“Yeah.” I stare at my hands, at the fingers that gripped Oliver’s shirt, unable to let go. “It was…I don’t have words for it, Jackson. It was better than anything I’d ever imagined. He was so gentle. So careful. I think he was afraid of scaring me off.”
“That tracks. Oliver’s always been the protective type.”
“He asked if it was okay. After.” My voice catches on something that might be emotion or wonder. “No one’s ever asked me that before. No one’s ever cared enough to check.”
Jackson’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Ryan, buddy, no one’s ever gotten close enough to need to check. You’ve kept everyone at arm’s length ever since I’ve known you. Hell, I think if I ever tried to kiss you, you would’ve dropped out the next day.”
“I know.” The admission comes easier than I expected.
“So what changed?”
I look up at Jackson, at his earnest face, at the friend who’s stuck by me through two years of emotional unavailability and weird vintage fashion choices. “Oliver came back into my life, and I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t want him there.”
Jackson nods slowly, processing. His expression shifts into something more serious. “Okay, real talk time. What do you want from this? From Oliver? Was this a onetime thing? A moment on a Ferris wheel that you’ll both pretend didn’t happen? Or do you want something more?”
Somethingmore.The phrase echoes in my head, conjuring images I’ve only let myself consider with my hand down my pants.
“I’ve never gotten this far before. I’ve never let myself imagine past the wanting.”
“But you do want something more?”
“I want to have sex with him,” I say slowly, feeling my way through the words.
Jackson’s face splits into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on him. And then he pulls me into a hug—one of those full-body Jackson Monroe specials that somehow manages to be both crushing and comforting at the same time.
Before I know it, I’m crying, and I can’t stop. Everything from the night crashes over me at once—the Ferris wheel, the stars, thatkiss.
“Hey, hey.” Jackson’s voice is gentle, his hand rubbing circles on my back. “It’s okay. Let it out.”
“I’m sorry,” I manage, my voice thick and embarrassing. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
He pulls back to look at me, and his expression holds nothing but understanding. “You’ve been holding everything in for so long. It’s okay to let some of it go.”
I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, mortified and relieved in equal measure. “This is ridiculous. I’m crying because a boy kissed me.”
“You’re crying because you finally let yourself want something.” Jackson squeezes my shoulder. “That’s not ridiculous. That’s brave.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. “For being here. For asking.”
“Always, space boy.” Jackson grins, some of his usual energyreturning. “Now, let’s get some sleep. You’ve got a boy to lose your virginity to, and you always want to look your best.”
I throw a pillow at him. He catches it, laughing, and the sound fills the room with warmth.
28
OLIVER
“Come on,” I mutter, adjusting the thermostat for the third time today. “Work with me here.”
The Brew is thankfully dead this afternoon, considering it’s nearly a sauna in here. Half the student body has fled to beach towns and childhood bedrooms. A couple of grad students occupy the corner booth, surrounded by enough textbooks to build a small fortress. An elderly professor I vaguely recognize is snoring softly near the window, an untouched scone slowly going stale beside him.
I should be grateful for the downtime. My shift doesn’t end for another two hours, and there are only so many times I can wipe down the same counter before it becomes a cry for help.
The problem is that downtime means thinking. And lately, thinking means of Ryan.
Not that thinking about Ryan is a problem, exactly. More like a full-time mental occupation that leaves very little bandwidth for things like customer service.
We kissed on a Ferris wheel.
