“Anything you want, but something not many people know.”
I don’t know why my heart starts racing. Am I saying something I shouldn’t? No, but it feels forbidden to tell anyone. Iswallow down my trepidation, and whisper, “My birthday is New Year’s Eve, not on Christmas Eve or Christmas.”
Keats stares at me, blinking once and then again before pressing his lips to mine and kissing me again. With his hands still holding my face, he whispers, “Why was it celebrated on Christmas Eve, then?”
“Convenience. My parents aren’t usually in the city on New Year’s Eve.”
“Hmm,” he hums as he glances away. When his eyes return to mine, he kisses my cheek. “Not many people know this? So your birthday is being celebrated by others who have no idea that’s not the day?” When he drops his head next to mine, his chin resting on my shoulder, I hold him to me. “Jesus,” he spews with irritation.
“Don’t feel bad for me, okay? That only makes me feel worse.” I feel him nod before he trails an Orion’s Belt of kisses along my neck. I should tell him I’m no longer a virgin because it feels like something to celebrate, and it would be a surefire way to distract him from my birthday situation. But he deserves some rest even more.
“Can I tell you something?”
I smile just from the sound of his voice. “Yes.”
“I’m glad you bummed that cigarette.” A smile plays on his lips, but his eyelids are growing heavy as the long night finally catches up to him at five in the morning.
“Me, too.” I stretch to place a kiss on his head before sleep drags him under, and whisper, “I’m so glad we met.”
CHAPTER 8
SOSIE
It’s surprising how bright an overcast sky is when you’re trying to hide from the light. I blink several times to block it out, but I’m too awake to fight against the invasion of our space through the window. It’s not the only thing waking me this fine morning. Keats’s erection is pressed against my lower back.
“We had sex.”
I clamp my hand over my mouth but can’t stop the giggle that follows. He stirs, so I freeze in place.
But Ifinallyhad sex. I sigh happily.
I want to squeal and celebrate, but I grin, unable to stop myself because we had sex, and it can never be taken back—oh. . . Okay, so even minor movements have me feeling every muscle in my body and a few I didn’t even know existed. Keats really did consume me, making me feel sexier than I’ve ever felt in my life.
The tiny lights on the miniature tree still shine in the corner, catching my attention while I lie here tucked in his arms. Somehow, his apartment brings me more comfort than my ownhome. I’m safe here, protected from my family’s demands of me. I snuggle closer to my Poet. He shifts, but the consistent breathing of his sleep remains a peaceful lullaby.
It’s tempting to fall back asleep, to ignore the world, and remain here in this perfect little universe, but I need to go home and take a shower, brush my teeth, and clean the makeup that I’m sure looks like a dreadful mess off my face. So I fight the urge to stay in bed with him all day, slip out from under his arm, which suddenly feels like a ton of bricks, and roll off the side of the mattress.
Lying on the blue rug and hardwoods, I look back at the man I just gave my virginity to, and smile. “How are you so handsome even when sleeping?” I whisper, not expecting an answer. It’s not just his looks that have drawn me in. It’s him, the whole man—the poetry, and the way I danced on the street and he wasn’t embarrassed. When he kisses me, it’s like we’ve done it a million times in a different lifetime.
My heart races as I touch my lips and smile again. If smiles were measured in decibels, mine would be louder than a foghorn. And it’s not going away anytime soon.
I push up to my feet and wrap my arms around my naked body as I scamper to the bathroom. I wash my hands, then rest my palms on the sink's edge, scanning for any changes. I lean closer to the mirror. “Dang, I look tired.” I swipe at the mascara under my eyes, but it will take some scrubbing when I get home. I lean back, still smiling like a goofball, and touch my swollen lips once more. “That man is better than injections . . . wait, that’s funny.” I was injected alright. I crack up but cover my mouth again to keep the noise contained in this tiny room.
When I collect myself the best I can, which isn’t great because I’m way too happy to filter this joy, I tiptoe back out to my coat and pull my phone from the pocket.
A harsh breath chokes in my throat when my gaze trails lower to the message at the bottom of the screen:
Get home. Now.
My dad’s text twists my stomach into knots, and the bubble of bliss I was happily living in instantly bursts. I slide my gaze to Keats to see him rearranging his body around my absence. Legs tangled in the sheets, the blanket barely covers his backside. He doesn’t wake, but I kind of wish he would. I could use some advice.
Although I already know what I’m going to do. I may not like my dad’s impatient approach, but I know I’ll still go as demanded. Do I have a choice? He controls my entire life in the palm of his hand.
I start searching for my thong because the sooner I deal with him, the sooner I can return to Keats. My search-and-rescue ends empty-handed, so I pull on my sweatpants and then my socks. I spin once to locate my shirt, snatching it from behind the table where it landed. I don’t bother with my sweater. I can find it later.
Scooping the necklace and earrings up from the table, I quietly pad over to the other side of the room. I hook each earring to a branch, making the perfect ornaments for the bare tree, then tap to watch them dangle and catch the light.
I drape the necklace at the top and wind it around until I run out of length. Admiring my work, I grin with pride at such a simple act. It looks so much better on this tree than it ever could on me. That tree is also now holding thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry, so I’m not surprised it’s so eye-catching.
