My Own Personal Sun [A Jacob Black Story]

My Own Personal Sun [A Jacob Black Story] {Part 7}

I hadn’t planned what we would talk about.

            Then again, nothing I ever planned about ever went according to plan, so it wouldn’t have done any good.

            Now, we were sitting in the livingroom, arguing. The entire room was tense, and both our hands were balled up into fists.

            “You make no sense!” I muttered. “You kissed me, then you ran away, then you didn’t speak to me. Why are you mad at me?”

            “Because!” He hollered from the chair across the coffee table. “You’re the one being pissy about all of this!”

            “You’re dumb.”

            “You’re confusing!” He threw his hands up in the air, frustrated.

            My eyes narrowed. “Why did you kiss me?” I figured this was the only way to get the truth—be straight and up front about it.

            Jacob glanced down, his cheeks a little bit red beneath his russet skin. “I don’t know—but if I had known it would have caused all this, I wouldn’t have done it.”

            “Would you stop changing the subject, and answer the fucking question?” I wondered aloud, my tone dark. “I mean, can you just tell me what I’m wondering, here?”’

            “What are you wondering?” His voice was husky.

            I didn’t drop eye contact with him. “Jacob, you know I have feelings for you—I told you myself. But, I have to know—do you feel that way about me?”

            Silence. Absolute silence.

            I searched his face, trying to find any clues to his feelings. Then, there was the punch of the fear when the thought that he would say no hit; my heart stopped, and I felt my eyes widen.

            He seemed to lose his breath, and he sucked in a deep gasp; he glanced down, blinking, then back to my face. “Yes.”

            “Yes?”

            He nodded, his cheeks a deep red. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

            “Oh.”

            He slapped his face, his eyes closed, and began to shake his head. “This isn’t smooth at all.”

            I burst into a roar of laughter, snorts escaping. “You’re—worried—about—being—smooth?” I managed between laughs.