Chapter Thirty-One
“I have to try, right?” I ask Drew.
If I let this unknown linger, I’ll be a wreck, even if the worries I voiced to Lucille remain true. I might lose Drew. Mom might not forgive me the way she has. I might never get a comedy special as extravagant as this one. But…
Time does not dictate destiny.
I remind myself of that as Drew and I inspect the crystals laid out in a decorative, ceramic bowl on the windowsill. Lucille instructed me to let them soak in moonlight, to write out my intentions, and then when I can’t keep my eyes open or my mind awake any longer, sleep.
I had my final dress rehearsal with the lights and the sound cues and the cameras flying and rolling in from all directions. Even though the jokes were nicer, the experience still made my skin crawl.
It’s well past midnight. Nighttime has crept in through the windows, and uncertainty has overtaken my brain. Drew, shiny, light-led Drew, is the only bright spot in the hazy gray middle-space I’m inhabiting.
“I think you’ll regret it if you don’t,” he says, a note of sadness resonating beneath his words.
My chest seizes with worry. As if he can sense my heart switchinginto overdrive, he places a hand to my sternum and holds it there. The shuddering settles, but not enough to help me relax.
Part of me wants to ask him if he’s sure, if he realizes that me going back might mean a permanent ending for us. But those words keep retreating into the recesses of my mind because we did all of thistoget me back.
“You’re right,” I say. “Except I’m never going to be able to sleep with the not-knowingness towering over me like the grim reaper from those tarot cards. At least last time I expected nothing, and I was exhausted from…well, fromeverything.” The memory of why all this happened eclipses the moment.
“Nolan, I know you’re nervous, but I’ll be right beside you all night. We can marathon old seasons ofDrag Raceor take Milkshake for a walk or go down to the gym and run on the treadmill,” he starts listing.
“Okay, I know it’s been seven years, but I still only run when my life depends on it,” I say, nudging into his side as we sit on the California king bed.
He glances down at my torso-hugging tank top, blushing all the while. “Clearly that’s not the case anymore.”
“Excuse me, Drew Techler, did you just check me out while I’m in the middle of a full-on emotional crisis?” I ask, moving up onto my knees so our heights are more matched.
“I…” He loses the thread of his sentence as I challenge him with my eyes. “I’m not going to lie to you, so yes. I did. For a second. I’m sorry.” The apology is so genuine and cute that I tackle him and begin to tickle his sides. “Wha—Ha, ha… Hey! What are you doing that for?”
His laugh lightens the mood and intoxicates me, so much so that I continue because he’s not telling me to stop. His ear-to-ear smile says he’s enjoying it, and I’m desperate for a distraction.
Milkshake hops off his doggy bed in the corner, clearly confused and amused by the two adults acting like teenagers at a sleepover, and begins barking happily, his tail wagging a mile a minute.
Right when I let up, captivated by the sliver of pale, freckled skin that reveals itself as his shirt wriggles higher, Drew retaliates. His fingers become weapons of mass laughter, striking all my hotspots.
“You want a tickle fight, Baker?” he asks over my own loud laughter, voice dropping low and causing a stir in my gut. “I’ll give you a tickle fight.”
My body spasms with delight. “That’ll certainly tire me out.” I can barely get the words out between euphoric gasps for breath.
A shadow falls over Drew’s face and a closed-lip smile spreads seductively. “You know what else will tire you out?” he asks, tickling me one last time.
Before I can make an educated guess, his shirt is off and his lips are on mine and our bodies, already warm from the wrestling, glide over each other’s. My breath, once panicked, is now heavy for entirely different reasons, and it wafts up the side of his neck before I lightly bite him there. He yips a little before nipping me right back.
As he helps me out of my shirt, he remarks, “This is not the body of someone who does not run.” His large hands swipe over the ridges and valleys that are still completely alien to me.
I stop what I’m doing, suddenly self-conscious. “Are you saying I need abs to be sexy?” I know it’s a ridiculous question, but it’s a valid one. “If I go back, these go away,” I say.
“Oh my God. No.” Drew helps me off him, sits cross-legged across from me, and grabs the closest hand, kissing the center of my palm repeatedly. “You would be sexy in any size in any place in any timeline because you’re Nolan goddamn Baker.”
I nod, unconvinced.
He uses his hand to tilt my chin toward his, so I can’t avoid hiseyes, which are burning with a passion so bright it’s nearly blinding. “I said you are the sexiest man I have ever met or ever will meet. Twenty-three or thirty or three-hundred-and-seven. Do you understand?”
My heart speeds up. “I understand,” I say, feeling myself and him and this.
“Good.” He’s tickling me again, stealing laughs and asking for kisses until I’m kissing down his torso of my own accord, taking him into my mouth.
