He’d just shouted that at me, but I could feel it now.
He was angry, and aching, and lost, and lonely. Exactly like the rest of us.
Also, he was totally ripped, with his drenched white oxford grasping and clinging to his torso.
So there was that.
I’ve never felt such intense anticipation—wanting him to hurry up and get to me, hoping like hell I was reading him right, longing to be closer to him so badly. Feeling like I finally understood him at last.
Duncan made it to where I was, and then he stopped short.
We stared at each other, wet and breathless, until I could only think of one thing left to do.
I took the final steps that separated us, and I reached up, clasped both my hands behind his neck, and then brought his mouth to mine. In that same smooth motion, as our bodies collided, he clamped his arms around my waist and pulled me close.
I could write a book about that one moment in my life: the pressure and drag of my wet clothes against my skin. The breathlessness of exertion and surprise. The tug of the waves at my calves. The feel of his chest against mine—cold with salt water and warm with body heat at the same time. The sense of safety I felt inside his arms. The ravenousness of his hands as he ran them all up and down, almost like they would never find a way to touch me that would be enough.
The relief of being connected at last.
The only sounds were the rush of waves and breath and air. Just motion and touch and closeness.
We kissed each other in the water for a long time.
Though I’m not sure “kissed” is the right word.
“Devoured” might work better.
Or “consumed.”
Or we might need to invent a new word.
I reached up, pressed myself closer, and kissed him harder. Whatever he was starving for, I wanted him to have. Because I was starving, too.
I brushed my tongue against his. I traced my fingers into the velvet of the back of his hair. I breathed him in. I pressed as close to him as I could get. I could feel his heart beating through his rib cage, and I wondered if he could feel mine, too.
I was cold, but I didn’t care. I was sticky with seawater, but it was fine. Somebody wolf-whistled us from up on the seawall, but we ignored it.
Whatever he was doing, I did it right back. I clutched him just as tightly as he was clutching me. We were cold, and still dripping wet, but his mouth was warm, and his chest and the tightness of the way he was holding me seemed to steady my trembling. He was like the only solid thing in the world. I wanted to melt into him.
I wanted to never, ever stop.
And just as I had that feeling, he stopped—and pulled back.
“The first time I saw you, I knew you were going to be trouble for me.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I saw you banging on that broken locker, and I thought, ‘Oh, shit. That girl is going to ruin my life.’”
I pulled him closer. “The first words you thought when you saw me were, ‘Oh, shit’?”
“Pretty much.”
“What do you think when you see me now?”
“The exact same thing.”
I gave him a little smile.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again, okay?” he said.
“I won’t. I swear.”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I feel things, okay? You have to believe me.”
“Okay.”
“I feel everything.”
“I believe you.”
And I had one last thought before he kissed me again. The world keeps hanging on to this idea that love is for the gullible. But nothing could be more wrong. Love is only for the brave.
* * *
After that, we kissed our way back to my place.
I’m not even entirely sure how we got back. But there was kissing involved.
Kissing as we walked.
Kissing at crosswalks as we waited for the light to turn.
Kissing pressed up against the sides of buildings before remembering to keep going.
Kissing back in my apartment, after we worked the lock open with the key, still kissing, and stumbled in. Kissing as we fell back onto my bed and tried to peel off each other’s sticky, salty, seawatery clothes.
Good kissing. Life-changing kissing. Kissing so intense, my whole body tingled.
Kissing so intense, I saw flashes of light.
Kissing so intense, I could smell honeysuckle and roses.
And that’s when I realized: It wasn’t just the kissing.