Page 217 of Across His Line

I look at it with a potato in one hand and the peeler in the other.

Me: Your mom is literally ten feet away from me.

Rafe: Come here.

I put the phone back in my pocket. I peel a potato. I peel another potato. My face is hot. His mom is telling the roast it’s going to be wonderful.

I last ten minutes. Then I say I need to get something from my room, and Mrs. Waleska says “Mm-hm,” without looking up from the butter in a voice that makes me want to go live in the creek.

Rafe’s waiting on the other side of his door. He pulls me in for a kiss almost right away, before the door’s even shut.

My heart is in my throat with every kiss.

We can’t keep our hands to ourselves.

I like this a little too much, and I feel myself liking it. The way he tastes, the way he presses against me with his rapid heartbeat, and how much he can’t keep his hands to himself.

When he pulls my pants down, rips the condom with his teeth, and slowly enters me, nothing else matters in the world. Last night was everything, but this is something else entirely.

“Tess,” he murmurs against my lips. “Look at me.”

I open my eyes. His are open, already watching.

His tongue enters my mouth, completely devouring me. Then he thrusts hard and grabs my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. I wrap my legs around his waist and let him set the speed.

“Rafe,” I mumble in between his thrusts.

He shakes his head once. “You crossed my line, Tessa.”

I don’t know what he means, but I fall back and moan as he keeps going, proving to me how much he means it.

He slows his thrusts. “Eyes on me, Tess.”

I glance up. He looks so beautiful. He’s devastating. I grab his face. I look at his lips, his nose, and his dark eyes that are penetrating me.

I meet my hips to his.

“Merry Christmas, Tessa,” he whispers.

I run my thumb across his open mouth as he thrusts hard against me.

“Merry Christmas, Rafe.”

Afterward, we lie on top of his comforter with our breathing too loud, listening to the house. I can’t believe I left the potatoes to come up here. When I turn my head and look at him, he’s already looking at me, and we both start laughing at the same time, silently, with our hands over our mouths.

I sit up and find my socks. They’re on the floor by his desk, inside out. He finds my hair tie on the pillow and holds it out to me without looking, and I take it. I stand in front of his closet mirror and try to make my hair look like I’ve been peeling potatoes, and it doesn’t. He comes up behind me and pulls his T-shirt back on and reaches past me and fixes one piece at the side of my head that I missed, carefully, with two fingers.

I watch him do it in the mirror. His face is serious. His eyes are dark, and I have so much emotions sitting heavily on my chest seeing him like this. I can’t put it into words what it is; sometimes it’s just a feeling. I think he feels it too because his eyes lock with mine and suddenly it feels like we have our own unspoken language. It’s an odd thing, I think, to see him with his guard down. I wonder if he knows mine is too.

My eyes flick to the side where my duffel is unzipped and sticking out of the top of it, wrapped in the same brown Goodwill paper as his hockey book, there’s the other thing I found at the Goodwill. It’s something special.

I know I’m here at Rafe’s house, and I completely boycotted going back to my grandma’s house, but there will always be a part of me that respects and loves that woman more than myself. I bought her the perfect gift for Christmas, and as I look at it in the mirror, I want to give it to her so bad. I imagine her in the living room right now, staring at the Christmas tree.

Then I look down at the watch on my wrist. The little gold face. The thin black hands. Ticking.

“I want to go see my grandma,” I say to the ground.

I don’t look up because I don’t want to see what’s in his eyes.