No Promises

chapter twenty-two

THIS IS IT.

This is the thing I've imagined for years. The thing that's been in all of my dreams. It's here, he's inches away from me, his nose brushed against mine. We're seconds away from making all of my high school dreams come true. Weeks of buildup, for this very moment, and all it takes is two seconds for it to end. For every bad outcome to hit me, and push me out of this moment, waking me up for just long enough for me to fall away from him.

It hits me like a ton of bricks that I threw my chance away, and I quickly look away, unable to face him as I clear my throat and scoot to the opposite side of the couch. My chest feels like it's on fire, in a complete and utter loss for what I just did. He was right there. Right in front of me, and I threw it away, but somehow, kissing him now felt wrong.

He just shared something deep, and personal, and close to his chest.

Something that broke his heart and using that vulnerability to make a move, no matter how badly I wanted to, and how close we were, seems cruel. The last thing I want is to take advantage of him and make things worse. Even if it killing me.

"Sorry." I swallow before clearing my throat as I reach for my sketchbook, bringing it close to my chest. My stomach aches as my eyes drift to the lines on the page, immediately feelings worse at the sight of Greyson's jaw. I drew him without even knowing.

"Is that me?"

I lift my head to see his eyes on the same page and I immediately pull it tight to my chest, hiding it away. "No, of course not."

"Really?"

"Really," I say, almost a little too eagerly.

The corner of his lip turns up as he reads me like the back of a book and reaches out, gently pulling it from my grasp to get a closer look. I don't want to give it up at first, mainly worried he'll think I'm some crazy person, but if he does, it doesn't show. There's an ease on his face as he takes in my work.

"It's amazing, Rob," he says my name softly. "I had no idea you were this talented."

"Yeah, they just let anyone into the art program." I laugh at the nervous tension, "You should see some of my classmates' work. That's genuine talent."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Minimize your talent," he says as he turns my sketchbook towards me. "You did this in like thirty minutes. Do you see how good this is?"

"How do you know I didn't start this before?" I ask.

"In the exact position I'm in now? Sure," he says and looks down at it once more before extending the book back towards me. "You're amazing, Robyn. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"If you say so," I say and close my book, resting it on the coffee table as I reach for the armrest and push myself up. "I need to find my phone," I mumble, trying to find anything that will fill the silence. The longer it sits between us, the more awkward it will get.

He sits up and points towards my room. "You took your bag to your room."

"Yeah, but I swore I set it down somewhere." I look around the hallway before spotting the red case on table next to the door. My lips curl up and I hurry towards it, picking it up to see a new email notification, and my stomach turns.

"What?" he asks.

I him as I lift my eyes from the screen to acknowledge his voice, swallowing as I pick at the opening of my cardigan and pull it tighter around my waist. "What?"

"You're making that face."

"What face?" I lift an eyebrow. "I'm not making a face."

"You're making a face," he says with a laugh. "That face you make when you're trying to hide something from me so, out with it. Tell me what's going on."