Silence settles between us, heavy and heady, but at last Kit’s hand slowly slides down to my shoulder, where my bra strap ispeeking through the collar of my shirt. “All right,” he says. “We can try. But if you have any…moments or flashbacks or…”
“I’ll tell you,” I promise, even though I meant what I said. I refuse to let Jasper Cunningham take this from us, too. “I think Tibby packed an entire pharmacy’s supply of condoms in my duffel bag.”
Kit clears his throat. “I have my own, if that’s…?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly. “Better to keep Tibby guessing anyway.” The last thing I need is the third degree from her after she inevitably inspects the contents of my luggage. “You’ve, um…you’ve done this before, right?”
I expect him to squirm, or maybe dodge the question and go get his supply, wherever he’s stashed it. But instead he stares directly into my eyes, no hint of embarrassment or uncertainty on his face.
“Yes,” he says, his fingertips stilling against my skin. “Does that bother you?”
I think about it—about our conversation earlier that day, when I was looking through the gallery on theRegal Recordof Kit and his old girlfriends, or one-night stands, or situationships I don’t want to acknowledge. But he’s with me now. And somewhere deep inside, I know he always will be, even if the part of me that’s been disappointed and abandoned and heartbroken again and again can’t admit it to myself yet. People may not be permanent, but Kit is.
“No,” I finally say, and it’s the truth. “I think I’m more relieved that at least one of us will know what they’re doing.”
Kit kisses me again, slow and warm and deep and everything we are. “Just tell me what feels good and what doesn’t,” hewhispers against my mouth, even as his hand slides underneath the hem of my shirt, splaying over my lower back.
“Okay,” I say with a shiver. “You do the same, all right?”
“I will,” he promises. “We’ll figure it out together.”
His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw, finding a sweet spot on my neck and nurturing it long enough to help me out of my top entirely. I let out a soft sound that might actually be a moan, and he discards my shirt before pulling off his own.
“If you want to stop, all you have to do is say so,” he whispers, his words warm and husky against my skin. “It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, or if we’re already…It doesn’t matter. We’ll stop immediately, I swear.”
But as his lips start a trail down my bra strap, past the healing red scar of the bullet wound that barely missed my heart, one thing quickly becomes clear: Despite the inevitable prickle of nerves and anticipation, despite the memories of unwelcomed hands on me that will always linger in the darkest parts of my mind, I don’t want Kit to stop.
I don’t ever want him to stop.
—
That afternoon, whileKit and I are still curled together, half-asleep and lost in our own world, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I ignore it at first, but then it buzzes again. And again. And again. There are only so many people I’m willing to talk to while we’re in Oxford—even fewer who want anything to do with me—and the most important one is tracing invisible patterns on my stomach.
“Ignore it,” I mumble as Kit shifts beside me, and even though my eyes are closed, I can feel him reaching for my phone.
“Could be important,” he says, his voice thick with sleep. “Could be your mum.”
“She doesn’t use phones unless she has to,” I say with a yawn, and only then do I open my eyes and take the offered mobile from him. I blink at the screen, then blink again as another message appears, and I sit straight up in bed.
“It’s Tibby,” I say, my heart racing as I scramble to untangle my limbs from both Kit and the sheets. “I need to go.”
“What?” Kit rises beside me, his wavy hair sticking up at odd angles. “Why? What’s happened?”
“I don’t know.” I stumble out of bed and run to the dresser, yanking out the first outfit I touch. “It’s an emergency text. She wants to meet me now.”
“She can’t tell you what it is over the phone?” says Kit, baffled.
“Ben has this number,” I point out as I dress faster than I ever have before. “Might be tapped.”
Kit grimaces and pushes the covers away. “I’ll go with you.”
I shake my head, already bending down to pull on my socks. “It’s too close to your lecture hall. The paparazzi might spot you. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”
Fear flickers in his eyes, but he stands and scoops my wild hair out from the collar of my sweatshirt. “Be safe,” he says, and I pause long enough to give him a deep, lingering kiss.
“I will,” I promise. And with my heart in my throat, I race out of our bedroom, knowing better than to expect anything but the worst.
