Chapter Thirteen [Liam]

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*this chapter contains multimedia relevant to the plot*

My bed calls to my body like a magnet to metal.

I plop down over the covers, face first, immediately feeling the effect of a full day's work. I honestly don't think I can keep waking up to be in the rink at five, then go through my classes, a full work shift and a second practice. It's just not humanly possible. No one can do it.

It's almost eleven and I haven't eaten yet, nor have I finished any of the homework I have for tomorrow. And the worst part is that the little piece of functioning brain power I still have is too far taken by another thought to focus on school work.

It was easy to forget about it during practice, with Helga's instructions blocking anything outside of Chloe, my own body and the ice beneath us. But now that I'm home, my mind can't help wander back to that kiss.

Not 'that kiss', actually. It was a full-on make-out session. Short as it might have been.

I lift my face from the comforter for air and roll over onto my back.

I can see him inside my head. Thoughts and feelings locked behind a face set into stone and ice, standing by the dish washing station. Good thing I got the most stubborn side of both my parents, or I wouldn't have been able to go through what I'd set myself to do, after seeing that look.

But I went ahead and did it. 

For a second, I thought he might punch me, adding his fist's mark to the nearly faded bruising on my face. Instead, I felt his wet hands on my face and his lips on mine. And I won't lie. Despite the pep talk I had given myself this morning, reminding me that he was the one who made a move last night, I was a little shocked.

I just can't help thinking back to Chloe's words three weeks ago. "As far as the sexuality spectrum goes, I imagine Eli Blake stands as far away from every color of the rainbow as humanly possible," she said.

Well. As wise as my skating partner might ususally be, I guess she got this one wrong. Eli Blake might not be a full rainbow, but there's at least some color to that one.

Because he fucking kissed back.

And, hell, did he kiss.

I had been fascinated to find out this summer with Rafael that kissing a boy wasn't at all much different from kissing a girl. I expected that different genders would feel different, touch differently, smell differently, taste differently.

Rafael had smelled of chlorine and sunscreen and sweat, and his lips tasted of apple juice and the wine on Mack's parents' cellar. That aside, the experience wasn't all that different. There was a different topography to male and female bodies, but not much of a distinction between the act itself and the way it made me feel.

Until Eli.

Where Rafael's lips had been soft and full, Eli's were rougher than I expected, even a little chapped from the cold. Where Rafael was tentative and exploratory, Eli was direct and firm. His hands held my face in place with a steadiness I never felt in any of Rafael's gentle touches and experimental caresses. The kiss had a kind of urgency to it that I never experienced before.

It was hot.

But Eli also made it very clear from the moment we parted that the kiss was a dead topic. Actually, no. More than that. A no-topic. A non-occurance.

To be honest, I still can't get over how fast he snapped, clicking from hungry and ready to cool and uninterested. Guess some people really do have an on-and-off switch.

A knock on my door makes me sit up in bed to see my sister's head pop into my room. I instinctively glance down at my crotch, just to check if everything's in order.

"Can I come in?" She asks.

"Why?"

Leah lets herself in, closing the door behind her with a shrug. "Just wanted to hang out."

I raise my eyebrows, unconvinced. "You're hiding from Grandma, aren't you?"

She presses her lips together. "I always have to spend time with her because you never do," she mutters almost spitefully.

"I'm an athlete. And now I'm also a working student. My time is fully occupied," I say. "Plus, your Spanish is much better than mine."

"If you spent more time with Grandma, you could improve."

"Or I could spend the entire time getting scolded for not devoting enough attention to my Latin roots," I shoot back.

"You don't."

I give her a look. "Is there a point to your invasion of my privacy?"

Leah shrugs, stepping into the room to sit on the edge of the little bean bag at the foot of my bed. And I kind of want to roll my eyes, because my little sister really got none of that Chavez-Astor straight-forwardness. It's hard to say how she came out this socially impaired, in this family.

"You talked to Logan recently?" She asks.

"No," I answer. "Why? Have you?"

"Mhm."

Seriously. Sometimes, I wish she would just say stuff instead of — what, expecting us to read her mind?

I arch my eyebrows. "How is she?" I ask, dragging the words a little impatiently, knowing Leah will need me to probe before she gets to her point. Even though she was the one to come here.

"Good. She's doing great in all her classes, teachers love her," my little sister says. And, then, after a pause, "Think she has a boyfriend."

I twist my nose, because there's nothing more disturbing than thinking of my older sister with a boy. "What makes you say that?"

"She's just weird."

"Logan has always been weird."

"No, Logan has always been perfect," Leah counters. "You're the weird one."

"Am not."

"Are too. And you like it."

I roll my eyes.

"What about you?" Leah asks.

"What about me?"

"How's your boyfriend?"

"Who?"

"The guy you met in Malibu," she says, sounding annoyed that I'm making her specify.

I shake my head. "Rafael is not my boyfriend."

"But you want him to be," Leah says. "You wouldn't ask dad to let him stay with us if you didn't."

I shrug.

"What?" She asks, eyes a little bit wider in the way Leah gets when she's expecting you to say something. It makes her look exactly her age, and it highlights just how much I don't want to talk about my love life and sexuality with my thirteen-year-old sister.

"Why are you so nosy all of a sudden?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "I'm not nosy. I'm just asking."

"Don't ask."

"Fine," she huffs. "Be a dick."

"Hey," I interject as she makes her way to the door. "When did you start using that kind of language, missy?"

"You use it," she quips.

"Right. But I'm the family disappointment. We all expect better from you."

She rolls her eyes. "No, you don't."

I point a warning finger at her. "No cursing."

"You're not my dad."

"I'm your brother. Same authority."

"Coming here was a mistake," she says, opening the door.

"Pleasure to chat with you, baby sis," I call out as she leaves.

"Come mierda," I hear her shoot back from the other side of the door, and I don't even want to think about how she learned that expression, because she learns most of her Spanish from our mom and Grandma. I don't even know which one would be worst.

Running a hand down my face, I let my body slump back onto the mattress before reaching for my phone. Out of habit, I open the conversation with Rafael, reading over the last few messages we exchanged before I went into the rink.

I haven't texted him yet, because I was too tired when I left the Arenas. I should probably do that now, so he doesn't think I blew him off. Just as my head goes through that very rational thought, my fingers move of their own accord to hover above a contact I never texted before. 

Eli gave me his number when I started working at The Lodge. For training purposes. Or that's what I said when I asked him to give it to me. But I haven't used it yet.

Until today.

I stare at the screen for a few seconds, before I come to terms with the fact that the boy who turned ice-cold after we made out in The Lodge's kitchen isn't going to text me back right away. Instead, I go back to my text thread with Rafael. If anything else, to pass the time.

Unsurprisingly, his reply comes almost instantly.

The typing bubble comes on and stays for a few seconds. I click away from the conversation to check the unchanged thread with Eli. If you can even call a single unread text a thread. I guess you can't.

Rafael's reply comes, making my phone vibrate as the icon shows up on the top bar, but I ignore it. Before I can think it through — I have never been a fan of thinking things through — I type again.

Well. It's done.

Idiot, a little voice in my head I have sometimes mistaken for a conscience yells. Cornered people never respond well, you just fucked everything up with Eli in only a couple of texts!

I close my eyes, dropping my phone somewhere on the bed beside me, and massage the bridge of my nose between two fingers. It's done. I did it. It's sent.

Now, I wait.

***

And, now, you wait too... For tomorrow's update.

What do you imagine will go through Eli's head when he reads those texts? How do you think the boys will act when they see each other again?

Also... Thoughts on Leah? I might not have the chance to develop her much in this first book, but I did want to give her a little sister moment :)

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider leaving a vote or a comment.

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