Free I Kissed The Boy Next Door by Suzanne D. Williams Page B

rolled around a lot quicker than I thought it would, and though I’d climbed out my window the other night to see the meteors and climbed in his window to wake him up, this felt way different.
    I looked like a burglar wearing blue jeans and a black shirt and crouching over to run across the space between us. Even more when I slipped his window open and hauled myself in – no easy feat to do on my own. He was on his stomach, his head laying to the side and one arm dangling off the mattress. He, of course, had no shirt on, so I could see his back real plain, and that distracted me from finding his phone.
    He’d sat it on the bedside table, but not the one convenient to me. That’s how these things always go. The task is that much harder than it would be if things lined up for once. So I eyed how to get around that side of his bed without yanking the covers because they were sliding off.
    In the end, I sort of crawled on my hands and knees, going real slow to not make a noise. I arrived at the table in a short amount of time and took his phone into my hand. Then I eyed him because the minute I touched it, it’d light up the room. I stuck my hand beneath the bed. This made it hard to see the phone’s screen, but dimmed the light where it wouldn’t shine in his face.
    The minute I touched the screen, he shifted. He flipped onto his back and the bed covers slipped down below his waist. Man oh man, that was a sight, and again, I was distracted.
    It crossed my mind that I’d lost my mind completely to be there doing this, and I argued with myself. Maybe I should leave off. Maybe this was none of my business. Maybe he’d work things out with his mom without me. But how much time would pass before that happened and where would his little brother be by then? I’d save him a load of pain by finding out because he wasn’t going to do it.
    These were all the things running through my head. In the end, I saw I was there, had his phone in my hand, and should get the number and go, then fight with my conscience.
    He turned his face my direction, and I had the strongest desire to touch him. He was breathing real deep and quiet. I counted the seconds between breaths and was amazed anyone could sleep and breathe like that. It made me dizzy trying. I stretched out my hand across the mattress, stopping an inch before his face, where I could feel it, warm air puffing outward.
    And it was weird because I had this grown-up moment. I thought about being married to him and what it’d be like to lay there at his side. That made me think about his parents and how they’d split up, and it seemed even more painful. I could feel it somehow down in my gut, the ripping of two hearts apart that had been close once.
    I gazed down at the phone and flipped through the contacts. He had a lot of names I didn’t recognize. I found his dad and his sister. And me. Owen. I scrolled through twice because I had to have missed it. He would have his mom’s number. Right?
    Right. Because he did, and there it was. I was so nervous, my fingers trembling, and that made it hard to transfer the number to my own phone. I fumbled through it, then took one last look at him, kind of wistful, before sitting the phone on the nightstand.
    That’s when things got nervy. He shifted in bed, his hand stretching out before me and his leg blocking my retreat. He must have been dreaming because he was twitching, mumbling beneath his breath.
    I had to get out of there. Fast. I stuck the phone back on the nightstand and contemplated my exit. I ended up crawling beneath his leg, which was uncomfortable. I crept toward the window, but as I touched the sill, he shifted again, and I swear I thought he was awake.
    I pretended he wasn’t, hooking my leg over the edge and dropping to the ground. I couldn’t get inside my room quick enough, and I didn’t dare look back.

    ***

    Jackson sat up in bed in time to see the fleeting image of Lucy’s hair go over the window ledge. Lucy? He