1.1 | constellations of you and me ✓

07 | pegasus

"So," he says, resuming their past conversation. "I know you're crushing on her. You've got it bad. Just admit it." A pause.

"And damn, I know she's—"

"No," Jonah says softly, voice low underneath the sounds of fake gunfire. "She's—it's not like that."

"Like what?"

"This is her first time. She's never... never really had a relationship before."

"Shit," Adrian swears healthily. "Okay, so it's slow."

"As slow as she needs," Jonah sighs. "She's the one in control, and I'm the one at her mercy."

The noise from the television drowns out the ringing in his ears, all chaos and disruptive sounds and comical shouting coating him in a blanket of distractions. "You can have any girl you want," Adrian counters. "What makes her so special?"

Jonah bites his bottom lip and tastes a bit of blood inside his mouth. "I don't want another girl." He rubs his eyes. "And I'm done with shitty hook-ups."

Which is true. Yes, Jonah regrets his wandering hands in dark, glooming corners of dive-bars and parties, fingertips learning the style of human contact. He winces. Doesn't want to think about that right now; doesn't want to look at anyone but her.

Adrian nods and then backs off as he notices the genuinity of Jonah's eyes. "Just ask her out. What's the harm?" Adrian grins and punches Jonah on the arm, rolling over in laughter when Jonah ruffles his hair. The nerves in Jonah's body fire up and work overtime, dopamine releasing in illegal amounts in his brain as he thinks about the freckles on her nose, or the way she'd clung to him as she fell asleep. "And if she says no, at least you know she's not fucking with your head."

When he'd dropped her off, her room smelled like the essence of summertime—sunflowers, rose, lemon. And when she'd gotten out of the shower, hair all wet and tangled, Jonah had felt seriously breathless, like someone had removed all of the oxygen from the air. Eloise's head fits perfectly in the space between his shoulder and the corner of his jaw, slim fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt.

Jonah wonders if she'd heard his heart pound. If she'd felt it.

His cheeks feel hot.

"Not right now," Jonah defends. His heart is sickeningly fast underneath his sweatshirt, pounding and pounding and pounding. "Not after Jayden fucking Bradshaw put his hands all over her."

"Ah. Heard you went all psycho on his ass."

"Adrian."

The blonde boy smirks and throws his hands in surrender. "Seems like a movie scene, sunshine. Don't tell me I'm wrong."

Jonah rolls his eyes and pushes his friend off the bed in one smooth motion. "You're always right. Does that satisfy you?"

Adrian's head pops up from over the duvet as he gains balance on the floor. "No," he pouts, "but a kiss will."

"Shut the hell up, Chalmetón."

A flirty wink is directed towards Jonah. "Pucker up, bitch."

***

Three days pass without any contact. Jonah's starting to get worried—the uneasy, nauseous kind of feeling at the bottom of his stomach. After his game (UCLA won), he and the team had stopped by Blue Bottle to get a celebratory caffeine-fix, but it was a different girl behind the marble counter.

He didn't like it. Didn't like not seeing her and her sly, sarcastic expressions. Didn't like not paying for her food at Sue's and getting ice cream afterwards.