Page 98 of I Think He Knows
“Again with the being nice to me.” I smile feebly. Since my mom died, he’s been there for me, every step of the way. Even before she died, before we even knew each other that well, he would show up for me.
We needed each other then, and I still need him now.
And right now, he’s showing up again, making me feel safe and wanted.
“Since we’ve been doing this thing, you’ve calmed so much of my anxiety surrounding relationships and sex.” I take a deep breath. “I never thought I’d get to experience this stuff in such a positive way and with someone I trusted so much. For the first time in a long time, I actually feel like I can love someone, and be somewhat worthy of being loved.”
“Entirely worthy,” Carter corrects, and my eyes well up again as he adds, “And I’m still not beingnice, silly. I’m being honest when I say that getting to kiss you, hold you, touch you, is surreal for me. You don’t realize how incredible you are.”
“Is this… normal? How good it is between us?”
“The earth-shattering kisses and insane, off-the-charts chemistry?” Carter grins. “No. No, it is not.”
“But you’ve dated, literally, some of the most beautiful women alive.”
“That means nothing.”
“‘Course it does. I just mean, like, I’m not really your usual type.”
“Wrong. You are my entire type.” He looks at his hands for a moment before training his eyes back on my face. There’s something in his expression that makes me feel weak. “None of those other women ever made me laugh like you do. Made me feel like you do.”
“Carter, what’re you saying right now?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“I’m saying that you’re my favorite person on this planet, and I don’t know anyone more worthy of love than you are.”
I do the only thing I can think of doing in response to words like those: I lean forward and kiss him.
He immediately wraps his arms around me and kisses me back, and this time, it’s different. Not heated or feverish or desperate, but soft and sweet. Tender. Entirely unhurried.
By the time we pull apart, the sky is midnight black and dotted with hordes of twinkling stars. My lips are swollen and tender, my hair is a mess, and the saltwater from the ocean earlier has dried in cracked white patterns on my skin. Yet, I’ve never felt more beautiful. More desirable.
Moreloved.
33
CARTER
They say the third time’s the charm.
And I’ve woken up next to Lana Mae three times over the last few weeks—the first time, a little frantic after a mistaken sleepover; the second, content at the sight of her curled up next to me but with an aching back from a very flat air mattress; and this morning, sheer perfection at the sight of her in my arms in my bed in LA, infiltrating my life here on the west coast in the most welcome of ways.
Her suitcase is unzipped on my floor, her sweater is draped over the back of my armchair, her toothbrush is in my bathroom, and this place has never felt more like home in all the years I’ve lived here.
I wrap my arms around Lan’s golden shoulders and pull her towards me, happy that I got to be here with her all night, cuddling her close. My fingertips move her hair out of the way so I can inhale the scent of her skin, place a kiss on her neck above the edge of her t-shirt. In response, she murmurs something in her sleep and snuggles into my side, pressing her body against mine in a way that makes me smile—like she’ll do whatever she can to get closer.
I know the feeling all too well. I can’t get close enough to the woman right now.
And just as Lana is here with me now, filling the hole that’s been at the center of my years spent out here on the west coast, last night, she let me into the part ofherlife she’d never unlocked before by candidly discussing her dating history and hurts.
I only had two thoughts running through my head as she spoke.
The first was that I’m glad I punched that gaslighting asshole in the face.
The second was that, over all these years of watching her closely, reading her body language and facial expressions, watching her eyes for telltale flickers so I could be there for her, soothe her anxiety and help ease her stress… well, I never would have guessed that she thought I didn’t pursue more than friendship with her because she wasn’t mytype.
It’s insane to me that she could’ve ever thought that. Even if she had purple skin and six legs and a horn in the center of her forehead, she’d still be my freaking type. She’sLana. She’s perfect to me, exactly the way she is, and I love her more than words could say.
This fake engagement is technically over after the premiere later today, but this whole thing has felt real for me since day one. The real-est thing to ever happen to me. And after we get through tonight, I want to make it real every day for the rest of forever.