His lips brush my forehead. “I’m sorry, Cee.”
“I appreciate your apology,” I say, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “It’s good to know you’re in my corner.”
“Always,” he vows.
The word wraps around me as tenderly as his arms, and I finally let myself rest.
31
Cece
“How do I look?”
“So good.” I let my gaze linger on Davis’s chest. “Like,sogood.”
A tinge of pink steals upwards from his collar. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not, I swear.” Looking at Davis is my new favourite pastime. He’s always been beautiful, but my own issues made him seem untouchable. Not now. Now he is eminently touchable. I’ve touched as many parts of him as I possibly can since last night, and I have plans to touch them all again soon.
“You’re sure?” he asks, looking down at the fresh shirt he borrowed again from Jake, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.
“I’m sure, Davis.” The shirt is white, a change from his usual black, and he’s rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. It does excellent things for him, picking out the lightness in his eyes, playing up the colour in his tattoos.
“I’m excited to be here with you,” I say, and his shoulders relax, and he smiles at me.
For the first time in forever, anxiety isn’t hanging over me like a dark cloud. I’m with Davis, the sun is shining, and that’s more than I could have hoped for when two days ago I watched him storm out of Afterglow.
“I’m excited to be here with you,” he says.
I can’t hold back my grin. My cheeks ache from all the smiling I’ve done over the last twelve hours.
And maybe the blow jobs.
This is the penultimate reunion event, a trustee garden party at some mini-mansion. Different decades of graduating classes have been allocated different locations across Pukekohe, and ours is in the older part of town, where all the houses look like they’re owned by Polly Pocket. The itinerary promoted it as an intimate gathering to connect with former students around our age, but it’s more of an opportunity for rich alumni to show off their fancy homes.
Davis reaches for my hand as we follow polished pavers around the back of the sprawling Victorian-style villa. The lawn stretches out for an age, bracketed by a wall of reclaimed bricks that separates the property from the neighbours. A small white marquee with a bar is set up near the pool, and a jazz quartet plays under the shade of a kowhai tree.
Davis whistles. “Nice digs.”
I can tell it’s not a compliment. “You’re rich, too,” I remind him.
“Step-rich. And not like this.”
“Let’s get a drink,” I suggest. “At least they might have good booze.”
They do, decent sparkling wine from Central Otago. I grab two glasses from the marquee table.
“Here.” I hand one to Davis. “To us.”
His smile could power Pukekohe. “To us.” We clink glasses, and I watch the way his inked throat works as he swallows the bubbly liquid. This weekend has altered my life on a seismic level. I’m not sure how any of this is going to shake out, but I’m solid on Davis and me, and that gives me hope for myself.
“Hey!” Ada appears at myshoulder, a flute of orange juice in hand, the flash of the giant ruby on her finger shining like a beacon. Jake is right behind her. He and Davis shake hands in that bro way, and he gives me a little side hug.
“To the two of you getting engaged,” I toast, and we all clink glasses before drinking again. “Congratulations.”
We make our way around the lawn towards a circle of stone columns surrounded by hedging, where a makeshift stage has been set up, and the majority of the crowd has congregated.
“Inspired by Hadrian’s Villa in Tivoli,” Ada reads off a sign hanging around a stone lion’s neck. “This is some classy shit. I’m surprised there’s not a pizza oven and a statue of a dude with a moustache playing the accordion.”
