I promised myself that I wouldn’t get involved beyond a friendship because it will make leaving this timeline that much more impossible. But with every second that passes, I lose more of my resolve to stop this. Perfect moments in life are so rare regardless of timeline. I can’t let this kiss—our fourth—go unfulfilled.
“Kissing isdefinitelyfor nerds,” I say, summoning my best screw-it attitude.
He steps closer. Age has emboldened him. “Good thing I’m a nerd then.”
My breath hitches. “Good thing I am too.”
And just like that, we’re kissing beside a plastic slide atop a children’s castle where we used to dream about being this age and count the stars. Right now, the only stars I’m counting are the ones bedazzled onto the insides of my eyelids as our lips clasp and part, press and tug. Teeth grind over sensitive skin. Tongues brush but don’t linger. It’s heady and heavenly, and before this goes too far, I pull back and whisper, “NERD. Not. Even. Remotely. Dorky.”
Another laugh, louder this time, rolls out of him. “Interesting theory. I was thinking: Naughty. Erotic. Romance. Doms.”
“Daaaaamn. Very smut-erotica. Okay,Daddy,” I playfully name-call, gripping a handful of his T-shirt, stunned by how much I likethis new confident side of him that can make sexy jokes and corner me on play sets.
He presses into my hand, but shakes his head sheepishly. “Oh God. Don’t call me that.” He covers his face with his palms. Not quite as embarrassed as he’d have been seven years ago.
“Why not?” I ask partly in a purr, knowing he’s secretly enjoying this kind of attention. I peel his fingers away so I can see him fully. That face I’d never, ever want to forget. “You’re seven years older than me, you know. You’re kind of a DILF.”
“I’m not a dad!”
“Okay, so a cougar.”
“That’s for women.”
“A jaguar then?”
“That’s a car!”
“Fine. A cradle robber.”
“That’s…concerning!”
And we laugh.
We laugh so long and so hard before he pulls me close, lays me down, and starts kissing me again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’m in deep shit with Jessalynn.
And also Harry, our producer, the network, and the venue.
I missed rehearsal because Drew and I were too busy playing horny teenagers all over our hometown. Once I realized the time (maybe that weed was effectual after all), there was no way we were making it back to Brooklyn before it wrapped.
And yet…I couldn’t care less.
That night, I try calling CeeCee because a deep part of me wants to hear her voice. I want to apologize and confess everything and talk with her for hours the way we did back when all we cared about were boys, TV shows, and if we could get a ride to the mall that weekend. However, all my calls go to voicemail, and I’m too unrehearsed to spew it all out in a single message without fumbling my words.
Resigned, I sit at my computer and write CeeCee yet another email. It has almost become meditative. A journal of sorts.
Drew kissed me for the fourth time.
And the fifth, sixth, seventh…
I know you’re probably thinking that I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have, but if this is what losing your mind is like, I don’t know if I want to find it again!
I know you know about the first time Drew and I kissed, but did I ever tell you about the second? Probably not. We were mostly estranged at that point. You in Jersey City. Me in Queens. Two planets with the solar system of Manhattan between them.
It was New Year’s Eve two years ago. We were at a party where we found ourselves as the unpaired queer folk who didn’t want to be left out of the midnight make-out. As the countdown started, we locked eyes across the room and shrugged. I assumed it would be a light peck, a quick hug, but when the clock struck midnight, it was like our mouths were speaking a language brand-new to both of us. (TMI, I know…sorry!)
