And he comes with a strangled groan, buried deep inside me.
When we’re both spent, we collapse. The floor is hard and frigid beneath us, but it actually feels kinda nice after the feverish intensity of what we just did.
Bastian pulls out slowly. The absence of him makes me wince. Something wet runs down my inner thigh. When he rolls to my side, our arms touch, just enough to reassure me that he’s here and he isn’t going anywhere. Our breathing fills the office, ragged and uneven. The sweat on my skin turns cold in the air.
After a minute, maybe two, his hand finds mine. Our fingers fold together, sticky and clumsy. “All good?” he asks the ceiling.
I turn my head to look at him. In the darkness, he’s just a shape. A shadow. Real only because I can feel the warmth of his palm, the roughness of his calluses.
“Yeah,” I whisper back. “Never been better.”
Then I start giggling. I can feel Bastian looking at me curiously, but as the giggles consume me, I can’t find a break or enough breath to answer. I laugh and laugh and laugh and he lets me, until finally, the giggle fit settles down.
When it does, I look at him. “This was the second-to-last item on my list,” I explain with a flushed grin. “‘See the city lights from somewhere high up’:check.”
52
BASTIAN
FOUR DAYS LATER
col·lapse: /k?'laps/: verb
1: (of a soufflé or cake) to fall and deflate after removal from heat.
2: when the thing you’ve built so carefully implodes in an instant; when all the air goes out of your dreams and you’re left with nothing but a deflated mess on the floor.
I’m running beside Zeke through Grant Park, and I can’t stop grinning like an idiot.
“You’re doing it again,” Zeke says.
“Doing what?”
“That thing with your face. The smiling shit. It’s unsettling.”
I laugh. I’m doing a lot of that these days. “Fuck off, Z.”
“See? Even your insults sound happy. It’s like watching a Disney villain discover the power of friendship.”
We round the corner near Buckingham Fountain. In the morning sun, the high arc of the spray looks like diamonds. Everything looks brighter today. Sharper. Like someone cranked up the saturation on the whole damn city.
Shit, maybe Zeke’s right. That is some reformed Disney villain shit right there.
“Big night tonight,” he continues. “You ready?”
It’s a big night indeed. The gala. Project Olympus. Eliana on my arm in front of everyone who matters.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m ready.”
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I actually mean it. Because there’s not a damn thing to worry about. Nothing can drag me down. I have the world in the palm of my hand. It’s just me, twelve hours away from achieving all my dreams, running through Chicago on a perfect May morning with my best friend beside me and the woman I love waiting for me at the finish line.
Well, notliterallywaiting at the finish line. Eliana refused to spend the night last night, even though she’s slept over every night since our wild experience at the top of the Olympus building.It’s bad luck,she said.Like sleeping with the groom the night before the wedding.
We’re not getting married,I reminded her with a chuckle. But she insisted.
That silly little metaphor of hers set off all kinds of bells in my head.Weddingbells, to be specific. Thoughts of waiting at the altar as a copper-haired bride dressed in white with pale hazel eyes came walking down the aisle toward me.
I shake that shit off, though. It’s sappy and premature. Even still, I can’t deny the dangerous little thrill at the thought of putting a ring on Eliana’s finger and calling hermywife.
