Page 227 of The Storm

“You want to make out?” I say. “I’m down. You have the best ideas.”

I lean forward again.

“I want to talk,” he says.

“Or make out?” I offer hopefully. “I could say I’m a proper gentleman, and anybody could see us, so we shouldn’t go for hand stuff, but then who are we kidding? We should definitely do hand stuff. And just a word of warning, there will be mouth stuff.”

“Blue,” he says.

I slump into the seat and hide my face in the crook of my elbow. His warm fingers wrap around my wrist and pull my arm away. His hand covers my cheek, and he gently pulls my face toward him until I’m looking at him.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

I nod. He’s very serious now.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he says. His thumb caresses my cheek and travels down my jawline.

“I know,” I say. “I can’t help it.”

“You don’t know,” he says. “You’re being ridiculous for no reason at all, Blue,” he says softly. “There hasn’t been anybody else in those six years.”

It takes a moment for those words to register and even then I don’t really understand what those exact words put in that exact order even mean.

“What?” I ask.

“Six years. Just you,” he says. “Ever since the first time I kissed you, it’s only ever been you. Nobody else.”

I don’t think I even really breathe while I try to process what I’ve just learned.

“But…” I shake my head to try and make sense of it. “How?”

He shrugs, his lips twitching. “It turns out it’s possible to not want to have sex with somebody that isn’t you.”

“But…” I say again, my brow furrowing as I swallow hard. A lead weight sinks into my stomach. I clutch the back of my neck.

“Blue.”

I clench my teeth, a lump in my throat making it difficult to breathe.

“I didn’t wait for you,” I say. “I didn’t…” I give a helpless, desperate shrug. “I didn’t wait for you.”

“I didn’t tell you this so you would think you should have,” he says.

“You waited,” I say.

“Yes, but I also left. You didn’t. We can spend a lot of time pointlessly comparing our actions, and how we dealt with the last six years. It doesn’t matter.” He drags his fingers through his hair. When he looks at me, it’s with the kind of intensity that I feel circulating my bloodstream. “It’s the past. And I don’t care about the past. As long as I get to be your future.”

“Why?” I ask.

He raises his brows. “Why do I want to be your future?”

“Why hasn’t there been anybody else? You hated me.”

“I didn’t. I tried,” he says.

“But?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t like most people. And I love you, even if it was reluctantly. Take a guess what happens when I try to replace you.”