Doesn’t matter anyway because he’s gone. Where did he go? Who did he go with? Is he coming back? He might be on a train halfway to New York right now. Maybe he found out I was coming up here and fled before I could get to him. I really don’t think Zoe would have tipped him off, though. She seemed pretty invested in me coming up here begging him to give me a second chance.
Okay. So maybe he hasn’t left for New York.
Or, oh shit, it’s just occurred to me thatmaybehe’s been inside for the last five minutes listening to me knock and hiding in there waiting for me to go away.
Which I would totally deserve. Fuck. I think I might be sick.
“Owen!”
I whip my head up to see George, halfway down the driveway, walking towards me.
I swallow. “Hey.” My voice comes out in a croak, and I realize I haven’t spoken to anyone in over six hours.
“Hey, you okay? I was calling your name, and you,” he stops short a few feet away. Sticks his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t seem to?—”
“I’m sorry.”
“I—what?” He shifts his weight. Looks at me warily. “Are you… Did you want to swap back early? Is that ‘sorry I’m kicking you out’ sorry?”
I blow out a breath. “No. No, I… Jesus. Now I know why I’m a hermit. I do not know how to talk to people.”
A little laugh puffs out of him. He studies me. “Is it a ‘sorry, I broke your complicated espresso machine’ sorry?”
Now I laugh. I look at my shoes. “No.”
“Is it”—he’s closer now, on the porch with me. I can feel the heat coming off him, but I keep staring at the boards below us—”a ‘sorry I told Zoe you’re secretly into really terrible heteronormative reality TV and now you’ll never hear the end of it’ sorry?
I grin. “No.” And now I look up at him. He’sright there. After all this time. So achingly familiar and completely new all at the same time.
We’re locked in each other’s gaze now, a whole conversation happening in the mere inches between us. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t figure out what to say. It doesn’t matter how badly I fucked this up. It just matters that I’m here. He’s here. And we’re?—
“You’re wearing my tie.”
I look down. Oh, yeah. Then I look more closely at the little triangle of red peeking through the opening of his coat.
“Isn’t that my sweater?”
He looks down. Then he looks up at me and grabs me by his tie. “Shut up and come here.”
He pulls, and I stumble forward, knocking him back as our lips meet. I wrap my arms around him, drawing him close, away from the steps, so he doesn’t fall.
His mouth opens, his tongue slides against mine. Someone lets out a little moan, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out which one of us it is.
There are things to say. I know there are.
“Too many clothes,” George mumbles into my mouth.
Like that, for instance. I dig in my coat pocket for my keys, not breaking the kiss. Damn, though. I think I left them in the truck.
“Here,” George says, shoving his set into my palm. I grin against his lips. As always, we seem to be on the same wavelength.
There’s no way to get the key into the lock from this angle, though, so I pivot us around so I’m the one facing the door now. I should open it, but I can’t resist pinning him against it first.
We’re pressed together, no space between us. He grinds against me, and I think it’s safe to say, he doesn’t mind this slight delay. I pull back for a second to look at him. “Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi.” He grins and kisses me again.
He shifts, and I feel the full length of him pressing against my thigh, and nowImind the delay. I reach behind him, fumbling with the key while he does very distracting things with his teeth against my throat. Finally, the door opens, and I grunt, “Inside.”
