"This is weird," Rico says somewhere between the fifth and sixth time they've fallen into bed together. For her part, Lacey tries to say something coherent, but all that comes out is,
"You're weird."
Rico laughs, and she reads a hint of self-deprecation in the way he scrunches up his eyebrows. She scoots closer on the bed to kiss the space between his brows. He stills when she does it, but the arm around her bare hip gets heavier and stronger, and she's pulled half on top of him before she can say anything else. If the action's too domestic, too natural, neither of them mention it.
Lacey watches him for a while. She does that more than she wants to admit. There's a part of her that always tries to relate the man in her bed to the boy who couldn't look her in the eye when they met for the first time. He's older than most people remember him — and she knows her mom probably doesn't even remember the boy who dropped off Lacey's homework when she wouldn't leave the house for two weeks. Maybe that's a good thing. Judy can meet Rico as he is now, all muted pride with scruff on his cheeks.
The one time Lacey mentioned shaving it, Rico said, "Not until you make an honest man out of me." They laughed, but Lacey figures that was his way of saying he was interested in making this a thing. She likes the thought of that. Mostly, she likes it when they're like this, casually cuddled up while she runs her nail over the little patch of dry skin above his eye. It's all a little too natural, and she asks herself, every time, why didn't I love him first?
"You're staring," he mumbles, and she remembers that she is. She nods.
"I can't help it. I can't believe it."
He loosens his grip, but she keeps her weight on him. Lets her right arm drape across his chest. It's so much firmer than she thinks it should be. He says, "Believe what?"
She wonders how much she can say before it shatters the casually hooking up label they have going on. Does she even care anymore? "Why didn't I notice you sooner?"
Rico's face gets a little more serious with a slight clench to his jaw that she pecks away. "You know why, Lace." Danny. She shakes her head.
"I never thought you'd get over Jo."
He's quieter now. "Neither did I."
She's older too, in that old enough to drink but not old enough to rent a car way. She's never met Rico's parents, not even in passing, but she imagines they have to be wondering who the voice in the background of the phone calls is. How does he explain them? Does he talk about them? Does she want him to?
"Danny made me feel alive," she finds herself saying. Rico's eyes dim a bit, not that she lets that stop her. "Like being with him filled the hole he left when he killed Tara. Only, it didn't. That hole had nothing to do with needing him. It was about me, and trusting myself, and how could I do that if I didn't know my best friend was a murderer?"
"I don't think that's something you could've known."
"I couldn't." She leans her head down on the corner of his pillow. His chin tucks into her hair. "You're not a rebound."
"It's been four years," he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. He knows what she means. He has to because he adds, "Neither are you." So she smiles. He scratches his fingers along her hip. Chuckles. "You know, the first time I met you, really met you, I couldn't even focus because all I could think about was that I saw you in your bra making out with Danny."
She groans. "Don't mention that video."
"It's what brought us together," he teases.
"You're awful."
"You like me anyway."
She lifts her head, jostling him and grabbing his attention at the same time. "Yeah, I do." He leans in to kiss her. She pulls back. "You need to shave."
"Not until you—"
"Make an honest man out of you. I know. I plan to."
He hums low in his throat. "Oh, really?"
"Or is that too weird for you?"
"I like weird. Love weird. Want weird, all the time, I have for a while."
"How long is a while?"
Rico shrugs. "I don't know. Since I saw you, in person."