Chapter 38
Lennon
It’s a strange, Christmas Eve kind of sleep.
The kind of sleep I remember from when I was a kid, and I was so excited about the next day that I couldn’t fall asleep, stay asleep, or sleep deeply.
It’s like that, except I’m an adult and my head is swimming with Connor instead of the promise of gifts under a tree.
I wake a hundred times or more. Checking my phone each time, disgusted by the numbers I see on the screen each time.
I toss and turn, and get up to drink water, until at last, at last, the clock rolls over from five to six in the morning. It’s still early, too early to feel the sense of urgency and excitement I’m feeling, but I can’t wait one second more.
I steal into Connor’s room like a burglar in the night, stealthy and quiet, but for once, I’m not somewhere I shouldn’t be. It’s dark, but not so dark that I can’t make out the clear outline of him.
He’s on his side, facing me.
“Connor,” I whisper. “It’s tomorrow.”
His eyes flit open, and somehow, despite the blue light of morning and the thick haze of sleep, they’re the warmest, sweetest things I’ve ever seen.
“It’s tomorrow?” he blinks in confusion.
“Yeah, it’s tomorrow. It’s the next day.
” I’m doing a shit job of explaining it, but it’s the best I can do.
“It’s morning, and I’m awake, and I don’t regret anything.
” His arm is outstretched, bent at the elbow, hand and forearm on top of the covers.
I put my hand over his and squeeze gently.
“Come on. Come with me. We have to go and see about the sun.”
His face creases like it did last night, all over, everywhere, and he sits bolt upright. He goes from sleepy to wakeful to happy in under two seconds. Connor Lockwood happy is a beautiful thing to see. A right thing. A the-way-it’s-meant-to-be kind of thing.
We shove our feet into our shoes, giggling as we grab jackets from the closet at the front door. We shrug them on as we head out the door. I think I might be wearing his, and maybe he’s wearing mine. Either way, everything smells like him.
Everything feels like him.
We ride the elevator side by side, shoulders touching.
We don’t talk, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable or really even silent.
There’s a hum of cables and a motor. A whirr of electricity that might be coming from the building’s wiring or the city, or it might be coming from us.
I’m so excited that I’m buzzing. So nervous that my feet aren’t touching the ground.
When the doors open, we get out, bodies turned toward each other. So much so that it makes it hard to walk, but also easy. I couldn’t make my arms or legs work if I wasn’t close to him now, and I think—hope—he feels the same.
As we take the stairs, our arms swing, brushing against each other, and our fingertips find each other. It’s a light touch. A soft sensation we both recognize. Skin on skin. Pulse against pulse as fingerprints blur into one.
We know this touch. This feeling. He knows it, and I know it. We remember it, even though it’s brand new.
Fingers find their way home and curl. His, mine, lacing together.
A soft grip that tightens and turns to iron.
Connor’s breathing changes. It goes from something calm and reflexive to something that costs him.
Something that makes his lips part and his chest rise and fall visibly.
It makes him look like the beginning and the end of the world.
Like someone who’s only just woken up, and someone who’s been waiting for me forever.
When we get to the roof, we don’t sit on the small bench like we usually do. Instead, I lead him to the railing. To the ledge of the roof. To the edge of the world.
To tomorrow.
To the start of something new.
We turn to face each other, fingers still laced together, and look at each other.
There’s a tiny vibration of tension around Connor. Excitement. Nerves. I know how he feels, and I recognize it because I feel the same way.
A tremor.
A question.
A moment that stretches out.
A before moment. A last moment. The last second that will ever exist where Connor is Connor and I’m me. Where he’s there, and I’m here, and we’ve never kissed.
In the nighttime, in my rambling plans of how I wanted today to play out, I planned to ask him to remind me to kiss him. I decided to make him say it because I wanted to hear him say the words, “Lennon, you asked me to remind you about something,” or “Lennon, don’t forget to ask me to kiss you.”
In the nighttime, I thought I’d be afraid to do it without the prompt. Too locked in myself to be the first to speak. I thought I’d have to wait until he said or did something to give me the courage I need.
Turns out, I don’t.
Turns out, I have everything I need because I’m looking into his eyes.
“Connor.” My voice is raw. Peeled back and stripped naked. “Kiss me. Please.”
He drops his gaze fractionally and his lips curl up in a slightly deviant way. A way that’s unlike him, and also like him exactly. When he looks up, he does so with lingering eye contact and such pure idiotic joy that I’m left in no doubt whatsoever what he’s going to say.
It chokes a huff out of me. A huff of anticipation. Of hope and humor.
He’s Connor, so of course, he doesn’t disappoint.
He lowers his chin to lower his voice and looks up at me through a forest of lashes. “As you wish.”
It’s the silliest, sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and it might be the very thing I didn’t know I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear.
It takes the tension between us and screws it into a tight ball that quickly evaporates completely.
What’s left in its place is sweet and soft.
A warm gust of familiarity. A cool breeze of camaraderie.
Laughter spills from our lips as they meet. As his lips touch mine. As my tongue seeks and finds his. It rumbles between us, fizzing out of us and filling the space between us with good things.
The spark I felt the first time I saw him comes alive. It explodes into being. A current, a bolt, a force so powerful it knocks the breath out of both of us and makes us jerk apart.
“Is that…? Was that okay?” Connor asks, lips moving cautiously around the words.
Connor, when he’s been kissed, is a knee-knocking sight. A beautiful sight that feels like being kicked in the chest and flung high in the air. It’s the kind of thing that makes my head spin and my body lurch forward.
I grab his face with both hands and pull him roughly toward me.
His mouth is wide open and waiting when our lips meet again. So is mine.
We’re not laughing now.
My tongue thrusts hungrily into his mouth, loosening a long, soft moan that comes from him and then from me. We pass it back and forth between us, holding on to each other and kissing until the world spins and we’re both gasping for air.
Then we kiss some more.
We kiss and kiss and kiss until the spark between us isn’t only between us. It’s in the air, in the blue. It’s in the earth, in the foundation of the building beneath us. It’s all around us. Everywhere.
When we finally break apart, we do so blinking and panting in shock.
I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but in his I see refuge.
I see a safe place. I breathe it in, and when I exhale, Connor turns his head and looks at the horizon.
The lines and curves of his profile are lit by a soft golden light, and I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think the light might be coming from him.
I look at him for a beat, imprinting the image into my memory for keeps, and then follow his gaze.
An impressionist and a realist have joined forces. Loose, visible brush strokes play with perfect, controlled ones. Gallons and gallons of paint have been skillfully mixed and splashed in the sky. Hot pink, yolk yellow, and every color in between.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
“Holy shit,” says Connor.
His hand is still in mine, our fingers intertwined tightly. It has a nice weight to it, his hand. A nice meaty thickness that’s unfamiliar in a very familiar way. I sigh and squeeze it, bringing it up to my mouth so I can stamp my lips against his knuckles in silent agreement.