss, and his lips kiss back so instantaneously that it’s hard to remember who started this.

Our mouths open and I’m not sure who’s first this time either, but our tongues find each other. We kiss and kiss and kiss, not moving anything
but our mouths for the longest time, until we finally come up for air.

We’re both breathing so hard you’d think we’d
run a marathon. His hands soften on the back of my neck and move to my shoulders. He looks at me intently, like he’s trying to memorize this moment. And I want to do the same. Who knows if we’ll ever kiss like that again, but I don’t want to think about that now. I just want to think about this perfect moment.

When he takes his hands away, I almost let out a cry. I almost say
no, don’t let go. Not yet
. But without breaking eye contact, he reaches down and moves Tristan’s bag from the bed to the floor.

I
swallow. He’s making room for us.

He must see my expression change, because he whispers, “Jamie, please don’t worry. If you want to stay like this, that’s what I want
, too. It’s your choice.”

I shake my head. That’s not what I want. “I…” I swallow
again, hard, and somehow find my voice. “I want more.”

He brings his face back toward mine, but waits again, just hovers right next to me, not even touching me. I reach over until I find his hands and let my fingers tangle with his.
The feel of his strong hands gives me strength. I move an inch forward and kiss him again. And again.

I’m scared, but
also so amazed at how tender Sawyer’s being with me. I let my kisses trail back to his ear and whisper, “Do you want to lie down together?”

His breath catches and I feel another swallow move through his throat. “Do you?” he asks and his words squeak a bit, like he’s going through second puberty. Which reminds me of his first puberty, pretty much when
we’d first met. Tristan and I had teased him relentlessly and imitated his changing voice.

It feels like we’ve known each other our whole lives, like this is so natural to happen between us, and suddenly, a small part of me is not afraid at all. This is Sawyer. My friend. And
everything about this is going to be wonderful.

Without answering, I move toward the bed—our bed—and pull him along with me. I lie down, still holding his hand, and leav
e plenty of room for him to lie beside me.

He does.

I turn on my side and look over at him, watch his chest go in and out with his ragged breathing. “You won’t scare me away tonight, Sawyer. I promise.”

This gets a smile out of him, and I realize in that second that
it's really not his sister, not his feelings for other girls. Only whether or not I’m ready to trust him. And I am.

“I trust you and I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” I say.

He lies still beside me. This time it doesn’t take me long to realize that he’s waiting for me to be the aggressor once more.

I smirk at him. “Are you ever going to make the first move?”

He smirks back, but his breathing is still uneven and it makes his lips warble. “Oh, I promise you, I will,” he says. “Just not tonight.”

I’m not sure what it is that gives me the confidence, but it’s as if we’re little kids again and he’s saying
, “Try and catch me.” It’s a trust game. I’d done a good job at proving I didn’t trust Sawyer, not in this way, and now I have to prove the opposite.

I move in and tug down
the neckline of his shirt a little so I can begin at his chest and kiss my way up his neck. I love feeling his labored breathing. And I love when I meet his lips and they practically devour me as soon as I melt into them. He lets out all kinds of little sounds, not really moans, but more like high-pitched breathy cries. In another moment they would be enough to make me giggle and tease him. But the last thing I want right now is to break into a laughing fit.

My hands skim along his chest, down
to his stomach, and around his sides as we kiss. He jumps a little when I hit a ticklish spot. Again, trying to avoid a laughing fit—on either of our parts—I move my hands back to the less sensitive ground of his stomach. When I find the edge of his shirt, I let my fingers wander underneath it.

Our lips take a break and we look at each other, recuperating for a second and letting ourselves enjoy this new sensation. His face, when he looks at me
. I can’t stop staring. I can’t—no matter how hard I try—believe that this means nothing to him. That he could go on to someone else tomorrow.

I let my hand wander up under his shirt until I feel the shape of his chest. It’s
hard with muscle, but his skin is so soft. I suddenly get a new revelation of how perfect he is. He’s still staring at me with these eyes, like he’s in love with me, or something, and I can’t help the question from coming out.

“Why do you like me?”

His smirk is back. “You really want me to tell you? Right now?” Even though his breathing is rough, his tone is playful. I let my hand trail back down to his waist and out of his shirt, feeling my confidence drain.

I shrug, and I’m ready to pull away, when he says, “Jamie. Look at me.” I do, and he’s still wearing that smirk, like this is
all a big joke to him. “Put your hand back under my shirt, come lie with me here…” he motions to his chest, “…and I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

His voice is coaxing. And I want him to tell me nice things, but I guess part of me is afraid they
’ll be shallow things and I’ll feel like just another girl to him. I wish I hadn’t asked, but at the same time, I want our closeness to continue as long as it can.

I let my fingers crawl under the hem of his shirt onto his stomach, and I bring my head closer to him. His arm wraps around me and he pulls my head against his chest as he rolls onto his back. I breath
e in the scent of his shirt, which is now all him with only a tiny hint of laundry detergent.

His breathing is evening out, as is mine. I hope this isn’t going to be the big letdown. I hope that he’ll leave thi
ngs so we can do this again, at least one more time before we have to go back to real life.

His hand slides under his shirt until it rests on top of mine. We just l
ie there breathing together for a few minutes and I wonder if he’s forgotten about my question. Or if he’s decided he doesn’t have a good answer. And I’m okay with that, I really am. I’m okay with saying nothing at all if it allows us to stay like this a little longer. Though I kind of want to kiss him again, too.

He did say he would make the first move—just not tonight. So
does that mean he’s counting on a second night? My mind is spinning so much, trying to convince myself of something good, that when he speaks, it catches me off guard.

“Do you remember when we first met?” he asks me.

I nod against his chest. Of course I remember it. It’s the day he moved in, and it’s not like that day is too difficult to pinpoint. But then he says, “That first moment when you walked into the back of the moving truck, and it was like you were stunned to see me there, and we did this little jig to get out of each other’s way?” I can’t believe he remembers the first specific moment, over five years ago. “I had a crush on you from that instant,” he says.

Yeah, okay, so that’s why you
’ve led on all the girls at our school and dated college girls—to make me jealous?
I think the sarcastic words, but hold my lips tightly closed to keep from saying them.

“I left the truck,” he goes on, “and not ten seconds later, my sister told me on the stairs in the house
that I owed it to her to stay away from you.”