The Victoria in My Head by Janelle Milanes

Author:Janelle Milanes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“SMOKE GETS IN YOUR EYES”

—THE PLATTERS

It’s the day before Levi leaves for his ski trip. His dad is at work and his mom is at a charity function, so we have his entire apartment to ourselves. Mom and Dad don’t know that part, otherwise I would be under house arrest instead of sitting on Levi’s puffy blue comforter and striped sheets.

“Is it lame to say I’ll miss you?” I ask as I watch him pack the suitcase flopped open beside me. With him leaving in less than twenty-four hours, everything he does is suddenly adorable. Even the way he packs. He tucks his shirts under his chin, then flips the sleeves first in a very methodical approach to folding.

“No,” he says, layering the shirt onto the others in his bag. “It’s sweet.”

There’s a certain expectation hanging over us. We don’t usually have the chance to be alone, unsupervised like this. As adorable as Levi’s packing style is, I secretly wish he would be a little less careful about his folding so we can get on to things.

“Do you have to finish packing now?” I ask him, leaning back on my elbows.

He looks down at his half-filled suitcase. “I just hate putting it off.”

“Maybe you can put it off for a little bit . . .”

“Maybe, but . . .”

I sit up and hook my fingers onto his belt loops. “A ten-minute break will make your packing skills even stronger.”

“I’m almost finished, I swear,” he says, undoing my grip on his jeans.

“Well, at least let me help you.”

As I get up and start to fold a sweater, Levi openly cringes.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, scrunching his lips together. “Your folding style is a little different than mine, but it’s okay.”

I groan, flopping back onto his bed and covering my face with my hands.

“Never mind,” I say through my fingers. “Just let me know when you’re done.”

A few minutes later, I hear the zip of the suitcase and feel the bed descend under Levi’s weight. I look over at him hopefully.

“All finished?” I ask.

“All finished.”

And then he leans in, and that nerve-wracking pressure is back. The apartment to ourselves, a week-long separation approaching. I want our good-bye to be perfect, so the memory will linger on in his mind as he descends the slopes of Vermont.

There are steps to Levi’s kissing, just like there are steps in the way he folds his shirts. He starts with small closed-mouth kisses, then he slowly moves in with a purposeful, precise tongue.

“I’ll miss you,” I say when we break apart for breath.

“Me too.”

I pull him on top of me and we continue where we left off. This is new, this horizontal making out, but it also feels instinctual. Whether it’s biological engineering or years of watching romantic comedies, something has contributed to my not being inept at sexiness.

Then I feel it. Through Levi’s jeans, against my thigh.

At first I think maybe it’s the remote control wedged between us. But when I gaze downward I see the bulge pressing against Levi’s jeans.

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