Page 84 of Miss Behaved
About nothing and everything.
What I’m hearing and feeling.
I write about Carson.
I write about the things he told me when it was just the two of us in my bed. How I wish I’d said more and reassured him that I no longer blamed him for the things that went wrong. About how it felt to be in his arms. About how he felt like home, even if he’s a man and not a building with walls and a roof.
How my happiness always belonged to him.
I write about a moment on the plane, when I was about to land in Arizona, not yet knowing what the trip had in store for me. We hit a pocket of hot air, and the plane dipped for just a moment. Everything inside me was weightless, floating. And I was a little scared that I’d either stay suspended or crash to the ground.
It’s the same feeling that lives in my chest now. My heart defies gravity with each beat, and only Carson can calm it.
I write until it’s dark and the porch light is the only glow against the pages in my notebook.
I write.
And write.
Until something wet splats against the paper and makes me jump.
A pack of cinnamon gum?
I look up. My heart races. That familiar body is leaning against the railing, his face barely lit in the darkness.
“Somebody’s focused,” Carson says with a grin.
My heart pounds against my rib cage, and so many thoughts come at once that I can’t get any of them out.
Carson, in jeans and a brown leather jacket, damp blonde hair messy on his head and that sexy rough stubble on his chin. His sharp blue eyes crinkle with his smile, and I melt into a puddle right here on the porch. No more bones to hold me up, no more walls to hide behind. One look, and I know I’ve got no more fight left in me.
“You surprised me.” I finally breathe out the words.
He dips his hands into his pockets, and his face softens, that familiar heat radiating from his eyes as he lifts away from the railing.
“You surprised me too.”
34
Carson
Iknewtherewasonly one shot left, and I wasn’t going to risk taking it over the phone, even if there was a chance that ignoring Monica’s call the other night was going to piss her off more.
This had to be done in person.
Except I didn’t really think it through, because seeing her sitting in the dim glow of her parents’ porch knocked me square in the gut. She was so focused, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. Scribbling away in that notebook, totally lost in thought. And I swear my heart shot back ten years at the sight of her.
“You’re here?” Her nose crinkles, and it’s the cutest fucking thing. There’s a chance I’ve got a heart-shaped imprint thumping out of my chest like a cartoon character, she looks so good. Navy blue leggings and a fluffy white sweater that she’s bundled up in.
“I am,” I say, taking a step closer.
“Not in LA.”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“At my parents’ house,” she says.
“All true.”
