The kiss was perfect. Like Aya.
Just what I needed.
We stood, mouths meshed, tasting each other in small sips as our bodies inched closer. When I started to shift, planning to deepen the kiss, she cupped my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her flush against me. We held on, eyes closed, lips touching, blending under the dubious shade of the live oaks. Finally, Aya shifted, gasping for breath. Her eyes were wide and full of emotion.
We stared at each other until she gripped my shirt and pressed her nose into my pec. I tightened my hold, never wanting to let her go.
10
Aya
My grandfather wobbled on through the sultry month of May. “Holding on tight,” he said, to have more time with me.
I loved spending time with him, even as I worried about my mother’s health. My entire life seemed to be veering off in a direction that would alter me substantially.
Nash understood because his parents’ relationship was more messed up each day. They seemed to be communicating by one-upping each other with parties and alcohol, always seen in the company of a beautiful person who wasn’t their spouse—and rarely in Austin.
In fact, neither of his parents had been home in weeks. The tension between them skyrocketed when Brad once again tried to fire Steve. This time, it was Nash’s mom who refused Brad’s request.
Neither Nash nor I knew what to make of that mess, and Carolina hadn’t wanted to talk about Steve when Nash called her. I sat with him as he tried.
“He seems to be taking care of you,” Carolina had said in response to Nash’s question about Steve.
“I guess. But I’d prefer you were around,” Nash told her.
She sighed. “It’s just so hard, Nash, being there right now.”
I wanted to ask her if she’d considered her son, but I managed to bite my tongue.
Nash hated the media and his mother’s tearful reasons for staying away, but there wasn’t much he could do. He deflected comments at school like a pro, and I tried hard to make sure few people bothered him, just like Hugh did. While I wouldn’t call the guys close, Nash had thawed toward Hugh and included him in some of our weekend activities.
Not tonight, though. Tonight, Nash and I were outside on the deck behind my house. The temperature was dropping, and I shivered a little, but I wasn’t going to suggest we head inside. I liked the sound of the lake lapping against the dock below and the soft strum of Nash’s fingers over the strings of his guitar. He’d grown taller again, and his light brown hair was shaggier, hanging in his eyes and down the back of his neck, much to Steve’s clear annoyance. Darkness descended slowly as the sun finished setting, the last faint hints of red dissipating over the water, leaving it a thick, opaque void. I shivered and refocused on Nash.
He lay on his back in one of the teakwood loungers while I lay on my side in the one next to his, watching him play. The white cushions were thick and downy, and I snuggled deeper as I ran my fingertip over my malas.
Nash stared up into the sky as he strummed idly, humming a tune. I liked watching him step more and more out of his shell. I loved that here with me, he was just Nash.
“My mom’s upset that I’m going to tour with my dad,” he said.
I wasn’t surprised, just as I wasn’t surprised that Carolina had chosen to stay in Europe instead of returning to visit her son. I’d read on a French gossip site that she was actually in a rehabilitation center—very discreet—and this wasn’t the first time. I’d considered telling Nash, but I didn’t want to stress him out more.
“Are you going to miss me?” he asked, glancing over.
More than you can imagine. “Yes.”
“Then come with me.”
“I can’t. I’m attending the summer program at MIT.”
“C’mon, Ay. You have plenty of time for school shit during the school year.”
“Actually, I don’t. And this will help me get into a top-tier college.”
He turned toward me, his pouty face adorable. “The tour won’t be as much fun without you. I really want you there.”
I did, too. I wanted to be with Nash more than anything. But if I didn’t get into MIT or Stanford, or even UT’s Cockrell School of Engineering, my dad would lean hard on my mother, trying to force me into a British university. I couldn’t understand why he’d taken an interest in my life. But since we’d moved back to Austin, he’d been making more and more noise about me moving to England.
Reginald Aldringham had managed to finagle a viscount title from his current wife’s family, which made him an actual peer of the realm. Not that we discussed such things. Our typical conversations were barely more than a perfunctory greeting, an assurance that my mother was still alive, and then a litany of his “plans” for my future. He didn’t seem to get that I didn’t want to see him, let alone live with him, which made this summer program all the more important. Only a few students were accepted, and it would set me apart from the many others who would apply for the same limited college spots.
My burgeoning mood began to sour. Ever since that time he’d kissed me, Nash had kept me at arm’s length, always reminding me we were friends. I flopped onto my back and stared up at the sky, angry tears burning the backs of my eyes.
“Why are you mad?” he asked, setting the guitar aside.
“Who says I’m mad?” I sounded angry.
I gritted my teeth. No matter what I said, he would find a way to circumvent my denials. This was the problem with spending so much time together, but I couldn’t stop.
He slid onto the cushion next to me, aligning his lanky frame to mine. He positioned himself with his cheek cradled on his palm as he stared down at me. He wore an orange T-shirt with the name of some band on it—most of Nash’s shirts were from bands he’d met on one of his dad’s tours.
I liked that about him. I liked everything about him. I was pretty sure I loved him, actually. Gazing up into his brown eyes, so filled with past grief and hope, made me ache. I clenched my fists to keep from reaching for him, desperate to tug him down to me, to kiss him again.
I looked away. “You don’t want a science nerd on a rock tour. I’d just be in the way.”
He gripped my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. My chest warmed and something soft, special spread through it.
“You are not a nerd. You are a math whiz, and you won that engineering award at school when you’d only been there for a few weeks. Most of the rest of the kids had prepped for their projects all year, Ay. That’s smart and badass. And it’s more than enough to get you into the school of your choice. You don’t need this extra program.”
My face flushed with pleasure, making me thankful for the darkness. “I don’t know…”
He flopped forward, pressing his forehead to my neck. “Come on. Live a little.”
Then he began to hum again. I knew this tune. It was one he hummed often: “Something” by George Harrison, he’d told me.
I softened against him as he began to sing the words. He had a beautiful voice—deep and rich, like dark chocolate.
We lay out there for another hour before he began to pester me again. I turned and flicked his nose. “Ugh. Stop it.”