"I want to give you all the love you deserve."
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Hadley Carter has struggled with her sexuality ever since childhood. She keeps her feelings hidden out of fear of judgement and not being accepted by oth...
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From the day we met, Sloane and I became inseparable. After all, it was summer; all of my friends were away for the month. Plus, Sloane didn't know much of anyone in town. It was nice in an odd way knowing I had her all to myself. She was like a secret meant for me to keep. Little did I know how literal that would become.
For the most part, I was always over at her house. I'd tell my mom I was going to hang out with the new girl down the street, and off I'd go for the day. Mom took it upon herself to become the perfect welcoming neighbor. She always had something for me to take over to Sloane's house: homemade cookies, flowers, a Welcome to the neighborhood card. I'd told Sloane I thought it was all ridiculous, but she said it was sweet. She'd give me that perfect smile of hers and all of my annoyance at my overbearing mother would suddenly disappear.
I still remember the first time Sloane ever came to my house. We'd been sitting in her room, sprawled out on her bed, bored out of our minds. The heat outside had reached an all-time high. She'd been wearing a thin tank-top and shorts that showed off her long legs. She was nearly irresistible, and it took all my self-restraint not to lean over and kiss her the way I had Julia at summer camp, which felt like so long ago. I didn't want to mess up what I had with Sloane. I feared that if I showed her how she made me feel, she wouldn't want to see me anymore. Nothing was worth risking that.
"I want to see your room," Sloane had said, sitting up in her bed and snapping me out of the thoughts I was having of running my hands along her legs and kissing her to find out how soft her lips really were.
"Yeah?" I'd asked, raising my eyebrows. "Why's that?"
She'd leaned on one of her elbows, which brought her face closer to mine. I could see all of the little freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. Her long hair cascaded over one of her shoulders. So badly I wanted to reach forward and tuck those strands of chestnut-colored hair behind her ear, but I didn't dare.
"Because," she'd said with a smile, "a person's room can tell a lot about a person. And I want to know all there is to know about you."
My heartrate had spiked with that, wondering if the words were meant to be taken as flirty as they'd sounded.
"You've spent an entire week and a half with me," I'd countered, stuttering because of how nervous being so close to her made me. "I think you know a lot about me."
"But not enough," she'd argued. Her hazel eyes searched my face, not lingering anywhere, merely taking me in. "I want to know you, Hads. I want to know if there are posters of the things you like plastered all over your walls or if your room is simply painted. I want to see the belongings you have around your room so I know what's important to you. I wanna know where you sleep. What it's like to lay in your bed knowing you do the same . . ."
When she'd trailed off, I felt as if I couldn't breathe. At that instant, I knew I wasn't imagining it. She was flirting. At least, I was hoping so. I wanted my hands in her hair, to get her on her back while we laid together in bed. I wanted my lips on hers and her body against mine and to touch her, to feel her against me and know that she was real, that I was really lucky enough to be laying across from her.
