The inexplicable, unavoidable force that draws me to him gathers power, pulling me, yanking me toward him, dragging me into the space between us. Into the leaden throb. Into the ache.
“Connor,” I say his name like what it is. A prayer. A plea. A spark. “I want you to kiss me.”
His lips are all I can see. All I can think about, and even though we aren’t touching, they’re all I can taste.
I slide my hands around his neck and raise them slowly until I’m circling his jaw and cradling his skull.
He leans in, but not with his mouth. He leans in and rests his forehead against mine. Skull to skull. Bone to bone. I raise my chin toward him. He dips his down, his lips evading mine.
I’d be hurt or humiliated by the rejection, except it doesn’t feel like one. He’s still so close to me. His hands and skin are everywhere. All over me.
“Lennon, I can’t,” he says, sliding a hand up my chest as the other curls around the back of my neck. “Not like this.”
“How come?” I ask dumbly.
“Because you’ve been drinking. A lot. Because I don’t think you’ve done this with a guy before.” The hand around the back of my neck cards the hair it finds there and tugs gently. “Because I’m all in, and I don’t want to be something you regret, or forget, tomorrow.”
“So what do we do now?” I ask, unwilling or unable to let go of him.
“We go to sleep.” He extracts himself from me, keeping his hand on my chest to steady me. He cocks his head at my bedroom door. “You in your bed, me in mine.”
I don’t like it, but I don’t hate it either because the way he said it and the way he’s looking at me carries a promise I like a lot. “And tomorrow?”
“And tomorrow, if you still want me to kiss you, ask me again, and I will.”
“Connor,” I say as he starts walking toward his room. “I’ll still want you to kiss me tomorrow. I will. But remind me, okay? Remind me to ask you, not because I’m going to forget, butbecause I might get scared. I might get all lost in my head and be too scared to ask you, so remind me, okay?”
His entire face creases. His lips, his eyes, his cheeks. “Okay.”
“Do you swear?”
“I swear.”
38
Lennon
It’sastrange,ChristmasEve kind of sleep. The kind of sleep I remember from when I was a kid, and I was so excited about the next day that I couldn’t fall asleep, stay asleep, or sleep deeply. It’s like that, except I’m an adult and my head is swimming with Connor instead of the promise of gifts under a tree.
I wake a hundred times or more. Checking my phone each time, disgusted by the numbers I see on the screen each time.
2:32
3:14
4:27
I toss and turn, and get up to drink water, until at last, at last, the clock rolls over from five to six in the morning. It’s still early, too early to feel the sense of urgency and excitement I’m feeling, but I can’t wait one second more.
I steal into Connor’s room like a burglar in the night, stealthy and quiet, but for once, I’m not somewhere I shouldn’t be. It’sdark, but not so dark that I can’t make out the clear outline of him.
He’s on his side, facing me.
“Connor,” I whisper. “It’s tomorrow.”
His eyes flit open, and somehow, despite the blue light of morning and the thick haze of sleep, they’re the warmest, sweetest things I’ve ever seen.
“It’s tomorrow?” he blinks in confusion.
