Page 85 of Miss Behaved
Monica’s chest rises and falls with big, heavy breaths as her eyes search my face.
“Why?” she says on an exhale.
I drop down onto the porch swing next to her, and it sways with my weight. It takes every bit of my self-control to not reach out and touch her, to not lean in and kiss those puffy, parted lips.
“You called; I figured you were ready to talk,” I say, looking down at her notebook. “What are you writing in there?”
“Nothing.” Monica slaps it shut with a sharp inhale of breath. “So let me get this straight. I call you, and instead of calling me back, you show up at my parents’ house?”
“Figured it’d be harder for you to turn down this scruffy-ass mug in person.” I smile big at her, and her cheeks blush. “Plus, I was in the area.”
“You do realize you’re in Washington right now, right?” She lifts an eyebrow.
I nod. “Went to see my dad first.”
“Oh,” she says on an exhale, like my statement kicked the air from her chest. Her fingers twitch, and I swear she’s itching to hold my hand, but she doesn’t. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” I tell her. “It’s like I was carrying around the weight of him in my chest, and now—I don’t know, I feel lighter.”
“Good. I’m happy for you, Carson.” Monica tips her chin down with a cautious smile, and a few of those beautiful bouncy curls of hers fall around her face. I reach out and brush one away, her breath hitching as my skin grazes hers.
“So, you wanted to talk?” I say.
“How did you even know I was here?”
“I have my sources.”
“Your mom.” She calls me out.
“Maybe.” I shrug.
She twists one foot under her body and turns to face me. “I didn’t realize our moms still talked.”
“Apparently, they do. And I’m not sure that’s helped build my case with your father,” I say.
“Probably not.” She smiles. “All right then, have at it.”
I shake my head and laugh, bringing one arm to rest along the back of the bench and dangerously close to Monica’s shoulder. “Nope, you called me. So how about you tell me what’s onyourmind?”
It’s a bold move, but I know Monica. She’s stubborn, and if I make it too easy, she’ll find a way to shoo me away. I’ve got to keep her on her toes and hope that this doesn’t spiral like our last conversation.
She narrows her eyes at me and crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay…” She hesitates, but I can also tell she’s fighting back a grin. “I missed you.”
Her back stiffens and her faces pales the slightest, like she’s thrown a grenade and she’s waiting to see if I’ll toss it back or dive on it.
“I missed you too,” I say, reaching out, wrapping her hand in mine. She unwinds her arms and relaxes.
“You did?”
“Fuck yeah,” I say, and it makes her laugh.
I love that laugh.
“I’ve been missing you for ten years,” I admit. “And, like an idiot, I still let you get away again.”
She shakes her head, and her curls bounce around her shoulders. “No, you tried. I was the one having a hard time processing everything. I feel like I’ve been so scattered, and I didn’t know how to say goodbye, or how to lose you all over again, or how to tell if this was real or nostalgia, and I froze.”
“It’s real,” I say with a squeeze of her fingers.
