Chapter 11 #2
“This,” she says, voice small. “What you’re doing right now.”
Something in her gives. Not a smile — more like a held breath leaving. Her shoulders come down from wherever they’ve been all semester, and when she opens her eyes again, they’re different.
She looks at me, quiet, and then seems to decide. She stands, walks around the table, and folds herself against me. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me in until my face is against her chest, her chin settling on top of my head.
And I give in to it, because she smells good and she’s warm and I’ve wanted this no matter how much I’ve tried to kid myself otherwise. My hands come up around her waist, slow, giving her time to pull away if she wants.
“Thank you for listening,” she whispers into my hair.
“I like the real one better.”
She makes a small laugh against my hair. “That’s a chance I can’t afford to take.”
“I know,” I say. “But you can be brave with me, at least.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t say how long we stay like that. Long enough that the building settles around us like it’s forgotten we’re here. I close my eyes, and my breathing goes slow. Her hands settle on either side of my face. I know what’s about to happen, and I don’t move.
She leans down and kisses me.
It’s not careful. It’s not the kind of first kiss where someone hesitates and pulls back to check. Her mouth is on mine, and her hand in my hair pulls me forward, and she makes a small sound as my palm curves to her cheek, holding her there.
Not breaking the kiss, I spread my fingers at the small of her back and pull her flush against me. She comes easy, her fingers curling at the nape of my neck like she can’t get close enough.
I trace up her side. Slow, up the ribs, toward the curve of her breast, and there’s nothing but this, nothing but her breathing and the lamplight and the heat radiating off her through her clothing.
But then I’m back at Ironwood, remembering Mason’s hand on her and how she went rigid. And then I’m thinking about Harrison, the other guy who hurt her. The thoughts hit so suddenly that I pull my hand back to her waist.
She breaks the kiss, breathing hard against my mouth. “What?”
“I wanted to ask first.”
Her eyes flick past me — to the dark stacks, the unmanned reference desk, the wide-open floor of a building we’re not supposed to be in. I watch the old fear cross her face, the quick math of who might see. Then I see her decide.
“We don’t have to,” I say.
“I want to,” she says, steady. “You said I didn’t have to hide from you. Right?”
“Right,” I say.
She takes my hand, the one I pulled back, and lifts it to where it was going, her fingers pressing mine into her. And as I touch her chest, my forehead drops to hers, and the sound I make is rough.
Then she kisses me again, and my hand stays exactly where she put it, warm beneath hers, the weight and softness of her filling my palm until my whole body forgets there was ever anything else to manage.
She curves into me with a small, shivering breath. For just a moment, there’s not a single other thing in the whole damn world. There is only her mouth, her hand tightening in my hair, her breast in my hand, and the way she breathes my name against my lips.
“Folks.”
A flashlight beam hits the side of my face.
We break apart so fast I nearly send the chair into the next table. Sloane turns and presses her forehead into my shirt, shoulders shaking, and it takes me a second to realize she’s laughing, silent and helpless, into my sternum.
“Second floor closed twenty minutes ago,” the guard says.
He’s in his fifties and, judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t remember what fun is and wouldn’t be much interested if he did. I get the vibe that he’s walked in on this sort of thing before, and he wasn’t charmed by it then, either.
“Sir,” I say, reaching for the voice I use with Coach Franklin. “I’m sorry, we completely lost track of time.”
He looks at me, then he looks at Sloane, who is red from the hairline down and refusing to come out of my shirt. “Mm-hmm.”
“We’re leaving right now.” I reach past her, sliding her things into her bag and mine into my own, then sling both straps over one shoulder while she shakes against me.
“Side door,” he says. “Front is locked.”
“Thank you. Won’t happen again.”
He gives me a look, then nods. “Good night, kids.”
She holds it through the stacks. Almost. Both hands are clamped over her mouth, her eyes are streaming, and every few seconds a sound escapes that’s halfway between a hiccup and a wheeze. I steer her by the elbow toward the side stairwell.
“Oh my God,” she gasps, doubled over the railing.
“Keep moving.”
Two flights down, we head outside, and the shock of cold air hits my face. But not as much as the moment, because of the sheer stupid absurdity of getting kicked out of a library for making out.
She’s bent at the waist on the path, hands on her knees, the cold catching her breath in white clouds, hair loose around her face, laughing so hard she can barely get air. I lean against the building, head back, laughing at the sky until my eyes water.
“Some Halden Girl,” I say.
“Stop, you’re making it worse,” she wheezes, “I will die—”
“Sloane,” I say.
She straightens, pushing hair out of her face. “We’re banned. We’re absolutely banned.”
“We are not banned from Bellamy.”
“You don’t know that. He’s filing paperwork. He’s calling the dean.”
“Sloane.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” I smile. “I’ve wanted to do that since the courtyard.”
She walks back over to me, then takes my face in both her cold hands and kisses me hard. It’s furious and certain, like she’s done holding herself back, and then she steps back without warning, her hands sliding from my face.
“Good night, Rowan,” she says.
“Good night, Sloane.”
She walks backward toward Sterling, her boots scuffing the wet path, her eyes on me until the distance pulls her from sight. And even then, I stand under the lamp for a long time, just soaking it in.
My phone buzzes against my hip.
For once, I don’t check it.