Fall ❈ Benny Rodriguez

xix. only you

CHAPTER NINETEEN!
ONLY YOU　THE PLATTERS

　

　

IT WAS FORTUNATE that Luke had decided to wake me up when he did. I had hit stop on my alarm, not realizing, in my sleepy and exhausted state, that it had been my last alarm.

　Today would be the first day of school—sort of. It was really just a half-day, but we still had to wake early. Which was bullshit.

　Droplets of cool water splashed down on my face. At first, I stirred, brows knitted into a frown. More came down, bursting and sliding down my face. Once I realized that I wasn't dreaming—which was an effort, in my foggy state of mind—my eyes flew open.

　Luke was leaning over me, angled so that his wet hair, naturally, made my face its victim. A grin spread across his face once he found that I was awake. He had clearly just gotten out of the shower, because the scent of his body wash seemed to roll off of his bare skin like smoke.

　"Get away," I groaned, reaching out to push him gently by the cheek. "You're getting me wet."

　"That's incest," Luke said, matter-of-factly, jabbing a finger in the air for emphasis.

　I released a mixture between a groan and a cry, moving to plant my face into my pillow. It smelled like my new shampoo, though, so, in some odd way, it brightened my mood a bit.

　"Come on, we have to get up," Luke said, the smile evident in his voice. "Well, you do—I don't. So ha ha."

　My voice was muffled by the pillow when I said, "I'm going to kill you."

　"Put that on hold." Luke poked me in the side, earning an instant jerk. "If she says no, then you can kill me."

　Initially, his words meant absolutely nothing to me, did not make a shred of sense. Tire had not yet released me of its grip. It was definitely going to take some getting used to, leaving behind one of the greatest summers of my life.

　Luke had jerked me back from a wonderful dream. Benny's pretty lips were imprinted on the backs of my eyelids. At least he could be my motivation to get up and going, although it might have been more effective if he had been the one to wake me up.

　"Did you hear me?" Luke said, and there was a sudden urgency in his voice, tipped with anxiety.

　"Something about killing you," I grumbled.

　Luke caught his lower lip between his teeth and draped his body over the back of mine. His burning cheek pressed against the back of my shoulder. His dark, damp hair bled with mine, black on black, although mine was a tangled mess of curls. Luke's weight pressed me further into the bed, but I was used to it, and I felt too tired to complain. Oddly, sometimes it actually felt comfortable, as long as none of his sharp bones—chin or elbows, mostly—dug into my skin.

　"I'm really nervous," Luke whispered, his jaw working against my skin. "Like, near anxiety attack nervous."

　"For what—?" I broke off with a gasp, for the faintest sliver of true consciousness returned—but it was enough, and I understood.