I smooth out my hair. “Thank you.” I fold my arms over myself. “This is embarrassing.”

The light from Atlas’s phone is still on, so he can see that I’m standing in my bra and panties. He turns off his phone light, but the closet door is open, and there’s a lamp on in the bedroom, so I’m still very visible to him.

There’s a moment of hesitation on both our parts. He can’t tell if he should walk away and let me finish getting dressed, and I can’t tell if I want him to.

And then suddenly we’re kissing.

It just happened, as if we moved toward each other at the same time. One of his hands slips around to the back of my head, and the other goes directly to my lower back, so low that his fingers are skimming over my panties.

I wrap both my arms around his neck and pull him to me so hard, we stumble into a line of clothes. Atlas rights us again, but I can feel his smile in his kiss. He pulls far enough away from my mouth so that he can speak. “What is it with you and closets?” Then he kisses me again.

We make out in the closet for a few minutes, and it’s everything I remember about all the times we used to sneak make-out sessions when we were younger. The desire, the thrill, the newness of doing things you’ve never done, or in this case, haven’t done in a long time.

It reminds me of how much I loved being in a bed with him. Whether we were kissing or talking or doing other things, the memories I made with him in my bedroom are some of my absolute favorite memories. He’s kissing my neck when I whisper, “Take me to my bed.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He slides his hands down my ass and grips my thighs, hoisting me up. He carries me out of the closet, across the bedroom, and then plants me onto my mattress where he proceeds to climb on top of me.

The feel of him against me only makes me more desperate for him, but he treats this like he used to treat our make-out sessions. With patience and appreciation—like making out is enough, and that it’s a privilege just to be kissing me.

I don’t know where he finds that patience, because I kind of want him to take off his clothes and treat me like this is his only chance to have me.

Maybe he would if he thought that—but we both know this is just the beginning. He’s taking it slow because I asked him to. I’m sure if I asked him to go faster, he would do that, too.

Considerate Atlas.

We eventually come to a point where we have to make a decision. I have a condom in my drawer, and he probably has a little time before he needs to leave, but when we stop kissing long enough to look at each other, he shakes his head. We’re both breathing heavily, and a little worn out from being so worked up for so long, so he rolls off me and falls onto his back.