“Elias, it’s okay,” Mia murmurs.
“And at the conference, she was up there grilling the presenters. Asking legitimate questions. Everyone wanted to talk to her afterwards. It was inspiring.”
“I think anyone with a brain cell would be able to do what teachers do—” Molly starts.
And that was the wrong fucking thing to say, because now I’m really and truly pissed. Not even for myself. For the woman sitting right next to me.
“I can confidently say that none of you would be able to get a room of thirty something eight-year-olds to sit down, much less teach them how to do anything,” I shoot at her.
Molly looks a little shocked.Good.
“Imagine trying to teach thirty different kids with all sorts of different needs to readCharlotte’s Web. And a large percentage of those kids are housing or food insecure, and they didn’t sleep last night, and you need to decide between letting them take a nap or learning how to multiply so that they score well on standardized tests, which the government decides should directly affect your performance rating as a teacher. Oh, and another significant portion of kids have severe learning disabilities. They have to take those tests, too. Imagine trying to teach them math, and how to read, but also how to be a functioning member of society. With no resources. No money for supplies, or books, or whatever it is you may need to help them learn. No business class tickets across the country or the world or five-star hotels. While dealing with unreasonable expectations from parents, admin, andsociety,” I spit at them, implying they are thesocietywe have to deal with. “Now imagine being insanely goodatall of that. Because that’s Mia. Imagine?—”
I feel a small hand take mine under the table, cutting off my diatribe. I look over at Mia, because I don’t care about anyone else at this table right now.
There’s a look on her face and in her eyes that’s directed at me. It’s a mix of gratitude, affection, awe.
I blink.
She squeezes my hand again, and the moment is gone.
I finally look around at the rest of the Roberts, and they are all sitting in various levels of discomfort. Leo, especially, looks like he feels really bad.Good. “Let’s talk about something else,” I tell everyone.
We all take a swig of our overpriced white wine with the fancy name.
TWENTY-ONE
Mia
It’s officially notjustsexfor me anymore, but my brain kicks my vagina, well, in the vagina, and we decide to keep that to ourselves.
But seriously?!
After that?!
Keeping my feeling-y feelings all to myself meant squeezing my mouth shut on the entire subway ride back to our neighborhood, so I didn’t blurt out something even more insane than before, likeI’ve always loved you, obviously, but now I’minlove with you, and isn’t that a really beautiful and tragic thing?It did mean though, sharing my feeling-y feelings through touch. Touch is Elias’s love language. I’ve known this my entire life, but I can place it now.
Sitting glued against him on the subway, entwining my arm around his, holding his hand. Resting my cheek on his Adonis shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. Accepting the kisses he didn’t seem to realize he was dropping on my hair, dropping some of my own, on his hand, on the callouses of his fingers, on his shoulder.
We’re both silent on the subway home, maybe grappling with these new feeling-y feelings. I look at our reflection in the window across from our seats. We both look a bit dazed, a mix ofhow did we end up here?andwhat took so long?
We get to our stop and walk up the stairs, taking our time. We make it a block before he presses me against the wall of a building.
This kiss is soft, gentle, an outpouring of warmth and moonlight. He takes my chin and angles my face the way he wants it, cupping my jaw, greedy tongue pushing into my mouth and tangling with mine as if he knows it’s his and has been all along.
I can’t get enough of him either, tucking my hands into his jacket, under his shirt, running my fingers through the grooves of his muscles, the large expanse of his back, his traps, his abs.I love you, my fingers say into his skin.I love you, too, I imagine his say, gripping my hip and the hair close to my scalp.
Because we’re us, though, it isn’t too long before we’re practically dry humping on the street. Because this is New York, it isn’t too long before someone whistles and tells us to get a fucking room.
He stops his grinding, laughing into my mouth. “You make me crazy,” he says, and I’ll take it.
“Thank you, for earlier,” I tell him, resting my forehead on his.
Because he’s Elias, he doesn’t stop touching me, caressing my neck. “Always, Mia.”
“I’m ready to drag you home and show my gratitude in a different way,” I say, pressing against the length in his pants.
He laughs again. “Can we grab a drink before we head back?” he asks, lips dragging against mine. “And then I’m yours all night.”And forever.
