Shut Up And Kiss Me (gxg)

22. My F*cking Ass

      THE PROBLEM WAS, I DISCOVERED, that even though I knew what to do, I didn't have it in me to do it. 

      And I had been avoiding Aaron because of it.

      I knew it wasn't fair, but—well, it was easier than telling him the truth.

      And a couple of weeks later, as Monroe and I studied, barely more than a foot away, I couldn't help thinking of it.

      I like girls.

      It was seven in the morning, and the library was entirely empty—except for us. I wasn't sure where Mrs. Bulger had gone, and I didn't care.

      Not when Monroe was being her usual, infuriating self.

      For some reason, she was incapable of sitting properly on a chair. Whether she was leaning halfway off, tipping it backwards, or widening her legs over either side, there was just something insanely sexy about it.

      Sexy? No. Irritating.

      Today, she'd abandoned the chair altogether. She was sitting on the table in front of me, tilting sideways to examine the book we were going to read.

      Macbeth. 

      Her long black hair curtained the side of her face, and she tucked it behind her ear as she said, "Do you know how fucking sick of Shakespeare I am?"

      I couldn't respond for a moment. I was busy staring at the way her fingers had curled through those dark, silky strands and imagining what it would be like to—

      "We just finished Hamlet,"  I insisted. "It's either this or The Catcher In The Rye." 

      "Then I'll take The Catcher In The Rye."

      I shrugged. It didn't make a difference to me either way. Monroe's class had a list of books to read, and we'd finished a quarter.

       I pulled out The Catcher In The Rye, but as I set it on the table, I couldn't help glancing outside. At the sunrise beyond the glass.

       It was the middle of October, and through the windows, I could see the faintest smear of pink on the horizon. 

       Monroe's eyes followed my line of vision. "You like mornings?" she asked.

       "It's hard to wake up," I said wistfully. "But they're worth it."

       "You like the sunrise better than the sunset," she observed.

        I tore my gaze away from the window. Autumn had arrived so quickly it had felt like I'd blinked—one second, the weather had been all blue skies and lush green fields. The next, blazing orange and red and gold danced in the fierce winds. Even now, in the early morning temperature, I saw leaves rattling free from their branches.

       Soon, it'd be winter. Monroe's English semester would be done, and I wouldn't have to talk to her ever again.

       "I do," I said, a little surprised that she'd noticed. "What do you . . ."

        I trailed off. It had hit me that I was talking to Monroe. Monroe fucking Kingston.

      Casual conversation had become something rare between us. 

        In these past weeks, studying in the morning hadn't been exactly friendly. We still got the work done, but it was always accompanied by passive-aggressive remarks. I'd snap at her, she'd snap back, and somehow, we always ended up fighting loud enough that the librarian had to tell us to be quiet.