Draw the Line

chapter nineteen

"The sunset," he repeats with an unconvinced nod of his head, following my gaze toward the treetop in the distance, far beyond the other bank of the creek. "That's why you keep looking up at me? Because you're drawing the sunset?"

Heat spreads through me like wildfire, climbing up my chest to my neck, where it finally settles in my cheeks. How did he even see me looking at him? He's been reading this entire time.

"I wasn't looking at you," I counter, but it comes out a little hoarse, and I close my sketchbook so quickly that I nearly jam my finger between the pages on accident. That alone is evidence enough that I'm lying, but the heat searing my cheeks only intensifies when he looks over at me and smirks as his eyes flick from the closed sketchbook that I'm holding to my chest to the hem of my short dress, blowing softly against my thighs in the warm breeze.

"No?" He hums, perking a brow as his eyes linger for a second longer on my legs before meeting mine again.

"Nope." I shake my head and raise my brows, trying to feign innocence as I place the sketchbook on the other side of me. I know he could easily steal the book if he wanted to, I'd have no chance at keeping it from him, but I think he can sense the anxiety radiating from me at the thought because his smirk slowly softens into something much more earnest as he looks down to the paperback in his hand and then back up at me.

"Want to come read with me?"

I hesitate for a second as I consider that. "What?"

His eyes brighten as he rolls onto his back, using his backpack as a pillow as he holds up his arm for me to cuddle up next to him. "Come read with me, Melons."

I put my sketchbook back into my bag before turning and crawling over to him, ignoring the twitch of his cheek that I know is meant to say, I know you were drawing me, but I'm going to pretend like I don't know so that you won't throw yourself into the creek and let it wash you away. Which is a good thing, because that's exactly what I would have done. When I'm finally nuzzled up beside him, my head on his chest and my arm resting on his stomach, his arm comes down around me and pulls me close before he grabs for his book with his other hand and props it up so we can both read it.

I tried. I really tried to read it, I swear, but it's not written in modern English, and mixed with the warm amber of his cologne and the way his steady heartbeat is practically lulling me to sleep, I can't seem to focus on anything other than how good it feels just to be here like this with him. Before I could stop myself, I was slipping into the same fantasy I've been torturing myself with since I kissed him in his bathroom post paintball fight. Of what it would be like if this were more than friends with benefits. Of what it would be like if this were an actual date — a date that meant something. Of what it would be like to be the kind of girl that Micah wanted in more ways than one.

I know what I agreed to. I know this is just physical. There are no strings, emotions, commitment, or expectations for anything more involved. I was the one who brought up those factors in the first place, but I can't deny that peeking up at him now as his hair rustles softly in the breeze and his eyes focus on the words in front of him, I could see myself wanting more than sugary kisses in photo booths, or steamy make outs on movie nights. I could easily want more with him. I could want mornings spent in bed. I could want phone calls after classes. I could want dates out at Vinny's, the Italian restaurant near campus. I could want to cheer him on at his games. I could want days where we don't even leave his bed. I could want to introduce him to Halle's moms — to my parents. I could want that with Micah. I know I could.

But even though I know I could want that; I know I shouldn't.

I shouldn't want something I can't have, and I shouldn't get my hopes up for something that will only hurt me when it doesn't happen. Both because Micah Costa doesn't want any of those things — well, all apart from the never leaving his bed part — and also because I shouldn't open myself up to someone in that way, knowing there's a good chance I might have to leave them behind in a few months.