chapter twelve
THE SUNLIGHT IS WARM on her face. It filters through her blinds, shifting as the radiator air blows the thick pieces of fabric about. Irena groans as her alarm goes off. Wednesday. The one day she doesn't have a class at seven a.m.
She moves to roll over and and stretch. There's something in the way. Someone. It's the best surprise she could ask for.
"Morning." The whisper rumbles through his chest, vibrating low with raspiness. Irena folds into him again.
"Hi."
"Sleep good?"
"Amazing."
Clay lifts his hand to her face. He traces her cheek, her nose, her lips. His finger is heavy with sleep still. She looks up at him, enthralled by the faint freckles across his skin, his eyelashes as they flutter against his cheek. His eyes open and catch her staring.
"What?"
"You're pretty. Not like...weird pretty. Just...normal pretty. Your features are nice to look like...I mean. You know?" She's babbling, a blush rising as she fumbles her words. Clay laughs, the sound so achingly familiar. It's what she first noticed him for, after all.
"I get it. But if I'm pretty...what does that make you? A goddess. Ethereal. Stunning."
"Big words for so early in the morning." Her cheeks are on fire, alight with his words. Clay grins.
"You should get up."
"Right." The impending reminder of her long day — a day away from Clay — sours her mood.
"I'll drive you," he nudges. "To school and work."
"Thank you."
"Of course."
Irena finally drags herself up. Clay tosses the covers away as she sits on the edge of the bed. She runs a hand through her hair, untangling the coils that have formed from sleep.
"I'm going to shower. I think there's pop tarts in the cupboards. Help yourself."
His hands are on her waist before she can move too far from the bed. His touch burns. Fingers of flames singing the waistband of her shorts and the hem of her T-shirt. Her breath freezes in her throat.
He doesn't do anything besides holding her to him and watch her with those bright green eyes. The smirk rises the more flustered she grows.
"What?" He asks. Irena looks over his head, trying to catch her breath again.
"Careful," she warns, "I might just fall for you."
"Too late," he drawls.
"Then it's a good thing that feeling is mutual."
He's sitting on the couch when she emerges from her bedroom. Her hair is still damp, falling around her face in loose strands.
She's got half an hour until class. Clay watches her pile her laptop and charging cords into her backpack. He's still watching when she braids her hair back.
"Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me."
"Can't help it."
"Who's watching Patches?" She folds under his gaze, using the topic of his cat as a distraction.
"My mom and sister. They'll stop in once a day and make sure she's got food. Probably hang out with her a bit too."
Irena moves to the kitchen. She plugs her toaster in and opens the packet of pop tarts.
"Want some?"
"Sure," Clay calls back. Irena takes the plate to him. He's already changed. Doesn't take much for him to get ready, she supposes.
"Here. You can come hang out while I'm working." She drops the key into his open hand. It's her spare, it's twin hanging off her keychain already. "It'll be awhile. I promise I won't be tired tonight...We can go to the beach or something."
"What time do you get off?"
"Four. Bit earlier than normal. I'll send you the address."
"It'll go quick. It's already nine."
"I hope so," she sighs. "I'm getting sick of the retail work. Suppose it's whatever because I've got a shit ton of stuff I need to pay for."
Clay reaches for her hand as they start for his car. She leans into him, grinning.
He navigates the streets a lot smoother than she did back when she first moved into her apartment. He drops her off at the entrance to her school building. His eyes are heavy on her back as she walks in.
Six hours later, he's waiting outside her work. She's dragging on her feet, despite what she promised him earlier. At least she got her essay finished in the gap she had between classes.
Despite her tiredness, she's got enough spunk to convince him to visit the beach. It's dark by the time they get there, the nearly-full moon just rising from the horizon. She draws him across the sand with one hand, intertwined with his.
"It feels like we're escaping reality," she murmurs. There's a few scattered groups across the beach, but aside from that it's empty.
Clay only has eyes for her, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes and bathing her skin in a pale glow. She catches his gaze and it's heavy enough to make her laugh.
She dances away from him, her long hair swirling around her head as she moves. He can't help but follow her.
Irena stops by the edge of the water. The waves curl in, hungrily grasping for their feet. She feels his hands catch hers, pulling her back in to his embrace.
"Thank you for being here," she whispers. "It means a lot to be that you came."
"Of course," he whispers.
"I love the moon. It reminds me of my Gram."
"You've mentioned her before."
She has, in the late nights of talking over the phone when they shared their childhoods. She's never really gone into detail before.
"She used to call me an old soul. She kinda showed me how to see the beauty in things. Early mornings, the moon, being alone."
"It sounds like she meant a lot to you."
"She really did."
"It makes sense. You are an old soul, really. Sometimes you say some things that just blow my mind. Like you've lived a hundred lives beyond this."
"What's your take on that?" She asks sincerely. His mind is entirely different than hers...he's a lot more practical. She's expecting him to be joking with his words. When he speaks again, there's a careful thoughtfulness and careful choosing when he works through the sentences.
"You've got a knack for understanding things. Do you remember when we talked about why we're the kind of people that generally like the night more? That was how I got to know you the best."
She does remember the conversation. Hours of describing her theories on human nature, spinning a fantastic image of the solace in night hours. Clay had told her then just how interesting her mind was when it worked, but she's seeing a different perspective now.
"And that makes me an old soul?"
"I think so. When you talk like that...when you tell me what that stunning mind of yours is thinking...it feels like I'm not just talking to you."
"You flatter me," she jokes.
"I try."
She looks up at him. They're dangerously close to each other, chests pressed together under the waning moon. Her eyes are full of stardust and the feelings she has for him. Two stupid kids, strangers at best. Until they weren't.
He kisses her. His lips capture hers and they taste like the salty seawater. There's roughness in the kiss, drops of poison from the stresses of their personal lives. Coming together, it turns into euphoria. It's warm alcohol on a freezing night, burning down her throat and spreading warmth through her chest. Her heart thrums with joy and nerves and every little thought about how crazy this is.
He's kissing her like he's never going to leave. Irena wants to think that's true. That they'll burn away in the night and join the stars that twinkle down on them. The moon will watch their journey with a comforting gaze and encourage the two lovers into eternity.
Irena is drowning. Spiraling. Twisting. All because he makes her feel so intoxicatingly real in a way no one ever has before. He grounds her and also makes her feel like she's floating. She's never been this happy before.
She's completely fallen for him. Or in Nick's words...she's the biggest simp Clay's ever ever had the fortune of meeting.