Page 48 of Heartache Duet
He leans forward.
“Turn around, you dumbass.”
“You have the strangest love language,” he mumbles, scooting so his back is facing me.
I press my fingers into his shoulder, feeling the muscles shift beneath my touch. I realize I’ve never touched him before. Not like this. I try to ignore my body’s reaction to the heat of his flesh, the strength of his muscles, the sound of his groan when his head rolls forward. I silently clear my throat, reclaim some form of sanity. “Are you going to go?”
“Huh?”
“To the party… are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. Do you think I should?”
I keep working his shoulder, below his shirt, skin on skin, up his neck and to his hairline and back again.
He moans. “Ava?”
“Huh?”
“Do you think I should go?”
“Probably. Team building. Blah blah blah.”
He chuckles.
I work on both shoulders, watching his muscles contract beneath my touch. Then I move up his neck, run my fingers through his hair.
“Goddammit, Ava,” he grunts, his hands covering mine, stopping me. “You’re making it really fucking hard.”
“What, being just friends?”
“Yeah… that, too.”
TWENTY-TWO
connor
I’ve never felt more out of place than I do standing in Rhys’s living room. There’s a Solo cup in my hand filled with beer, given to me by a server who clearly works for a company that gives zero shits about underage drinking. I thought it was just a team thing, but it looks like the entire school is here. Minus the one girl I wish was.
I sent Ava an SOS two minutes after I got here, but she hasn’t responded. And no matter how much I look at my phone, Karen doesn’t get the hint. She’s on my arm, practically hanging on for dear life, and I don’t even know how I got in this situation. “So, you totally should come!” she shouts over the music.
“What?” I yell.
“Next week. To my party. On my boat.” She narrows her eyes. “Have you been listening to me at all?”
“Yeah,” I lie, point to my ear. “It’s just hard to hear you with all the—” My phone vibrates, and I’m quick to check it.
Dad: No drinking tonight, and if you do, no driving. I mean it, Connor. I don’t feel like peeling your brains off the concrete.
Connor: Don’t stress. I’m not drinking.
A tip I learned a while ago is that people tend to leave you alone if you have a drink in your hand. Nobody checks if you’re drinking it. And I’m not stupid enough to drink and drive, especially since Dad has enough stories of car accidents to scar me for life.
“So, you’ll come?” Karen asks.
“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” I need out. Of this conversation and this room.
She points in the general direction of a large staircase, and maybe she’s beyond drunk, because in a house this big, there has to be at least five down here.