Everything Between Us (31 page)

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ll let you know how it goes.” She hangs up, and my phone clatters to the floor.

It’s going to be a rough night.

I find my playlist, set my phone into its speaker dock and crank the volume. I look across the room at the easel I moved from my studio because it just felt too fucking personal. The painting is a two-by-three canvas. Sticky and lush, lots of red, very textured. I wanted to make Stella something for her twenty-first birthday, which is next week, but now I’m having second thoughts. It’s like my heart on a canvas. I walk over to it, and the central image takes shape, formed by all the pages of
Great Expectations
, the quotes I found, pasted onto each other, layered with acrylic paint and impasto gel. Sometimes I work on it while we’re on the phone, while I’m listening to her raspy voice as she tells me what she baked that day, her latest run-in with Liza, her latest exposure task and how it went. Sometimes she makes up stories, about places she’s too scared to go yet, things she imagines she’ll see, and sometimes I do the same and make her guess which ones are real. Sometimes I sit here after we hang up and work on this painting in silence, remembering those hours we spent reading
Great Expectations
in that ridiculous pillow nest, letting what came after fuel my fantasies. When I look at this painting, I see all of that.

I don’t know if I can work up the courage to give it to her.

“‘
Pause you who read this,’” one of the quotes reads, “‘and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.’” It’s the top left curve of the image, where the eye is naturally drawn because of the shape and perspective. All I can think of when I read that quote again is the day I first saw Stella, like a ghost haunting her parents’ mansion. And now, she’s out there, doing what she needs to do, and I’m here, missing her before she’s even gone.

It’s okay. I’m fine. I need to get used to this.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I’m so fucked.”

I try to lose myself in Call of Duty for a while, but my concentration is shot. I take a quick shower, grab a beer from the fridge, and sink to the floor in front of my painting, vaguely considering setting it on fire. Especially when my eyes fall on another of the quotes that I’ve worked into the vertical lines that form the structure, running in columns down the center of the canvas.

“‘I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.’”

Laughing at how stupid I am, I chug the rest of the beer and let the bottle roll away from me. I’ll need a hell of a lot more if I’m going to get as drunk as I have to be to survive this.

I get up and chuck the bottle in the recycling bin, then head to the fridge for another. I’m just reaching for it when I hear the intercom. I mute the speaker and wonder how long the thing’s been buzzing. I hit the call button. “Yeah?”

“Hi,” says Stella’s voice, making cold prickles of surprise race down my spine. “Can I come up?”

My mouth opens and closes a few times, but I can’t actually form words, so I just hit the button that unlocks the entrance. I stare at my front door as I hear her footsteps on the stairs, getting louder. She knocks. “Holy shit,” I whisper, my heart hammering. I pull open the door and blink at her.

She bites her lip. “I drove here. In the dark. And I parked on the street.”

“And that’s your final exposure task? You’re done?”

She shakes her head, and I finally manage to tear my gaze from her face and notice what she’s wearing—a light jacket, and a skirt. A very short skirt. “That was only part of it,” she says breathlessly. “Can I come in?”

I step away from the door, watching her enter my apartment. She’s in my fucking apartment and it’s a mess and my heart is dripping bloody and bare on the canvas at the back of the space. This might be her worst fear, but it’s mine, too. “You could have told me you were coming,” I say in a strangled voice.

She turns to me, her gaze bold, like she’s going to walk up to me and take me by the throat. It’s oddly arousing. Or maybe that’s the skirt.

“You spring things on me all the time, Daniel. Fair’s fair.” She takes off her coat, and her top is clingy. Like,
oh God I need to touch you
clingy. She’s wearing heels that make her as tall as I am, and her legs go on for miles. I’ve never seen her look like this apart from that night at the gallery opening, but she was different then, and I was more focused on keeping her from falling apart. Now, on the other hand, she’s about to take
me
apart.

“Fair,” I mumble. “So what’s the rest of it? What do you have to do?”

She walks toward me, her nostrils flaring a little as she takes in a deep breath. She wobbles a little on her heels, and instantly I’m reminded of all of her, the awkward, adorable parts as well as this sexy, ferocious part.

“I’m supposed to do this,” she says, and slides her arms up my chest and around my neck. Her heart is pounding against me and she’s practically vibrating with tension. I can feel how nervous she is, but she’s not panicking. I put my hands on her hips as she presses her lips to mine, as her tongue invades my mouth, as her body commands my own. I’m hard for her in no time, and she’s close enough to feel it.

“You taste like beer,” she says.

“I was planning on getting terrifically drunk.”

“Why?”

“Because I was missing you.” No use in pretending. I’ve completely lost that ability with her.

“I’m here now,” she says, brushing her lips over mine and scraping her fingernails gently over my back, making me shiver. “And I wanted to show up unannounced because I needed to see how you’d react. I didn’t want you to make it too easy for me.”

“How am I doing with that so far?”

“So far, so good. But I need to tell you something.”

I swallow back my fear. “Okay. Do I need to sit down?” I force a chuckle.

She steps away from me. Her hands are shaking as she smoothes them over her skirt. She’s super-nervous, which is making
me
nervous. Her lips press together, and her gaze darts to my face and then drops away.

“You’re killing me,” I say. Is her final exposure to tell me she’s leaving? I know she doesn’t belong at Wellesley, that it’s not what she really wants, but Liza is pushing her to commit.

“Say what you need to say, Stella.” I brace myself. If this is the test of her courage, I’m not going to do anything to ruin it. She said I wasn’t supposed to make it too easy, but there’s no fucking way I’m going to make it hard. I care about her too much. Our eyes lock. “It’s going to be fine,” I say softly. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

“I love you, Daniel,” she blurts.

“Say that again?” I whisper.

She blows out a long breath. “I love you. Against reason, against promise, against peace—”

“Against hope,” I say with her, because I know the quote by heart. Because I think it every time I see her. Because it’s true.

“Against happiness,” I say by myself as she stares at me. “Against all discouragement that could be.” I walk up to her and take her face in my hands. “That’s what you came here to say? Are you pranking me right now?”

“Um.” She blinks a few times. “No?” Her voice trembles, and in it I hear her fear.

“Why was that so scary?”

“Because you might not—”

“Sometimes you know me better than anyone,” I say, bumping my nose against hers, crazy happiness making me shaky. “And sometimes you are so blind.”

“What does that mean?” she whispers.

“It means that I love you, too.”

Chapter Twenty-six: Stella

Daniel’s mouth crashes onto mine, our kiss desperate and deep. I spent the afternoon psyching myself up for this, preparing myself for every possible scenario, working hard to fight what Heather calls my “catastrophizing cognitions.” Basically, I usually think of the worst thing that could happen, and assume that it
is
going to happen and that it’s going to be unbearable. So my first thought when I told Heather I wanted to do this was that Daniel would be here with another girl, and that he’d laugh in my face and show me the door.

She’d asked me what my evidence was, whether anything about his behavior suggested he would do that to me. I told her that I don’t see him every day, and that he could be leading a whole double life without me in it. She said that was another catastrophizing thought, not actual “behavioral data.” I’m starting to like this evidence thing, because I do have evidence that he’s telling the truth. And it’s not just his body against mine, the hard bulge pressed to my abdomen that’s making me tingle, his mouth on my throat—it’s everything about the past few months.

Daniel loves me.
And oh, I love him right back, and I’ve known for a while. I squeeze my eyes shut as he backs me against his door and cages me with his arms, his touch urgent and demanding. I’m prepared for this eventuality, too—I didn’t tell Daniel, but part of my exposure session was to go to a drugstore and buy condoms. He probably has some on hand, but I talked with Heather and we agreed that it would be an important part of this. My hands were shaking as I put the little box in front of the male clerk, and I kept thinking
this is because you’re nervous, because you’re a little embarrassed, and it’s going to pass.
And … it did. I stood my ground even though I wanted to run and hide. The clerk didn’t even look at me twice as he scanned the box and stuck it in a bag. I walked out of the store with condoms in the pocket of my coat like it was no big deal.

Daniel unbuttons my shirt while he gently nips at my throat. His skin is rough against mine, and the scrape of his teeth makes me squirm with want for him. He pushes my sleeves down my arms until the shirt is lying on the floor. His blue eyes slide over me, full of hunger. This has been building for weeks.

As he kisses me again, I lift his t-shirt, wanting to see him. He pulls away briefly to yank it over his head and toss it away, and I’m breathless as I gaze at his chest and stomach, taut muscles, the swirling tribal tattoo, all that gorgeous skin. I lay the flat of my palm over his heart, and he puts his hand over mine. “Yours,” he says simply.

I look into his eyes, still unable to believe it. “I love you,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. It’s the only thing I can really think of, especially when he moves in closer and pins me to the wall, his hand on my leg and moving north. My fingers slide into his shaggy hair as he nibbles at my bottom lip and strokes my inner thigh, then hooks his fingers over the side of my panties and pulls them down until they fall to my ankles. Of course, they get snagged on my heels, and I nearly knee him in the groin as I try to step out of them.

He jerks away just in time. “Whoa.”

I snort, and then start to laugh at how ridiculous we look: me, standing here in my bra and tangled in my panties; and him, leaning on the wall, shirtless, his erection prominent even through his jeans.

“Watch out,” I say through my snickers. “My knee strike is lethal.”

He grins and kneels, his hands skimming down my legs to my ankles. “One more reason not to piss you off.” He easily divests me of the obnoxious panties and peers up at me. I brush his hair off his forehead and run my fingertips down to his jaw.

“You look beautiful, Stella. You always do, though,” he says, then kisses my thigh, right below the hem of my skirt. His hands move upward again, until they’re on my ass. His teeth are hard against the flesh of my inner thigh, and I lean against the wall and close my eyes, waves of warmth and desire crashing down on me. I want him inside me. I’m dying to feel it again. I gasp as his fingers creep up slowly, teasing mercilessly. My skirt is riding up around my hips, and Daniel is in control of me. All I can do is hold on to the wall as he strokes me, building the tension a moment at a time. He did the same thing the last time we were together.

But this time, I want to do it to him. I tug on his hair and he looks up at me, his expression hazed and hot. “Come up here,” I say. “I want you up here.”

Something flares in his gaze, and he obeys, his arm coiling around my waist as he kisses me hard. I reach for the button of his pants and undo it, then lower his fly. My heart is racing. I don’t know what I’m doing, and last time, I was clumsy and tentative. It’s not likely to be different this time, but I’ve learned over the last several weeks that I can’t avoid things that scare me. I slide his pants off his lean hips, enjoying the flex of his muscles beneath my palms. So powerful.
Mine.
I pull my mouth from his and kiss his jaw, his throat, his collarbone. I flatten my hand on his abdomen and slide my fingers beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. His cock is hot and silky and rigid. Daniel moans as I close my hand around it, then reaches for the wall to hold himself up. “What are you up to?” he whispers as I start to slide downward.