I reach for his belt, but his hands close over mine, halting my progress.
“Wait,” he whispers, our mouths separating, then joining again. “Annie.”
I try to release my hands from his grip, but he holds them tighter.
“You don’t wantto?”
“I want to so badly,” he says, thrusting againstme.
“OK,” I say breathlessly, rubbing the front of his jeans.
Every sentence is broken up by more kissing, a delightful contradiction to his words. My body is humming—with adrenaline, with pleasure, with desire. I want to see him undone in the sameway.
He groans when I press with more firmness, dropping his head to my shoulder.
I dip my hand beneath his waistband, my fingers grazing him ever so lightly. That doesit.
“Screw it,” he mutters, kissing me again, his hands reaching for his belt himself. A thrill shoots through me when I realize that he’s as desperate for me as I am for him; that Connor,myConnor, dorky, diligent, chess champion Connor has been driven to madness at his place of work. Byme.
I am triumphant, eager to help him with this task, desperate to keep going. Our hands are clumsy, knocking against one another, slowing the removal of his jeans down rather than speeding it up, but I don’t care.
“Stop.” He laughs, swatting my hand out of the way as he opens his belt. I giggle into his mouth. Kissing resumes at a frantic pace. This might be the best moment of my entire life.
He finally succeeds in undoing the button. I’m clawing at his zipper when a door slams somewhere along the corridor, shutting with such force the entire wall vibrates.
I gasp, and Connor straightens, on high alert. He looks like he has no idea where he is, and I watch in real time as he takes the room back into focus, his chest heaving.
He steps back, giving me a rueful smile, then turns his attention down to his pants. Reality takes over. He buttons his jeans and I slide off the table, smoothing down my disheveled hair.
I hold my breath, waiting for the moment he tells me this was all a big mistake, but he doesn’t. Instead, he draws me into him, holding me lightly against his chest. He drops a kiss on the side of my cheek.
“Later,” he promisesme.
“Later,” I agree.
Twenty-Two
“You need to be ready foranything,” I tell Connor, on the train to Dumbo. We’re standing. His hand is wrapped around the bar above my head, mine on the bar closest to the door, both of us jostling lightly as we speak. “Dan loves to start arguments about the most pointless things.”
Connor smiles. “I think I can handleit.”
“Ask them about the wedding. See if you can find out what they’re thinking,” I instruct him. “Whatever you do, don’t mention Dan’s job, he’ll never shut up about it. If he brings it up, change the subject. You can ask Shannon about her job.”
“Noted.” He nods.
“Avoid giving an opinion about anything, if you can. Don’t ask for Dan’s opinion on any subject.”
“Roger that.”
“Unlessit’s about their wedding,” I amend.
“Annie,” Connor says, nudging my chin up to look at him. “You know this is going to be fine, right? We’re going to have a nice time.”
He’s wrong, but I don’t argue. He’ll find out soon enough.
—
The bar Connor has picked out for us is perfect. Just the right side of dingy, softly lit by candlelight, with lots of wood accents. There are basically no windows in here, taking us from day to night when we cross the threshold. I clock Shannon and Dan as soon as we arrive, sitting side by side at a four-person table. They stop talking the second they notice our approach, both jumping up from their seats and greeting us with exaggerated cheerfulness.
