#lovelythings

“You didn’t remember me,” he accused. “I didn’t remember you, but I thought about you all the time.” Eddie’s grip tightened on her hips, and his throat worked in a dry swallow. “You thought I was mean and—” “I thought you were brave,” she cut in, amazed at her ability to speak so clearly. “The way you stood up to Jason, to the teachers?” She unclasped her hands from behind his neck and stroked the soft, feathering hair there. Eddie’s eyes flickered closed. “The way you took care of your freshmen? I swear, I thought you were, like, a god or something. Some legendary hero, you know? And then you were so nice to me—” A strangled laugh burst from his mouth as his eyes shot open. “I was nice to you?” Chrissy nodded again, because it was very important that he understood. “You were so nice, spending time with me and helping me with all that stupid stuff.”  “It wasn’t stupid. I liked it, buying you cassettes and snacks and shit. And you helped me way more.” “See?” Chrissy grinned. “You’re doing it again.” “Doing what?” “The same thing you always did. Making me feel normal. Making me feel… safe.” 

“Why’s this city got so many goddamn Italian restaurants?”   “What?” A concerned crinkle appeared between Chrissy’s eyebrows, and her shoulders were tense beneath her puffy jacket, but her pretty lips had twitched up into a tiny, bemused smile. It made his heart speed up like Declan rolling to a crescendo on the drums. His pulse hammered so loud that he almost didn’t hear the bullshit coming out of his mouth. “There were, like, six fucking pages of Italian joints in the phone book, princess. I know Chicago Style is a thing, but is fucked-up pizza all people eat around here?”

In many ways, sitting here in the darkness was close to what she’d hoped for when she’d set out from Indianapolis yesterday. Desperate for solitude after the uncomfortable company of her over-generous father trying to apologize in the only way he knew how to and her guileless younger brother, Chrissy had planned to spend the trip back to the city uncoiling the stress from her spine and the knots from her stomach by way of loud pop music and enthusiastic shoulder shimmying. Instead, she’d gotten Eddie. Having him along for the ride was, of course, incomparably preferable to three and a half hours driving on autopilot and singing along to a mixtape. She’d stuff solitude in the trash in a second if Eddie was the alternative.

What more can you want, other than some actual romantic resolution?

How many times had she found her own attention stuck on Eddie’s lips or hands or throat or eyes? Was it possible she’d been too wrapped up in her own obsession, too blinded by the bright, hot brilliance of his Eddieness to have noticed him looking right back at her?

Eddie had spent a lot of time imagining what being in bed with Chrissy would be like. Some of those fantasies involved the snorting giggles that he had surprised out of her during their time at the picnic table. Others had them smoking together. His personal favorites, where they were still in high school and she wore her cheer uniform while Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher” played in the background, even incorporated flashcards. None of his imaginings could ever stand up to the reality he’d been living for the past twenty minutes.