Talan

It’s a miracle Amalia is at the bonfire with me; I was almost sure she hated me. Just two days ago, before Jaxon left for his football camp, she gave me that impression loud and clear.

Jaxon and I were at the table, munching Tabasco-doused Doritos and discussing the upcoming home boxing match our team is hosting. Old Marv’s decision to schedule the event for the same weekend as Jaxon’s football camp disappointed him because, although Jaxon enjoys boxing, football is his passion. Whenever there’s a conflict between the two, football always wins.

“It sucks I have to miss it,” he said as Amalia strolled into the kitchen for a glass of water. “But Ama will take my place and cheer for you, won’t you, Ama?”

She peered over her shoulder and gave him a wicked, dirty look. Amalia said nothing, but her expression shouted the words. “Shut up, Jaxon! I hate Talan.”

I laughed. It was the easiest way to cover the uncomfortable feelings racing through me. Amalia took it for teasing, banged the kitchen cupboard shut, and stomped out of the room.

In front of Jaxon, I shrugged it off. What else could I do? But in reality, she made me feel like shit, and I decided it was time to call it a day and give up.

Kade’s friend method appeared a hell of a lot better at that point. I raged with envy whenever I watched him and Amalia waltz out the door together, all comfy-cozy, or heard them laughing at some hush-hush, inside joke as they sat in Amalia’s private hideaway in her backyard.

I’ve never pegged myself as a guy with a glutton for punishment. But after Amalia turned me down when I first came home, I was at her house more than ever—especially with Kade hanging around her so much—no matter how much she ignored me or how much it hurt.

I still can’t figure out how I managed another go. Amalia’s with me, though, sitting beside me in the tepid, moist grass, appearing happy. Our interactions are quiet, and she’s acting shy, but it’s better than I expected from the day, and I feel good about it. I’m a little edgy myself but more enthusiastic about the simple opportunity to—if nothing else—repair whatever damage I did to our friendship.

When we first arrived at the party, she allowed me to hold her hand; she was outside her comfort zone and needed to feel safe, so I won’t read more than that into the situation; I just want to enjoy every second with Amalia while I can.

Deep down, I want much more. Deep down, I’m hoping, wishing, praying, and practically begging the universe to let this spur-of-the-moment alone time end beyond friendship.

As the cool air blows around us, she shivers. I look back at the orange glimmer of the warm fire, seeing just how far away from it we hiked. At first, everyone was making strange faces at us; I was afraid Amalia would make me take her home. I assume it was partly because she’s never been here, but the other part is that some girls were staring at her because of me.

I thought it best to walk away before someone drank enough to come up and say something nobody wanted to hear. I’m finally with Amalia, and I’m determined not to let anything, or anyone, screw it up. But, by the same token, I’m not about to let Amalia freeze. When she doesn’t want to return to the fire, I ask her in my way if I can put my arm around her.

With how she eyeballs me, I can’t read her expression; she could be appreciative or offended. I hold my breath and wait for the correct conclusion.

A mixture of relief and joy flows through me as a hint of excitement lifts her features when she nods. I place my arm around her, controlling my enthusiasm, hyperaware of her slight figure pressing up against the side of my chest and her soft, chilled skin beneath my arm and my fingertips. Amalia’s gaze travels from my chest to my mouth. Because thoughts of kissing her have occupied my mind for so long, I can’t resist my pent-up desire. So I guide her face toward mine, acknowledging that she lets me lift her chin as I place my lips over hers and roll with it, enjoying the sweet taste of the coconut-flavored lip balm she’s wearing as her arm tightens around me and her hand clutches onto my shirt. Then I slowly release the kiss, watching her face for her response and what her eyes show.

The words “I love you” aren’t entirely on the tip of my tongue, but they loop around in my mind.

Her head turns, a blush bleeding through her cheeks as she drops her hand from my back and angles her body out of my arm, tensing as if I misread her willingness. What the hell? This has to be what someone dying from thirst feels like after drinking from a mirage.

As much as I enjoyed her quick, eager response, the doubt that Amalia still doesn’t want to be with me the way I want to be with her jabs at my self-confidence. Reluctantly, I let my arm slip down from around her and shift with my own uneasiness.

Without uttering the sound, she stares out over the river blackened by clouds passing the moon for a little too long. I’m as tongue-tied by confusion. I focus on her creamy, tanned shoulder, desperate to know what’s happening inside her head. Did she feel nothing from our kiss? Or does she wish I was someone else? What am I doing wrong? Furrowing my brows, I lean over to get a better view of her face, which she’s suddenly hiding from me, grasping for insight. “Ama, how come you’ve been so mad at me all this time?”

Amalia responds in a tone halfway between asking a question and making a contradiction. “Me?” A tress of hair, moved by a gentle breeze, falls onto her neck as she turns towards me, partially obscuring her expression. “You’re the one who’s been mad at me, Talan.” She pushes the wavy tresses behind her ear and looks into my eyes as if searching for answers from me.

“Mad at you? For what?”

“I don’t know...” She hesitates before explaining, and her response is a question. “The drive, maybe?”

I’m glad she’s being honest with her thoughts, at least.

“Nah, you were already mad at me way before that day. Forever, it seems like.”

“I wasn’t mad at you.” She fidgets and clears her throat. “I just wanted us back to normal and didn’t want things to be weird with us anymore.” She looks away again. “It’s still sort of weird between us. I don’t want it to be that way anymore.” Her face drifts back toward me, her eyes focusing down and then lifting to meet mine, a severe pleading in them.

After the movie, I avoided her but apologized and thought she accepted my apology. Then, I kept a safe distance since trying to get her alone to ask her out because I thought that was what she wanted. I wouldn’t call that acting weird. But hell, if this is her only hesitation, I fall into her dark caramel eyes, guide her hair out of the way, and kiss her again, longer than the first.

When our lips separate this time, her unmistakable sigh of pleasure glides over my skin, giving me goosebumps. I quickly gather my composure. “All right, then. No more acting weird to each other.”

She replies with a doubtful wilting of her mouth. “Then promise it won’t be awkward after tonight, Talan.”

“Okay. It won’t. But you have to promise me you’ll quit acting bashful.” We had known each other for too many years and too well for that.

She rolls her eyes and sounds pouty. “I’m not acting bashful.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, in a yeah-right tone.

She chuckles, folding her arms around herself again. I rub her arms a few times before resting mine over hers to keep her warm, hopeful it doesn’t get any colder because we may have to return to the fire. Either that or back to my car, and I don’t want her to assume I’m pushing her into anything she isn’t ready for. Her body, snug in my arms, has me feeling all kinds of happiness.

One more intruding question, though, weighs heavy on my mind. “So ... what about Jaxon?”

I leaped past the point of no return, a long time coming, and I might lose my best friend over it. It’s tough to note that I’m not feeling much guilt for not considering his boundary in the slightest before I crossed it. Amalia is too important to me and matters more. If I learned anything since last summer, it’s how much she means to me. She has to live in the same house with Jaxon and his angry opposition. I wonder how much influence he’ll have over her once he finds out about us.

Amalia leans to the right, turning to see my face, chewing on her lip as we stare at each other. Then she shrugs. “Jaxon doesn’t tell me everything.”

But I know we have to tell him if I want to see her again this way, and I do. “We don’t have to tell Jaxon if you don’t want to, but he’s bound to find out.”

Amalia’s worried expression keeps her from answering immediately, and then she says, “Not necessarily. Jaxon doesn’t have to ... if...” She quiets for another moment, then answers with nervousness in her voice. “Unless we’re... I mean, is this?” She waves her fingertips between the two of us.

I realize what she’s getting at. She wants to know whether our being together is more than a one-time deal. “I hope so. What about you? Do you want to go out with me, Ama?”

Her face beams as if she just won the lottery, and I honestly feel the same way. I just asked out the girl of my dreams, and she said yes. Granted, it was a nonverbal nod, but it’s still yes.

Strands of her flowy hair blow against the skin of my neck and face as she stretches herself tall, lifting her mouth to meet mine. Then she grins, asking, “Who’s acting bashful?”

It’s still early, and the night is getting better by the minute. We talk about keeping “us” a secret from everyone until we tell Jaxon first, figuring it best he hears it from the two of us. I also need time to devise a way to break the news to Kade. Breaking the news to him will be more difficult to deal with, given his crush on Amalia and the fact that he’s had it for about as long as I had mine.

A deep, hefty voice hollers through the darkness. “Talan!”

Now what?

Amalia stiffens, lifting her brows in concern.

“That’s Jace,” I say, alarmed by his tone. Jumping to my feet, I reach for Amalia’s hands, pull her up, and she and I head toward his voice.

As we approach them, four shadows come into view. The gap closes between them and us, and I notice its five shadows: Gage, Tarran, some girl, Jace, and Kinsley. Jace is hanging onto Kinsley, practically dragging her along with him.

I pick up my pace, lengthening my strides. The closer I get to them, the more I realize Kinsley is drunk...