Page 45 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
Later, I fixed myself some dinner and tried to watch a movie, but my mind kept wandering. Where had he been this afternoon? Was he home tonight? Maybe he had a date. It was Saturday night, after all. That’s what attractive single people did on Saturday nights. People who still believed in the fairy tale. People who were desired. I felt sorry for myself, sitting at home in sweatpants eating a chicken pot pie in front of the television. I gave up on the movie and the pot pie and went to up to bed early.
I had just finished brushing my teeth when I heard the knock.
Panicking, I rushed into my bedroom and looked at my phone. No missed calls. If there was a problem with Abby, Lenore would have called me, right?
The pounding repeated, four sharp knocks.
My pulse began to race. Should I answer it? What if it was a crazy person? A burglar? A murderer?
Really, Hannah. Would he knock?
I went to my window and looked out at the street, but there was no car in my driveway or at the curb. Whoever it was must have walked. A neighbor locked out? A wrong address?
I made my way down the steps on tiptoe with my b
ottom lip caught between my teeth. At the front door I hesitated, but before I could ask who’s there, I had my answer.
“Hannah, it’s Wes.”
“Wes?” I opened the door and there he was. Could he hear my heart pounding? “What are you doing here?”
“I had to see you. Can I come in?”
My gut instinct was to say no, slam the door, and hide in the closet. But I willed myself to have strength. I couldn’t hide in the closet every time Wes was around. He was family. “Okay.”
He entered the house and I shut the door behind him. We stood facing each other in the hall, and I was torn between turning on the light so I could see his face and keeping my ugly sweatpants and silly T-shirt a secret in the dark. The shirt was thin and pink and said OK BUT FIRST PANCAKES above a picture of a stack of them. I wasn’t wearing a bra and my nipples were hard. I crossed my arms over my chest.
He wasn’t talking. Why wasn’t he talking?
“I didn’t ring the bell,” he finally said.
“What?”
“The doorbell. You said you hate the sound of it because it makes you scared something bad has happened. I didn’t want you to be scared.”
“Oh. Thank you.” I waited for him to go on, to explain what he was doing here not ringing the bell at ten o’clock at night, but for a moment he just stood there, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. I started to worry. Did good news ever arrive late at night? “Wes. What is it?”
“I want to tell you something. I’m just…searching for the right words.”
“The right words for what?”
He moved toward me and took me by the shoulders. His eyes searched mine in the dark. Hungrily, desperately. At that moment, he looked nothing like Drew. “The other night, you thought I stopped that kiss because I didn’t want you. But I do.”
“What?” I felt the floor drop.
“I do want you, Hannah. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The edges of my vision clouded. Was this real? “You can’t?”
“No. And I’m sorry. I know I’m making things worse for you right now. I know I said stopping was the right thing. I know you called it a mistake and asked me to stay away. And God knows I’ve been drinking tonight and probably shouldn’t have come here to make a fucking fool of myself. But goddammit, Hannah.” He tipped his forehead to mine, his hands clenching tight around my upper arms. “Goddammit, I want another chance. Just one.”
My heart was doing something scary inside my chest. My breaths were short and fast. My stomach was cartwheeling out of control. All I could think was he wants me, he wants me, he wants me. Enough to walk here in the dark. Enough to ask for another chance. Enough to admit he’d made a mistake and couldn’t stop thinking about me. All my walls fell. “Wes. Kiss me.”
He put his lips on mine, and my body flooded with warmth. His mouth opened, his head tilting as his hands slid up my shoulders to frame my face. His tongue stroked mine, igniting a fire deep inside me, and I moved closer, slipping my hands around his taut waist. He kissed his way down my throat, his breath coming faster, his hands reaching beneath my shirt. His breath was velvet against my skin.
“Oh, God.” I let my head fall back as his lips and tongue traced a path across my neck. It was like feeling the sun on your skin after a long, cold winter. “That feels so good.”
He lifted my shirt, and I raised my arms as it disappeared over my head. “Jesus,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”
