Page 111 of The Design of Goodbye
“It’s perfect.” I couldn’t take it anymore—it felt like years since I’d kissed him, so I did. He stumbled and knocked over a cup. Pens and pencils scattered all over the desk, and some rolled onto the floor. He moved to pick everything up, but I gripped his arm and whispered, “You okay?”
“I’m still surprised when you kiss me.” He fumbled with a pen. “I never thought you’d want to.” He added sheepishly, “It sounds silly, but I was kind of worried last night was a dream.”
“Definitely not.” I kissed his cheek. “Do you still think it was a dream?”
He dropped the pen and tilted his head. “Maybe.”
I kissed his jaw. “Still?”
A shrug. “Possibly.”
“What about”—I kissed his lips—“now?”
A gruff whisper of, “I think so.”
I giggled, gently swatting his arm. “I know what you’re doing.”
He pulled me to him. I think I swooned.
“Can you blame me?” His voice was hoarse. It gave me goose bumps.
I loved how quickly we’d gone from friends...to whatever we were, and it didn’t feel strange. It feltright.
“So,” he said, nervously handing me our truth book, “I have a truth for you.”
Our truth book felt different now that we’d kissed, like we’d opened a whole new portal to honesty, and my hands shook as I flipped to his truth.
I want you to be my girlfriend.
All my worry disappeared, and, finally,everythingfelt right. “I was worried you didn’t want me to be.”
“Why would you think that?” he questioned, incredulous.
“You didn’t ask during the two-hour drive back last night. I worried you might not want to make us official.”
He was guilty. “I wanted to give you time to think things through. In case you changed your mind.”
Of course he’d think that. That was okay. I’d make sure he knew how much I wanted him.
Wantedus.
“I’m not going to.” He exhaled a shaky, relieved breath, and I finished with, “I want you. And I definitely want to be your girlfriend. Do you believe me now?”
He stared at me like I was a prize he never thought he’d win. “I believe you now.”
* * *
The next day, I was busy helping Liam cram for a history quiz during lunch when Jules and Claire walked over to our table. I tried to ignore them, but they were hovering impatiently by us, and it got annoying.
“Hi,” I finally said, setting down Liam’s history notes. “What do you want?”
Claire tugged at her skirt. “We have a question.”
“What is it?” I asked, more harshly than I’d intended. “We’re kind of busy.”
“So, what,” began Jules, hands on hips, “are you guys like dating or something?”
“Or something?” I asked.
