“What are we going to do?”

I knew he was asking about more than just the obvious kissing-touching, boyfriend-girlfriend thing. He meant in a bigger sense, when our lives started existing more outside the closet or his roof, and when we had to satisfy ourselves with only one or two weekends a month together.

I traced the lines of the tendons on the back of his left hand. With his right, he ran a finger slowly up and down my leg, from my knee to the midpoint of my thigh.

“What’s your favorite word?” I asked without looking up.

“Ripe,” he answered, no hesitation, his voice low and hoarse.

My blush exploded across my skin, a scorching trail of red that I felt lingering on my cheeks long after he gave up trying to catch my eye.

“Yours?”

I looked up at him, his hazel eyes wide and curious, something wilder barely contained in the dark ring of black around his irises. Beneath the surface, layered under the word Yours? there was something hungrier: teeth on skin, fingernails, the sound of him growling my name. Elliot was sexy. What boy our age used the word ripe?

There was no one else in the world like him.

“Epiphany,” I said quietly.

He licked his lips, smiled. The something beneath the surface grew darker, more insistent. “That’s a good one, too.”

I stared down at his hand, smoothing the back with my thumb, and said, “I think we should stop pretending we aren’t together.”

When I looked back up, his smile grew. “I agree.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to kiss you goodbye,” he said.

I tilted my face to him, saying, “Good,” again as I felt his breath on my mouth, his hand cupping my jaw. My lips parted against his, and like before it seemed natural to suck at his mouth, to let his tongue touch mine, to taste his sounds. His fingers slid into my hair, both hands now cupping my head, mouth urgent.

And why did we do this out here, where we couldn’t lie back and kiss until our mouths were numb and our bodies on fire? Even with this tiny touch, I ached. I wanted him over me again, wanted that last reminder of his weight and the hard presence of his need for me pressing between my legs.

I let out a small, tight gasp and he pulled back, eyes flickering back and forth between mine.

“We’ll take it slow,” he said.

“I don’t want to take it slow.”

“That’s the only way to make sure we do it right.”

I nodded in his cupped hands, and he kissed me one more time. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

now

thursday, november 23

Des emerges from the bathroom, wiping his hands on his jeans as if he went in there for the usual reasons, and not to hide from the battle of the exes in the living room. He looks up with a bright smile that slowly melts as he realizes that Rachel is no longer with us.