The Senior Trip

Chapter 43

HARPER

The heat must be what woke me. The sun is coming in through the window as the hot breeze makes the pale pink curtains dance at their hems. At this rate, our clothes will be dry in no time, but for now we are still bare beneath this hand-sewn quilt. I run my finger along the stitches, trying to avoid watching Asher as he sleeps.

I've been awake for at least an hour. He sleeps soundly beside me, his chest rising and falling peacefully as the warm rays settle on his tan skin. I give up and let my eyes follow the illuminated trail up to his scruffy chin. His jaw looks as though it's been cut from stone, but his face is softer around his closed eyes.

I few days ago I only had eyes for one guy. The boy that first stole my heart and made it impossible to look at anyone else. For some reason these last few days have broken down that wall and just like the sun seeps into this warm room, my attraction to Asher has seeped into my awareness. But it's not just his looks, even though there are no complaints there, Asher is also smart and funny. I've gotten to know parts of him I had never seen before over these last few days and the more I get to know him, the more I fall a little for those nuances.

"Stop staring you freak," he whispers hoarsely.

I startle a little, not aware he was awake. "I thought you were never going to wake up. I'm starving." I try to quickly distract him from the fact that he's caught me.

"Mmmmm, bacon." He opens his eyes fully and stares into mine.

"Eggs..." I add.

"A warm tortilla." Asher smiles as he rolls onto his side and boops my nose with his finger.

"Say less," I tell him.

His laugh is low and deep. It works like helium in my chest, making my own laugh float out and my heart flutter as if it is an untethered balloon inside my ribs. He makes me feel good and I wish I could bottle up all these feelings and save them for the days I need to be reminded that happiness can be found in the most unexpected places.

"I think we should walk to the town and explore the local food." He lets his finger run up the threading on the bed I had just been chasing with my own finger tip.

I watch as his strong hand deftly but tentatively work its way close to mine. Stitch by stitch he moves closer. His eyes are pinned on the trail it takes, mine are pinned on him. I realize I want him to touch me. I want to feel his hands on my skin again. It's the light of day and I'm stone-cold sober, but this man has become the high I seek.

As it gets close, his eyes lift to mine and he traces my hand with his finger. It's innocent and not all at the same time. It's a small extension of this dance we've been doing this whole trip. Cautious and daring, one step closer then a few steps back.

"That sounds perfect," I manage to say as his skin floats over mine. I've never been in such an intimate position. I watch his eyelashes rise and fall as he takes in my features, from my own eyes, down my face to my neck, slowing as he follows the invisible trail to my bare shoulder, raising out from beneath the quilt. His hand on mine lifts and slowly finds itself on my flushed skin. My lungs constrict as the tip of his finger traces an invisible line as if it hasn't stopped chasing the stitching that swirled and curled across the fabric. My body reacts. His hand freezes as his eyes watch my skin pebble as if to create a new path for his touch to take.

With out much thought and purely on instinct, my hand reaches for his smooth skin. I touch his chest, the muscles hard beneath my palm. I don't look him in the eyes, instead I watch where our skin meets, loving the dual sensation of my hand on him while his finger still traces its path. I remember the completed electric circuit we learned in science because nothing has ever felt like this. Together we create some sort of energy. I can feel it. And when I look up into his eyes and find him watching me intently, I know he can feel it too. 

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