Wasted Words by Staci Hart
“Okay, you’re definitely hanging onto me then. Nobody gets to see your vag except me.”
She smirked. “How about you? How Kyle was Kyle? Like, drunk twins Kyle or Kyle trying to read scary books that bite?”
“Worse than either.”
She frowned. “Wow. What’d he do?”
I almost admitted it to her without thinking, not used to keeping secrets from her, but I caught myself. “He was trying to be my wingman and mouthed off when I told him I wasn’t interested in browsing.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t read her face.
I took another bite, trying to make light of the whole thing. “I dunno, Cam. I don’t want to hang out with him anymore — I feel like I’ve let the whole thing go on long enough.”
“Well, you don’t have to hang out with him if you don’t want to. It’s the beauty of being a grown up. That and beer.”
“And no bedtime,” I added. “Or school.”
She laughed. “I love school. And learning.”
“Not me,” I said with the shake of my head. “The pressure was too much.”
She snorted. “Says the guy who played ball at Nebraska.”
I shrugged. “That was different, you know? Simpler. I knew what I was doing on the field. Everything else is … complicated.”
“Do you miss it?” she asked quietly.
“Every day,” I answered.
“What do you remember? Like, what do you think about?”
I swallowed, considering the question. “Everything. The smell of the turf, the sweat, the adrenaline. The sound of pads and helmets clashing, the feeling of the football in my hands. The feeling of taking somebody down by sheer will and strength. It was my life for so long. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever look back on that time of my life without longing.”
“Well,” she said gently, “I think it’s good to remember. It’s part of who you are. You lived those moments, and as long as you remember, then it’s not lost.”
I leaned over, heart aching as I pressed my lips to hers in thanks and adoration.
When we finished eating a little while later, I sat back in my chair, contemplating seconds. But that was another thing I missed — the calories burned playing ball. It didn’t take long to learn that I couldn’t eat hamburgers and fried chicken every night for dinner when I wasn’t burning two thousand calories a day.
I picked up our bowls, and she moved to stop me. “I’ll get that.”
“Nope.” I didn’t stop moving. “You cooked, I clean. That’s the deal.”
She smiled up at me. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for cooking something so epic.” I set the bowls in the sink and turned on the faucet. “What do you want to do tonight?”
She stretched in her seat. “I dunno. I’m off tomorrow, so I don’t need to get to sleep early. Probably just read.”
I smiled at my hands as they washed the cheese out of a bowl. “I’m in.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve got to find out what happens to Bilbo. He just met Golem.”
“Ooh. That’s one of my favorite parts. All right. Reading it is.” She stood and picked up the casserole dish, moving it to the counter before digging out a plastic container to store it in. “Mmm. This is going to make a solid lunch tomorrow.”
“It should. I’m pretty sure Jack would commit a felony for this once he smelled it.”
“You should take some to work for Jack too. There’s plenty to share.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll give me a raise.”
Cam laughed, and when I looked over at her, possession washed over me. She was so beautiful in a way that held no expectation, unassuming and easy. I felt like a thief or a treasure hunter, like I’d found in her in some long abandoned place that could never dull her brilliance, no matter how lonely or dark it may have been. But now she was mine, and I wasn’t going to let her go.
She caught me watching and smiled in a way that I felt deep in my heart, and I turned, not caring that my hands were wet and soapy. I cupped her face, shifted my wet thumb against her skin, leaving a glistening streak in its wake. She wasn’t breathing, her eyes locked on mine, pupils widening as she waited for me to kiss her.
So I did.
I kissed her with my heart and with my soul, trying to tell her something words couldn’t allow because there just weren’t enough of them. Not the right ones. When I broke away, her eyes stayed closed, and she sighed. When they finally opened, she smiled again, blushing.
“What was that for?”
I shook my head, my face soft, mirroring hers. “Just because.”
YOUTUBE SAVES
Cam
THE NEXT NIGHT, I STOOD in my bathroom, watching the end of another YouTube video that made liquid eyeliner look easy, with a deep hatred in my belly for girls who knew how to do it.
Normally, I wouldn’t be so hateful, but frankly, I’d washed my face three times after ending up with eyeliner all over my face, and I was really, really annoyed. Rose and Lily made it seem so easy, but after my shower, I’d stood there looking at the haul of makeup, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.
Keep it simple, stupid. Be the boss of this. Don’t let the makeup win, Emerson.
I took a breath and turned off my phone. No eyeliner — I was done with that noise. After re-applying my foundation, I picked up the brushes Lily had me buy. Eyeshadow I could do. A little dark on the outer edge. A lighter color in the crease. A creamy nude all over to blend it. I blinked at myself in the mirror.