Beneath

23 FIGHTING FOR NOTHING

NOAH

How can someone fit so perfectly in your arms?

We crafted our own little universe tonight. I know Jed would dispute it, but it's true. Even though I showered, brushed my teeth, and found a new pair of sweatpants, I still feel her hands, smell her skin, and taste her on my tongue.

I'm made for her.

Is she lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about me? Does she feel this same pull? Did she get herself off in the shower like I did as soon as she was alone?

A knock at the door.

Fox lost his key again, I bet.

Pushing off the bed, I rub a hand over my bare chest.

The door swings open to reveal, "Jed?"

And Cam's sprawled on the floor behind him.

She's laughing at the ceiling, engulfed in my grey sweatshirt, wearing yellow shorts on her long, lean legs. Her hair, a curly chaotic halo around her head, looks wild—not the sleek style from earlier.

"She does not want to go back to her room." Jed levels me a look. "It was humans, not the stars, that put this pain inside her tonight. And wine."

Cam offers a brilliant, sloppy smile. "We found him! Jed, fist bump!" Jed turns around and gives her a fist bump.

"Thanks, Jed," I say, walking over to kneel. She reaches for my shoulders with cold fingers, pulling me down onto her with more strength than I expected.

"I wish you the best," Jed says, disappearing around a corner in his black cape.

"Can we still be friends?" she asks, her voice breathy and earnest against my neck as she holds me to the ground. "Even if my hands are all rough and my nose is ugly and I'm not good at having fun..."

I thread my arms under hers and lift her off the ground. "No part of you is ugly."

"Missed you," she slurs. Her curls brush against my skin, and her hands are curled up near her neck. She hiccups so hard she slams her forehead on my collarbone.

"Cam, how many drinks did you have?"

"One," hiccup, "bottle."

"That's all, huh?" I can't help but smile. "What happened? Why don't you want to go back to your room?"

Then she starts crying, her body shaking with each sob. "I'm a s-sad drunk." Her tears are a wet trail down my chest. "I'm so tired."

I carry her into my room, kicking the door shut behind us. The urge to protect her from whatever pain she's in has me by the throat. Gently, I lower her onto my bed in the soft gold lamplight. She watches me with those big, shimmering brown eyes, lashes heavy and wet.

"Shoes." I shift down the bed and slip off her runners off, dropping them to the floor. I tuck her bare legs under the covers, pulling the blankets up around her. "Sweater." I find the edges and pull it off her head, all her curls flying up and down around her pretty face. She's left in nothing but a blue undershirt that glows against her skin.

"I love when you look at m-me. Kiss me."

I take a deep breath, turning back to face her. "You're drunk, baby."

"Paige," Cam whispers, "gave me wine. And told me stupid stories."

I sit on the edge of the bed and brush a loose curl from her cheek. The girls got drunk—that's where they were. "What did she tell you?"