She nods. “Yes.”
I lean toward her and drop a soft kiss against her mouth, her throat, the curve of collarbone. Taking my time, I remove each piece of her clothing, kissing her exposed skin as I go, but leaving her panties in place. That will have to be her decision to make. I pull my shirt off over my head, needing to feel her warm skin against mine. I kiss each breast, rub against the damp barrier her panties provide until she’s moaning my name. Reading her body, I push the fabric aside and give her the contact she needs. Her knees fall apart and she whimpers loudly, rolling her hips. Watching Avery come is f**king hot. Suddenly I’m harder than I’ve ever been, but then Avery’s reaching her warm hand into my boxers and stroking me. Faster than I would have thought possible, I lose it. I curl my hand around hers to shield her from the mess that empties from me.
“Fuck, Avery.” I breathe, planting a kiss against her temple.
She smiles, content and clearly pleased with herself over making me come.
I grab some tissues from beside my bed and clean us both off, then lie back beside her. “Stay the night with me?” I ask.
“Yes.” Her eyes blaze with confidence and certainty.
I get the feeling she’s saying yes to more than just a sleepover. She’s saying yes to me, to life, and I pull her against me and hold her tight.
Chapter 20
Avery
I’m still smiling like an idiot as I make it to my dorm room. Madison’s sitting on the futon painting her nails when I arrive. She studies my wrinkled clothes and messy sleep-styled hair with a smirk. “Have fun last night?”
“Yes.” I bite my cheek to avoid squeeing. “It was fun. How was your date?”
“Dull.” She shrugs. “Oh, a package came for you.” Madison nods toward the desk where a large envelope awaits.
Wow. It’s here. A flash of warmth invades my chest.
Madison pauses, holding the bottle of polish. “Avery? What is it?”
“Hm?” I pluck the envelope. “It’s probably just nothing.” Lie. This envelope is everything: The cure to my identity crisis, a link to my past, and a possible future with my mom. Tears prick my eyes, and still clutching the envelope, I head off for the communal bathrooms, needing a moment to myself.
I pull open the curtain to the shower on the far end and sit on the cool tiled bench seat.
Then I hesitate. Maybe I shouldn’t be alone when I open it. I dial Jase’s number, but the call goes to voicemail. After waiting several minutes, I send him a text. I balance the phone on the bench seat beside me. Since he usually replies right away, I’m surprised when he doesn’t text me back.
I’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment, and I’m unable to put it off for even another second. I tear open the envelope and slide out the inch thick stack of papers.
I know Jase said he didn’t have any plans today, so I’m wondering where he could be. That question settles like an uneasy pit in my stomach, but I push it to the back of my mind as I begin reading the opening letter, addressed to me, on the adoption agency letterhead. It acknowledges the difficult journey this process may prove to be and lists resources to help deal with birthparent searches. Awesome. Even they don’t have faith in their process.
The following pages contain boring forms and information that my dads had to complete nineteen years ago. It’s funny to see that their handwriting hasn’t changed a bit in all that time. Seeing the sheer volume of forms and information they supplied overwhelms me. They must’ve really wanted me bad. That thought makes me smile, though it’s quickly followed by a pang of guilt about doing this behind their backs.
I continue leafing through the pages, knowing the good stuff is probably at the back of the pile.
Bingo.
An old photograph of a woman that looks shockingly familiar is clipped to the back page. The same wavy auburn hair and wide-set eyes that greet me in the mirror each morning are staring back at me. I pull in a deep breath, shocked by how young she looks.
Her first name and a generic email account are supplied on the last page.
Huh.
Jessica.
My mom’s name is Jessica.
I’m strangely devoid of emotion as I learn this. Her photo is captivating, though, and I find myself staring at it, brushing it lovingly with my thumb. Tears sting my eyes, and as scary as it is, I stuff the papers back into the envelope and head back to my room to email her. Lord help me for whatever happens next.
* * *
I haven’t heard from Jase in two days. I’ve called and texted several times, and still nothing. I’m more worried than anything else, and since he didn’t show up for class today either, I head straight to his house after.
I let myself in when no one answers the front door. Geez, they should probably keep it locked. The house is empty and quiet, and although my heart is pounding at what I might find, I climb the stairs to the attic. There could be a million reasons for him not calling me back…he could have the flu, maybe something happened with his mom…or the worst – is he back with Stacia? Yet, even as I try to justify his silence, I know it can only mean one thing. I saw Marcy and Stacia talking the other night. I’m sure they saw me too. I guess I just hoped maybe Jase wouldn’t have to find out this way – and from Stacia of all people.
Steeling myself for the worst, I knock on Jase’s door. A few seconds later, I hear the floorboards creak as he crosses the room. A ragged looking Jase peers back at me. He isn’t dressed, hasn’t shaved and his hair’s a complete wreck.
“Jase?”
He doesn’t say anything for several seconds, just continues watching me with guarded eyes. The pain I see reflected back at me is too much. This is why I don’t get close to people. This look. I hate being responsible for it when they learn I’m not who they want me to be.