Will’s focus readjusts. He licks his dry lips. “What?”
“You snoring yourself awake?”
“Oh.” He swallows. “Yeah, pretty often.”
I laugh softly, and Will cracks a sleepy smile. Instinctively, his hands lift up my sides, and I lean closer into the touch, my body humming even as it’s recovering.
“How’s your stomach?” he asks.
“Better.”
“Fever?”
“Been better.”
He grabs some medicine and water off the bedside table and offers it to me. I gulp it down. He puts the glass back and shifts against the pillows, his arms going back around me with the ease and familiarity of a lover.
“Do you want to…”
“Want to what?” I ask.
His face twists with adorable embarrassment. “Um, recline?” He taps his chest twice.
I’m still swimming in my tidal wave of affection for him, so I nod.
Without lifting his shoulders off the headboard, Will pulls me between his legs so my back is pressed against his chest, my head tucked beneath his chin. His heartbeat thudding against the back of my head starts rhythmic but eventually quickens.
After so long of wanting him to touch me—of wanting to touch him—giving in to our bodies’ magnetism is the best physical thing I’ve felt in years. Better than lying in the sun on a pool float. Better than the wind against my face on a ride. Better than cotton sheets, better than a strong buzz.Thisfeeling—it’s the best one.
I sink fully against him until we create negative space. Nothing else matters beyond this room right now. Not our history, not our jobs. We’re just two people who want to be as close as possible in the dark, more than three thousand miles from home.
When I don’t hear his snoring restart, I assume Will isn’t falling asleep either. I wonder if his brain is emitting fireworks like mine.
“Why did you cheat on your final?” I whisper.
One of his arms circles my front loosely, and his fingers play with the cuffs of my silk blouse. His knuckles scrape the insides of my wrists, soft and soft and soft.
“Because I’d already interviewed for and accepted my first job out of college by that point,” he answers, voice hazy. “Failing wasn’t an option. I had too much school debtnotto graduate on time. The culture around that career path—which I was fully aware of before I’d even entered into it—is that you’re supposed to dowhatever it takesto come out on top.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “You had a bad grade in the class?”
Will’s head nods, rocking mine along with it. His arm moves from my shirt cuff to my opposite shoulder, and he pulls me flush. Flusher than flush. We find more space between us to shrink. A shift here. An exhale there.
“I’d had perfect grades all through high school and college. But I let that one class get away from me, and it was a required pass to graduate. I was taking an… elective… that semester, just for fun, so I could stay a full-time student.” His voice slips into my ear, his breath warming me through, dissipating my body’s chill. “I focused more onthatclass than the class for my major requirements, and it wasn’t until it was time for the final that I realized I needed a near perfect grade to pass the class.”
“What was the elective?” I ask.
A long pause. “What?”
“The elective you were enjoying that distracted you from your major,” I say, even though I know he understood me. “What was it?”
After a longer pause, he admits, “Nutrition.”
“Like, learning about food science?”
Anotherverylong pause. “Yeah.”
My smile teases out into the dark. “How did you cheat?”
