Everything melts away as he leans in. The world behind him blurs into a black and faint neon nothingness. His lips brush against my ear as he whispers, “If I wanted your hands on me, trust me, it wouldn’t be at a bar.”

He pulls back once again, still close, our thighs touching, his eyes locked with mine.

This isn’t how I thought my first kiss would go. But we don’t always get to choose who we fall in love with. Sometimes we just have to take a leap of faith and be comfortable with things not going according to plan. I, more than anyone, should understand that.

Do I want Michael to kiss me? I think so. Do I want my first kiss to be with him? Probably. But should we do it here?

As Michael leans forward, I don’t stop him. I don’t move closer either. This is it. The moment I’ve seen on TV, heard Isobel talk about, watched porn about—this moment right here. A kiss. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, so loudly that I barely hear the MC on stage.

“Up next we have a regular here; Michael Gray is going to perform a song for us. Give him a good ol’ Citadel welcome, will ya?”

Michael stops, an inch or so from my mouth. The smell of beer doesn’t bother me anymore.

“Damn it,” he whispers, pulling back and grabbing his guitar. “To be continued. Be here when I return?” he asks, taking off his jacket, revealing a sleeveless black fitted T-shirt.

“Where else would I go?”

“I dunno, the future, maybe?”

“Rule number one of time traveling: no traveling to the future.”

He quirks a brow, waves me off, and heads onto the stage. He’s almost sitting down when he rests his guitar against the stool and quickly runs back to our table. I grab his beer, thinking that’s what he wants, but before I raise it, he quickly presses his lips against mine.

“Be right back,” he whispers as the crowd is hooting and hollering. If my heart was beating fast before, it feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest now.

Michael Gray just kissed me.

Michael Gray just kissed me.

Michael Gray just freakin’ kissed me!

I repeat it over and over again in my head until it sinks in. Once it does, Michael’s situated on the stool. Cool, calm, and collected, he speaks softly into the microphone.

“This song is for a guy I’ve only known for a few days, but it feels like I’ve known him forever,” he says, his eyes on me the whole time.

And in that moment, as he plays, for what feels like the first time since I started traveling, nothing really matters.

Seventeen

If I thought talking with Michael before was easy, walking through the city with him after the kiss is a cakewalk.