Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) by Reinhardt, Liz (knowledgeable books to read TXT) 📕

like an idiot. Here I am, naked with this girl who I love, but who doesn't love me back, and I feel like I should get the hell out of this pool, get my damn clothes on, go home where I know my place, and stop going along with all my crazy feelings.

Maybe there's a damn good reason I've always done what I was supposed to do.

Maybe the reason is that it was always the right thing to do.

Maybe everyone in my family thinks this thing with Evan is all wrong because it's all wrong.

Because I felt changed. I let go and opened up and dove headfirst into every gut-wrenching, confusing-as-hell thing I was afraid of, and what did I get for it?

This awkward uncertainty.

I roll my neck on my shoulders, pissed that this night, this chance I wanted to take so badly, wound up being such an ultimate disappointment. I swim over to the ladder with slow, sure strokes.

"Where are you doing?" Evan's voice is hedged with nervous fear.

I turn back and pull myself out. "Checking my phone."

"Winch?" Her voice echoes in the water. I stop, but don’t turn to look at her. Her words are quick and tight. "Your family, your future, me?"

I'm naked. I'm chilled. I miss her before I'm even out of her sight. I don't want to know if my phone rang while we swam. I want to have sex with her again, fall asleep tangled around her, and wake up with her at my side. I want this swim to have been all about her and me doing crazy shit with no one or nothing worrying us.

I want her to tell me she loves me back.

The last thing I want is games. Especially the kind she's playing.

"I can't answer for those." I tighten my hand into a fist at my side.

She ducks low in the water, so quiet, I figure that's the end, and start to walk back.

"Answer," she orders, the beginning of the word bubbled from under the water.

"I can't." My brain is frozen on those three choices.

"Why?" She swims over to the concrete edge, her arms and legs cutting smooth in the pool's icy blue water.

"Because I can't." I shake my head slowly. "I could have, a while ago. But now things aren't what I thought. They're...things aren't the way they...It's compli--"

I stop stuttering and look right at her, her face damp and anxious. "You." She grips the edge of the cement hard. My voice is low, just for her. I have to tell her the truth, even if it kills me. She needs to know how I feel, even if it isn't mutual. "Always." She presses her lips together. "My family? Sometimes. My future?" That one gets a laugh that isn't remotely funny and the word that's final as a gavel on the judge's bench. "Never."

I'm ready to leave. It's done, out there, and it feels like hell, but what else was I supposed to do? I can't fake anything anymore. She changed everything about the way I think about life and love and what I want.

"Winch!" I turn to look at her. She pushes the hair off both sides of her face and chews on her lip. "Don't go. I can't let you go. Until you hear me out. Hear me out?"

I haven't moved or made a single sound. I stand still and wait.

She swallows hard and looks up. "I, uh, I...love you, Winch. I love you."

Evan 12

I love him.

Of course I love him.

Even when I'm playing stupid games, of course I love him.

I want him to get back in the pool. I want him to take me into his arms. I want him to tell me he loves me again, and I swear on all that's holy, I won't be a coward this time.

But he only nods and walks back inside. It's inappropriate for me to feel such total lust mixed in with the heart-squeezing sadness while I watch him walk away, but I do.

But the lust is fast overpowered by howling, black, ceaselessly pricking regret.

I'm such a coward. I pull myself out of the pool and shiver and feel embarrassingly exposed, but there's no towel to cover myself with, and I don't feel like going inside to get one. I sit on the edge of the pool and dip my feet in, the water only slightly cooler than the air, but it makes vicious goosebumps prickle stiffly up my legs.

I wonder if they called him. If he'll go. If he'll come back and say goodbye first. If he does come back, will he tell me he loves me again? He doesn't have to. This weirdness, this badness is all my fault. I'm to blame. For every stupid turn the night took, I'm to blame.

I never expected him to be so honest, so fearless. I didn't think he'd strip down and make me blush and have sex with me like he was born knowing exactly how to make my body race, then jump headfirst into the pool and my games and professing his love.

I never, ever expected him to put me in the 'always' category.

Even if it is only a game.

Even if it isn't real.

But isn't every game somewhat real?

I hold my head in my hands and feel miserable, chilled, slow, low, lonely, used, a million and one empty, clanking adjectives that don't quite put a finger on my loss and sadness.

The sliding door opens, and I grip the pool edge, waiting. His footsteps come close, and a towel covers my shoulders. "Come in. You look cold."

"No one called?" I clutch the towel to my chest and crane my neck to look at him.

"I have no idea. I didn't check." He's dressed, but barefoot, his hair still wet and shiny from the pool water, but lying neatly on his head. "Come in. We can watch TV."

"I don't want to watch TV," I say, the petulance in my voice immature but unstoppable.

He's silent. I can see his shadow, cast