My parents are still out, probably lingering over dinner with their old friends. I can already picture them sitting in some cozy living room, glasses of wine in hand, laughing over college memories.
They left takeout packages from Nova’s and my favorite Chinese restaurant in the kitchen. It feels almost like they knew she’d end up staying after the party.
Now we’re on the couch, me with a box of Cantonese fried rice and Nova with her legs stretched across my lap, biting into a vegetarian dumpling dipped in soy sauce.
On the TV,Love, Rosieis playing. It’s one of the movies on our endless list, one we hadn’t gotten around to yet. Fittingly, it’s about two childhood friends who can’t admit their feelings for each other.
From time to time, my gaze drifts to her. The hem of her dress has slid up, baring more of her thighs. The lights are off, and only the glow of the TV illuminates her face. She’s focused on the movie, unusually quiet for her—normally she can’t stop talking during movie nights.
I set my box of rice down on the coffee table. My hands feel restless, so I grab the remote and nudge the volume up. Then I sink against the back of the sofa, pretending to focus on the movie. But out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nova scratching at the base of her neck—her telltale sign she’s just as nervous as I am.
Finally, her eyes flick toward me again and again, and I fight to avoid meeting them. I know that if I do, I’ll lose myself completely.
Then she stretches, her legs shifting over my thighs. A spark runs through me at the contact. Dear God, Nova.
“Vincent?” she whispers.
I finally look at her after more than an hour of trying not to and the look in her eyes makes me jolt. “Yes?”
“I...” she murmurs, leaning closer.
“You?” I whisper back, my eyes already on her lips.
She exhales shakily and, instead of retreating, she jumps on my lap, straddling me.
I freeze, words failing me, as she takes my face in her hands and kisses me.
Her lips are impossibly soft. Her fingers slip into my hair, tugging, and I can’t stop the low moan that escapes me when her hips shift against mine. The moment she parts her lips, I deepen the kiss, sliding my hands up her thighs until they rest at her waist.
When she finally pulls away, she presses a fleeting kiss to the tip of my nose. I cup her face in my hands, brushing my thumbs over her cheeks, struggling to catch my breath.
“Maybe we should—”
“Can we go to your room?” she interrupts, whispering so close to my mouth I can feel the heat of her breath.
A rush of desire surges through me so hard I almost lose control. Judging by the flush on her cheeks and the way her hips rock instinctively against mine, she feels it too.
“Have you ever...?” she asks shyly, a voice I hardly recognize.
I smile, kissing her gently before shaking my head. “You’re my first.” And the last.
“So are you,” she whispers, twirling a lock of my hair nervously. “I’m so nervous...”
I cradle her face, offering her the softest smile I can. “Me too. But we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
“But I want to. I want it so much. I think about it every day,” she admits, her cheeks burning.
“Me too.” I try to reassure her.
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
I nod, then stand with her in my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist, her hands clasped at the back of my neck.
“Even if we go upstairs, we don’t have to do anything, okay? We can just listen to music,” I whisper against her lips as I carry her up the stairs.
She clings tighter, pressing featherlight kisses to the spot between my neck and shoulder. I stifle a groan as we reach my room and I shut the door with my foot.
“Lock it,” she murmurs when I set her down.
