I could sit herewith Thayer, joined in this room and on this chair as we explore every damn position, until the sun sets and I’m half-starving to death with hunger. It feels so good, so right, to be with him like this. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. We tore down our barriers. We told each other how we felt. We told each other what we feared.
And we made love anyway.
“Savannah,” he whispers. “Jesus, that was perfect.”
I lean in and kiss his stubbled cheek. “I’m having a hard time reconciling something,” I tell him with a teasing look.
“What’s that?” He brushes his hand along the back of my head, smoothing out my hair.
“If sex can bethat good,why the hell don’t people have it more?”
I love the way he chuckles. “That’s a very good question. Maybe they do?”
I’m sex-drunk so I don’t feel like getting into the whole thing with stats and how many of my girlfriends think sex is overrated, so I only nod.
Sex isnotoverrated.
I lay my head on his chest. He sighs and holds me.
I close my eyes and commit this to memory.
Other people might see Thayer as rough and guarded, harsh and stern. I’m reminded of the way he tended to my wounds on his living room couch back in Paris. Sometimes, maybe those with the sternest exteriors have the softest hearts.
“Do we have to leave? I mean, there’s got to be a shower nearby, and I’m sure you’ve got people who could bring things like our clothes, a laptop, some food, maybe our chargers…”
“Hmm. Those are some very good points,” he says, clearly amused.
“We’d need some toiletries, you know. Like, I’m a bit intense about shaving my legs. Maybe some vitamins for stamina? And if I—oh.Oh God.Thayer!”
I sit up as alarm rings through me.
“What? What’s wrong?” His brows clash together in concern.
“My birth control. I didn’t take any birth control, Thayer. It’s back in Paris, too, and it’s been a few days now. Oh myGod,what am I, a teenager? How? How could I forget it?”
“Savannah.”
“Yes?”
“Relax. The chances of you getting pregnant are slim.”
“But I don’t want slim. I wantnone.Zero. Zilch. Nada!”
When he doesn’t reply at first, I can’t help but wonder what’s on his mind.
“What? You look troubled or angry or serious about something.”
He looks away and doesn’t respond at first, but I press on. “Thayer, please, what is it?”
“We should’ve talked about this. I fucked up. I’m sorry, Savannah.”
“Hey, buddy, this isn’t onyou.It’s on both of us. We both fucked up. We had things we should’ve talked about but didn’t, but in our defense?—”
I wave my hand at this insane room of frosted glass.
“This is pretty hard to resist. One could easily get, let’s say, swept up in the romance of it all.”
Still, he clenches his jaw and lifts me off his lap. “It’s no excuse.”
