Chapter 24 Jay #2
"Okay," I say finally, and the word feels like it's being ripped out of me. I let go of his hand and step to the side, slapping my palm against the roof of the truck in a gesture of finality. "Fuck, okay. You'd better go. You've got things to do."
Ivan opens the door slowly, like he's moving through water. He stands there for a moment with one hand on the frame, the other still holding his keys. Looking at me. There's some war being fought behind his eyes, some decision being made.
"Jay."
"What?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches out fast and grabs the front of my shirt, fisting the fabric in his hand. And before I can react, before I can say anything or ask what he's doing, he pulls me toward him hard.
And he kisses me.
God help me, he kisses me.
His lips press against mine—soft and warm and uncertain and perfect. It's not a long kiss, not a deep one. Just a press of mouths, barely more than a touch. Just a few seconds, barely enough to register, barely enough to believe it's real.
But it sends shockwaves through my entire body. My brain short-circuits, goes completely blank. My heart stops beating and then starts again too fast. The world narrows down to this single point of contact, his mouth on mine, his hand twisted in my shirt, his breath mingling with mine.
Then he pulls back, breathing hard.
We stare at each other. Ivan's eyes are wide, panicked, like he can't believe what he just did. His hand is still gripping my shirt, holding me close, not letting me go.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I—I just couldn't leave without—I had to—Oh my god, I'm sorry."
I don't let him finish.
I kiss him back.
I don't think about it. I don't let myself hesitate or doubt or fear. I just grab his face in both hands and pull him into me and kiss him like I've been wanting to kiss him since he showed up at my door Friday night.
This kiss is nothing like the first one.
That was tentative, uncertain, a question.
This is an answer. This one is desperate and hungry and deep, years of loneliness and longing and need poured into the press of lips and the tangle of tongues and the clash of teeth.
Ivan makes a sound against my mouth—something between a gasp and a moan and a sob—and his hands come up to grip my arms, pulling me closer, trying to eliminate every inch of space between us.
I push him back against the truck, my body pressing against his, pinning him there. And he arches into me like he can't get close enough, like he's been starving for this.
I don't know how long we kiss. It could be seconds or minutes or hours.
Time doesn't mean anything. Nothing means anything except Ivan's mouth and Ivan's hands and Ivan's body against mine and the taste of him and the sound he makes when I deepen the kiss and the way he trembles when I press closer.
When we finally break apart, we're both panting like we've run miles. Ivan's lips are red and swollen, his eyes are dazed and unfocused, and he's looking at me like I'm the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.
"You kissed me back," he says breathlessly, like he can't quite believe it, like he needs confirmation.
"You kissed me first."
"I didn't know if you—I thought maybe you weren't—I thought I was going crazy, feeling this alone—"
"Ivan." I rest my forehead against his, the way we did last night, breathing the same air.
"I've wanted to kiss you since the moment you showed up at my door.
Since you recited my information and touched my scar and looked at me like I was worth finding.
I've been going out of my mind trying not to. I wanted to touch you so goddamn bad."
"Why didn't you?" His hands slide up my arms to my shoulders, holding on. "Why didn't you just—"
"Because I was scared. Because I didn't know if you felt the same way.
Because I thought maybe I was reading things wrong, seeing things that weren't there.
" I pull back just enough to look at him, to see his face.
"Because I couldn't risk losing you again.
Not after everything. I couldn't risk ruining this with you.
Why didn't you kiss me or say something? "
"Same reasons," he says, and lets out a shaky laugh. "God, we're idiots. We're both idiots."
"Yeah," I agree, and I can't help smiling. "We really are."
I kiss him again, softer this time. A gentle press of lips, a promise instead of a question. He melts into it, his hands sliding up my arms to my shoulders to my neck, cradling my face like I'm something worth holding.
"Oh, god. I really do have to go," he murmurs against my mouth, but he doesn't pull away, doesn't stop kissing me. "This is so hard to leave you."
"I know," I murmur back, kissing him again, unable to stop.
"Rosalyn will worry. She'll call non-stop. She'll probably send Mitchell to look for me if I don't show up."
"I understand. They care about you."
"But I'll be back." He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes serious and intense. "Next weekend. I'll be here if that's okay. Friday night after work. I've got to come back."
"Hell yeah, it's okay." I kiss his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, unable to stop touching him now that I've started. "I want to see you as soon as you can get here."
Ivan pulls back reluctantly, and this time I let him. I step aside so he can climb into the truck, can start the engine. But I don't go inside. I stand there in the parking lot and watch as he reverses out of the space, as he turns toward the exit.
He rolls down the window, sticks his head out.
"Text me," he shouts, the words carrying across the parking lot. "Don't you dare go dark on me. I need to know you're okay."
"I will. I promise."
"I mean it, Jay. Every day. I need to hear from you."
"I'll text you. I promise. Every single day. You'll get sick of me in no time."
He gives me that smile, and something in my chest finally unclenches, finally allows itself to hope.
This isn't an ending.
This is only a beginning.
I watch until the truck disappears around the corner and I can't see it anymore. Then I stand there a little longer, touching my lips with my fingertips, remembering the feel of his mouth on mine. The taste of him. The sound he made when I deepened the kiss.
He kissed me. Ivan kissed me.
And I kissed him back.
I walk back to my room in a daze, feeling like I'm floating, like my feet aren't quite touching the ground.
The space feels different now—still small, still shabby, still a motel room that rents by the week.
But not empty. Not anymore. I can still smell him on the pillow.
I can still see the indent where his body was beside mine.
I can still feel the ghost of his lips on mine.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Sitting at a traffic light. Already miss you.
I save his contact—just "Ivan" with a blue heart emoji that I immediately feel stupid about but don't delete—then type back: Miss you too. Drive safe.
Three dots appear immediately. This changes everything, doesn't it?
I look at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then I type back: Yeah. It does. Everything.
His response comes quickly: Good. I want everything to change. I want everything with you.
I'm smiling. I'm sitting alone in a motel room that smells like motor oil and cheap pizza, staring at my cracked phone screen, and I'm smiling like an idiot because a beautiful man just kissed me in a parking lot and drove away promising to come back.
Me too, I type, and I mean it more than I've meant anything in my life. I want everything with you too. Don't text and drive!
The dots appear and disappear several times before his next message comes through: Ok. But I can't stop thinking about kissing you.
My face heats up. I type back: Don't stop. Text me tonight. Drive safe.
Ok.
I fall back on the bed, phone clutched to my chest, and I let myself feel it. The joy. The hope. The terror and the excitement and the overwhelming certainty that my life just changed forever.
We're becoming something.
And maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.