“Clay?” I utter, unable to believe my eyes. What is he doing here?
The look he gives me is tender. “I came to check on you.” My cheeks turn pink. Oh no. I asked the question out loud! I guess it could be worse, though. There’s a lot of other thoughts I could have put voice to that would be way more awkward. Clay shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable standing outside my room. “Oh!” I realize what this will probably look like to anyone who comes down the hallway. Having people think he hooked up with me would probably be so embarrassing for him. I move out of the doorway so he can walk inside.
“Thanks,” he mutters. He’s only five or six inches taller than me, but he’s so broad it feels like he’s towering over me in this small space. I step back more and end up tripping over Becca’s desk chair. A hand reaches out and grabs my bicep, stopping my momentum, and pulling me back to a standing position.
I breathe out a thank you, beyond mortified that he’s seeing me act so clumsy. After what Scarlett said in the car earlier, and the protective way he acted toward me at Peyton’s, I don’t know how to act around him. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin, like it’s itchy and stretched too tight. Wanting to get this over with, I sit heavily in the chair I almost fell over and he does the same with mine. Once he sits, I have to bite my lip to keep a giggle from escaping. My desk chair is a bright pink color—thanks, Anna—and it’s tiny compared to his wide shoulders.
He sits forward, his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped together between them, studying me. “What?” I ask, pushing my hair back behind my ears. It’s a nervous move, one I only do when I’m trying to figure out what to do with my hands. I want to look away from him, but I can’t. Bringing my hands down to my lap, I mirror his pose, then sit back up straight, unable to stop fidgeting.
Finally, Clay takes my hand, forcing me to stop and meet his intense gaze. “Chill,” he says in a scratchy voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I snort in disbelief and his eyes go flat. “I mean it, Kat. You’ve had a rough night, and I wouldn’t make it worse …” he trails off, thinking. “At least, not on purpose.” One side of his mouth tips up in a small grin, and I feel myself smile back at him.
“Sorry,” I tell him sheepishly. He shrugs, but doesn’t say anything, so I take the shrug to mean “don’t worry about it.”
Silence falls between us, but for once it’s not an uncomfortable silence. After a minute or so, I’m unable to keep my eyes on his. It feels too intimate, especially tonight. My stomach feels like a thousand butterflies have taken up residence inside it, a feeling I’ve never had before, and one that definitely isn’t one I would associate with Clay. The Clay sitting across from me though is someone completely foreign to me. He’s being nice, sweet even, and it’s disconcerting. The tension is the room becomes thick, and it feels like something important is about to happen.
Where before, I was the one unable to sit still, now it’s him. The longer we sit not speaking, the more he moves, trying to get comfortable. He shifts from side-to-side, straightens, so he’s no longer hunched forward, then rubs the back of his neck with one hand like he’s got a crick in it.
“So,” he starts, “uh … are you sure you’re okay?” I nod, my throat feeling like there’s a knot inside it. God, this is so awkward. At my nod, he does the same, then stands. Clay shoves his hands back in his jeans’ pockets and looks longingly towards the door.
I stand, and he moves closer to the door. “I guess I’ll see you later?” he asks, opening the door and sighing visibly in relief when he’s standing in the hallway. I walk to the doorway too and look up at him.
“Yeah, see you in class, Clay. Thanks for … you know … coming to check on me tonight.” I smile up at him, and he gives me one in response. Then, before I can anticipate it, he leans down, so his mouth is close to my ear, and I instinctively turn to see what he’s doing. He was aiming to kiss my cheek, but I don’t figure that out until it’s too late, and instead, he kisses my lips.
Frozen in shock, neither of us move. Our lips are barely touching, but it’s enough that I feel like mine are on fire. His eyes are as wide as I know mine are, and I gasp, pulling away quickly. I raise a suddenly shaking hand to my lips, and he straightens, standing stiffly.
“Sorry,” he mutters, before turning away and practically running down the steps. I’m left standing in my open doorway, staring after him like an idiot. The only thing I can think? Ohmigod, I just kissed Clay! What next? Is the world going to end? A blizzard? A hurricane in the middle of Tennessee?
Okay, so that last one’s definitely a little far-fetched, but come on. This is Clay we’re talking about. Clay doesn’t kiss girls like me. I’m the opposite of the kind of girl he goes for. He goes for the easy ones, the ones with the big boobs, the ones who are fine with a one-night stand.
I stand in the open doorway for a few more minutes, my lips still feeling the slight press of his against them, until I see Becca come up the stairs. She stops when she sees me, and I know I must look as shell-shocked as I feel. “What’s wrong?” she asks, coming to stand in front of me with a concerned frown on her face.
The words come out before I can stop them. “Clay kissed me,” I tell her, my voice barely a whisper. I still can’t believe it.
Becca gasps, her eyes lighting up with mirth. “Clay kissed you?” she asks excitedly. “Clay Mitchell?” She claps her hands with what I think is glee, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, Clay Mitchell. Do we know any other Clay’s?”
The sarcasm in my voice is heavy, and Becca narrows her eyes in a glare. “S-o-rry,” she snipes. “I just didn’t think you had that kind of relationship.”
I look up at her, a little shocked at the tone of her voice. She almost sounds … jealous? I’m not sure how to go about asking what her problem is, so I drop it. Stepping back, I move so she can walk by me, and watch as she drops her bag carelessly on the desk chair I was sitting in earlier. She doesn’t say anything further to me, and it makes me wonder what her deal is even more. I’ve only known her a few months, but she’s never had this kind of reaction to anything dealing with Clay. “Bec?” I ask, almost afraid of what she’ll say.
“What?” She’s digging through her dresser, and when she turns to face me, her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are glassy. They quickly dart away from me as she grabs the first thing she touches and walks past me, picking up her shower caddy and the towel hanging on the back of our door. I start to say something, but she slams the door behind her, not giving me a chance.
Two hours later, she still hasn’t returned, and I’m beyond tired. I hate going to bed when she’s clearly upset, but whatever she’s upset about, she doesn’t want to discuss it with me. Finally, I lie down; sure I’ll never sleep with the thoughts going through my mind. I kissed Clay. Or, I guess, he kissed me. And, I liked it. Those thoughts go round and round in my mind until finally, exhausted, I fall into a fitful sleep, dreaming of Clay kissing me, touching me, while Becca watches with a heartbroken look on her face. My subconscious is so screwed up.