Off the Record by Camryn Garrett (read more books TXT) 📕

it and that I’d never see you again. If I answered, I thought I’d miss you more.”

I’ve shown more of myself than I meant to. I stop breathing. A panic attack is coming. He’s going to think I’m weird, because normal people answer texts, because it shouldn’t be a big deal, because we only kissed a few times and holding hands doesn’t even count and—

“Hey.” He tugs on my hand. “Come on. Sit down.”

I nod. Marius sits first, and I slowly lower my body next to his, as if the couch will collapse under my weight. He’s warm. It releases some of the tension in my shoulders. This time, he leans in, almost in slow motion. I pull him forward by his hair and kiss him again.

My first kiss was during a game of Truth or Dare in seventh grade. I don’t remember the boy who kissed me, and it only lasted for a second. My lack of experience means I don’t really know the difference between good kissing and bad kissing. That hasn’t stopped me from worrying—about open mouths, and tongues, and, God forbid, herpes.

It’s different with Marius. I don’t worry about much of anything when I’m kissing him. I tangle my fingers in his hair, so soft, and pull him closer to me. He bites my lip and a moan escapes my mouth. He moves back a little more with each kiss. One minute we’re both sitting up, and the next he’s spread out underneath me. It doesn’t really hit me until I come up for air, fear—and something else—pooling in my gut.

You’ll snap him in half.

I freeze.

“Josie?” Marius stares up at me. “Are you okay?”

I rest my weight on my knees so I don’t squish him, but I don’t think he notices. His lips are stained red, shining like someone just put gloss on them. His eyes are a little hazy and his hair is fanned out around him and he’s beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. As much as I tell myself I’m beautiful, I know Marius doesn’t have to speak into the mirror every morning to remind himself. It’s obvious.

He reaches out for my hands, pulling them close to his chest.

“You can touch me,” he says. “If you want to, I mean.”

I always want to touch him—his face and his neck and his hands and his arms, the smooth skin, the mole, everything. This is something I want and have wanted almost since the day I met him. I force myself to stop thinking for just a second, running my thumbs over his hands. They’re warm, soft. These are Marius’s hands and no one else’s.

Then I run my hands up his arms. I feel his gaze on me the entire time. I’m pretty sure our arms are the only parts of our bodies that match, at least in width. He doesn’t have any marks anywhere, just light, faint hairs I have to squint to see. I push up the sleeves of his shirt as I go, but by the time I’m up to his elbow, he’s already pulling it off.

“You don’t have to…”

My voice trails off as he drops the shirt to the floor.

He’s skinny. Not like he’s been starving himself, but he’s smaller than me. Smaller than I’m ever going to be. And that’s fine, because I don’t mind being fat, because this is my body. It’s just that our bodies are so different. I want this to work, but we’re already different—different ages and genders and people….

But I can’t stop looking. There are miles of skin. His nipples are pink, just like his lips, just like his tongue. It makes me tingle. It makes me want to touch, so I do, stroking his shoulders and getting closer. There’s just the sound of his gentle breathing. I formulate a plan: touch every bit of him with my hands before following the same pattern with my mouth. I feel light-headed, but in a good way, like after I finish an impromptu dance party.

I kiss his shoulder. I’m not sure if my brain is processing like normal.

Marius turns his head.

“Josie?” he says. “Can I see you?”

It’s a simple request, but enough to make my palms sweat. I’m not the same type of beautiful as him. There are no smooth miles of skin. I have stretch marks everywhere.

“You don’t have to,” he says when I don’t say anything. “I just—”

“No.” I reach for the bottom of my shirt. “It’s just—I want you to know that I won’t— There are stretch marks on my stomach and on my legs. They’re darker than the rest of my skin. And my stomach is bigger, just…”

I can’t read the expression on his face. Disbelief? Surprise? Whatever it is doesn’t make me feel any better.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says, kissing my chin. “I want to see.”

“I want you to be prepared.”

I pull the shirt over my head before he can say anything else. My stomach pools in between my legs, and my back is straighter than usual. I force myself to imagine the bathroom mirror at home, how good I look in it. It’s easier to feel like I look good when there’s no one else around.

After a second, I let myself glance at his face. His smile is so tender that it makes me want to cry.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, shifting so he’s sitting up. “Why were you so scared?”

“Not everyone else thinks so.” I swallow. “They’re wrong, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He flashes a boyish grin. “You’re gorgeous.”

My cheeks burn. He tilts my head up and kisses me. I let myself fall into it, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. He doesn’t feel like he’ll snap. He feels warm and solid and here. This is real. I’m not imagining it.

But then he’s pulling me closer to him, almost on his lap. I jerk away.

“Marius, no,” I say, shaking my head. “What if I crush you?”

“Then I’ll be crushed,” he says. “What a lovely way to go.”

“It’s not funny,”