Some former version of myself might have latched on to that fact. That Finn was willing to ditch us, his friends—the nerve!—for what he wants more. But instead of being mad at him for it, I can only be jealous. He’s far braver than me.
A shout goes up in the ballroom, muted through the walls but easily identifiable: The countdown has begun.
“I guess we should…” I point over my shoulder. “Get back in there.”
He sighs, running his hand along the top of his head, somehow not messing up his bun in the process. “Yeah. I guess we should.”
It will be dark in there, hot. Bodies on top of bodies, reaching, grabbing,touching. We’d have to find our friends, probably packed deep into the masses. In the rush, the crush, we wouldn’t reach them until after the clock struck midnight. We’d be stuck in the crowd, stuck around all those other people, kissing, hugging,touching.
Finn still stands just out of reach. He’d be much closer if we went back into the ballroom. Out of necessity. Finn would walk next to me, perhaps, just a step behind. He’d have his hand at my back. He wouldn’t touch me, but he’d be there. A guide, a gentle navigator, a compass. I’d probably feel him, the silk of his shirtsleeve on my back, the thrum of his voice in my ear when he leans down to tell me he sees them—on account of not being able to hear each other over the cheers and the music.
I came out here to get air, to cool off, but I’m suddenly hot, a little breathless. I press my palm to my chest to feel the pump of my heart.
“Remember last year?” I ask as the countdown starts on the other side of the wall.
Finn narrows his eyes, pauses. “I…yes.”
I nod, not looking at him. “Maybe…maybe we could just do that again. Instead of…you know…”
Finn nods too. “Going back.”
“It’ll be so loud.” My words are punctuated by the cheer, the arrival of a new year.
He steps toward me, one of his steps one and a half of my own. “And crowded.”
“We should?—”
The doors open and people stumble out, no one I recognize, just a group of partiers whose partying can’t be contained by those four walls. I grab Finn’s wrist. “Come on.”
Finn follows me without question. He walks with me exactly as I predicted. My hand on his wrist, his pulse just there beneath my fingers, his hand at my back, a firmer presence than I’d thought, warmer than I could have imagined.
“Where are we going?” he finally asks as I turn us down a second hallway.
“Just…shhh.” It’s not that I’d be embarrassed to be caught kissing Finn by our friends…again. It’s just that it’s one thing to get caught kissing Finn and another thing completely toexplainkissing Finn again.
We are deep in the bowels of the hotel now; we’ve passed through enough doors that we may potentially be in a Staff Only area. But it’s dark and quiet and, most importantly, empty.
“Eleanor.” Finn stops, effectively stopping me since I cannot release his wrist from my grip. I turn to face him, our arms stretched between us. “Are you ashamed of me?”
“No.” Because I’m not. “It’s complicated.”
He makes a point of looking around, closing the gap between us, twisting his wrist until I’m no longer holding him, until we’re holding each other. “This is where you want me to kiss you at however many minutes past midnight?”
“It’s quiet. Like it would be if we were at home.” And then, because that soundsnot right, I say, “And we’d both rather be at home. Our own homes. By ourselves. Tonight.”
“Ahhh.” But he somehow manages to make even that sound teasing. He takes a step forward and he’s so close now that I have no choice but to take a step backward, then another, until the wall is at my back. His arm comes around my waist, his forearm a gentle buffer between me and the wall.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks, gently, curious. Like he’s trying to find an explanation for why I suddenly seem to enjoy his company.
“Yes. A little bit. I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say when he lifts his eyebrow. “Have you?”
“Yes. A little bit,” he parrots. “I’m not drunk.”
“Good.” That takes care of that!
A piece of hair falls loose from Finn’s bun. I tuck it behind his ear. Finn tugs gently at my earlobe, my earring, his fingers more toying with the blunt ends of my short hair rather than putting it anywhere.
“Well,” he says. The space between us is warmer, heavier, than anything we could have felt in the ballroom. My hands have found their way back to his biceps. I squeeze them, just to feel his flesh between my fingers, his thickness.
