Twenty-nine

 

Conner

2009

May

“Are you listening?”

I look up from her foot to find Henley watching me over the top of the book she’s reading from, a look of puzzled amusement on her face.

It’s Sunday, and somehow, I managed to talk her into the backyard hammock. We’re laying on opposite ends, my feet bracketing her shoulders, hers resting on my stomach. My mom is across the yard behind me, digging in her garden and my dad and Declan are in the house watching the Sox game.

“Yes,” I tell her, turning her bare foot in my hand so I can study the cluster of spots on the inside of her ankle. “How many freckles do you have?”

She glowers at me. “You’re not listening.”

“Sure I am,” I tell her and I am—for the most part. Usually, I’m able to concentrate with laser-sharp focus on any number of tasks simultaneously. Like everything else, being with Henley changes that. She distracts me. Makes it hard for me to see my way past her.

I like it. The way she muddles me. Smooths me out. I’ve come to depend on it.

On her.

Us.

Probably too much, but I don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, I want to tease Henley about her freckles. Make her laugh.

“How many?” I pull her toes apart and look between them. Yup. She’d got them there too. “Rough estimate.”

“Too many.” She lays her book on her chest and wriggles her toes between my fingers. “I’ve got them everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” I say it in a low tone, stroking my thumb along the curve of her ankle bone, casting my gaze up the length of her bare leg, following the trail of freckles that disappear under the frayed hem of her shorts.

“Conner,” Her mouth falls open for a moment, shooting a look over my shoulder to see if my mom is paying attention.

“What?” I say, giving her an innocent smile.

“You can’t say things like that,” she whispers, shaking her head at me.

“Why not?” I say, pretending to be confused. “It’s an honest question.” I give her a shrug. “One I think deserves an honest answer—do you have freckles everywhere?”

That tongue of hers darts out and licks my favorite freckle. The one near the corner of her mouth that straddles her upper lip line. Eyes wide, she nods her head. “Yes, I have them… everywhere,” she tells me, her voice held just above a whisper before she clears her throat and tries to pull her foot out of my hand. “They’re gross.”

“Gross isn’t the word I’d use to describe your freckles, Henley,” I tell her, my grin slipping into something a little less innocent, tightening my grip on her ankle.

She gives up and laughs at me, shaking her head. “You might be the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.”

“I like what I like,” I tell her with a shrug. “I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“Like what?”

“Like you. Like your freckles.” I wrap my hand around her ankle, tugging her deeper into the hammock. “I’d like to count them someday,” I tell her. “I’d start with this one, right here.” I point to a random spot on her toe. “And I’d stop with the one behind your left ear.”

“I have one behind my left ear?” Her hand comes up, finger brushing against her earlobe.

“Yup,” I tell her, flashing her my dimples. “It happens to be one of my favorites.”

“You have favorite freckles?” she says, half incredulous, half scandalized, like she doesn’t believe what I’m saying, but she wants me to keep lying her anyway.

“I do.” I draw the pad of my thumb along the slope of her foot, and she does it again, the tip of her tongue peeks out to touch the freckle on her mouth.

My freckle.

“There’s the one behind your ear,” I say, wiggling my big toe against her neck and she laughs, batting at it like it’s a fly. “Then there’s the one on the inside of your right wrist—it’s a cluster of them, really—shaped like Mickey Mouse.” I watch while she lifts her arm and turns it to examine the spot I indicated. She frowns.

“But my absolute favorite is the one on your upper lip,” I tell her, lowering my voice. “You lick it every time you think about kissing me.”

Her eyes go wide. “I do not.”

“Yeah, you do.” One corner of my mouth kicks higher than the other. “You just did it.” I’m teasing her. It’s my new favorite thing to do. I love the way she blushes. Pretends to get annoyed. The truth is, we’ve doing this for weeks now and I still haven’t kissed her yet. I want to. I want to do more than just kiss her. That’s the problem.

With girls like Jessica, it was easy. Casual. It didn’t really matter because I didn’t really care.

There’s nothing easy or casual about Henley. The way I feel about her. I want to kiss her so bad, half the time I can’t even see straight, but I want to spend time with her even more. I’m afraid if I try to kiss her, I’ll screw it all up.

Scare her off.

So, I behave. Tread carefully.

For the most part.

Sometimes, like right now, I can’t help myself. Probably because times like this are the only times I can get a good read on how I make her feel.

Her mouth falls open again, her gaze jerks up, landing on mine. Her breath fast and shallow in her chest.

“Hey, Hen, Tess is here looking for you.”

I look up to see Declan standing on the back porch, Tess beside him, mouth hanging open like she just saw Bigfoot.

A second later, Henley is jumping out of the hammock so fast she nearly dumps us both on our asses.

She didn’t tell Tess about us.

I know she doesn’t want people to know, but the fact that she didn’t tell her best friend bothers me.

A secret boyfriend is something a girl would share with her best friend, right?

Before I can even untangle myself and stand up, she’s snagged her beat-up shoes from the grass and is pounding her way up the porch steps. “See you later, Mrs. Gilroy,” she shouts over her shoulder. “Bye,” she adds at the end, her gaze darting in my direction without landing as she’s pushing past Declan to snatch Tess by her wrist. She practically runs into the house, dragging Tess along with her. A few seconds later, I hear the front door slam shut while my brother stands on the porch and laughs at me.

Bye.

That’s what I get.

Bye.

She doesn’t even look at me.

Doesn’t even say my name.