Twelve
Shiloh let him push her head back into the door.
Her arms lifted up, hovered, and fell. She tried again and still didn’t manage any contact.
Cary took hold of her wrists and set her hands on his shoulders. She wound her arms around his neck.
He kissed her.
Cary’s chin was sharp with stubble. He smelled like layers of fading soaps and sprays. Like sweat. Like the champagne toast.
It had been so long since Shiloh had been this close to a person. (A person who wasn’t her kid.) She liked kissing, but it was just so... in your face . Kissing was like eye contact, but worse. Kissing was carnal eye contact.
Cary pulled his mouth away. “Shiloh?” His voice was husky.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah.” She pushed her mouth forward. He met her more than halfway. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Cary was shuffling out of his jacket—Shiloh tried to help. He was warm beneath the wool fabric. His shirt felt smooth. His
shoulders were broader than she’d expected.
The jacket dropped to the floor with a soft flop, and his hands came back to her waist. Shiloh hugged his neck again and pressed
her chest against his.
Cary groaned—it made her shiver.
He tipped his head to kiss her more deeply.
Shiloh felt the arousal rising up in her, and it was such a relief. She could ride this feeling past all the other stuff.
(The desolation, again. The ennui.) (Memories.)
She let it rise. She let it go to her head. She licked into Cary’s mouth, and he surged forward, pressing Shiloh against the door, holding on to her hips.
Yes, she thought. Cary. And please .
Shiloh pulled her mouth away. It was difficult—Cary didn’t want her to. “I want you,” she whispered.
He surged into her again. She felt pinned. He was kissing her neck. “I want you, ” Cary said. “Shiloh. I always want you.”
Shiloh closed her eyes. She could ride this feeling past anything. Past pitfalls and shipwrecks.
She let herself touch the back of his warm neck. His hair was so short...
He was trying to take off her jacket now—Shiloh still couldn’t believe she’d worn this stupid jacket. She squirmed out of
it.
Cary hummed and started unbuttoning her dress. The buttons were for show. “No,” Shiloh laughed.
He looked up at her. “No?”
“No— yes .” She touched his neck again. “They’re decorative. It’s just...”
“Oh,” he said, and reached for the bottom of her skirt instead.
She laughed some more. Nervously. But also happily. She was happy. She was still rising. She lifted her arms. “Yeah.”
He pulled the dress up over her head.
Shiloh couldn’t even remember what bra she was wearing. (Her hopes for tonight had never been this high.) Surely it was a
bra she’d had for years. Her panties were cotton and already riding below her belly.
She felt a little ridiculous for a second. Awkward. Imperfect. Exposed.
But then Cary pushed her back against the wall. He was kissing her neck. Sucking on it.
This was moving faster than Shiloh would have expected. (Had she expected it.) That was good. Momentum was good—it made it
hard to stop. Shiloh might actually have this. Him.
Talk about bonus hours. Talk about breaks from destiny.
She closed her eyes against tears. “I want you,” she said again.
“Shiloh, Shiloh,” Cary said. He pulled her off the wall. Pulled her back toward her unmade bed. Shiloh had never seen him
like this—is this how Cary was with the women he dated? Single-minded? In charge?
He fell onto the bed and brought her with him, kicking clothes and books off the bottom. Kicking off his shoes. Shiloh laughed.
Cary took her face in his hands. He tried to look into her eyes. She tucked her head into his neck and kissed him there. He
was so warm. He was sweating. He was taking off his shirt. Shiloh nodded. She helped. “I want you,” she whispered. “I want
this.”
“I want you,” Cary said. He sat up, on the edge of her bed, to take off his pants.
Shiloh took off her bra. Cary glanced over at her—then reached for her before he’d finished with his pants. They hung on one
ankle. Shiloh didn’t get a good look at his body. He was moving too fast, and the room was still dark.
She felt him climb on top of her. She felt her desire for him singing up through her veins, skating over her skin. It was
happening fast. It was going to happen. She was going to have this.
Shiloh spread her legs. She was still wearing underwear. Cary touched her breast. He hummed.
“This is more than I hoped for,” she said softly.
His face dropped over hers. He pressed their foreheads together. “God. Shiloh. I just...”
“I want you.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”
She started pushing her underwear down. He lifted off of her to help.
“Where... um...” He pulled her panties down her legs. “Condoms?”
“I don’t—” Shiloh squinted against the dark. “I thought you’d have one. Like, in your wallet.”
Cary sat back on his calves. “Why would I have a condom in my wallet?” He sounded amused. He was silhouetted against a window.
“It’s a wedding, Cary. You might get lucky.”
“I’m thirty-three years old.”
“That’s the prime age for hooking up at weddings.”
Cary laughed. He shook his head, like he was shaking something off. Then he lay down next to Shiloh.
She turned toward him. She tapped his arm. “Don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping. I’m re-evaluating.”
She poked him. “God, no, don’t re-evaluate. Let’s just keep going. My tubes are tied.”
Cary laughed—like that was a little too much. “Uh... no...”
“You could go get condoms,” she said.
“I’m not going anywhere—come here.”
Shiloh moved closer. “I could go.”
He wrapped an arm around her. He kissed her shoulder.
“Maybe my mom has one... ” she said.
“Jesus. No.” He kissed her shoulder again.
Shiloh sat up. “I’ll go to 7-Eleven.”
Cary sat up, too. “At midnight?”
“I just...” Shiloh felt around the bed for her bra. “We’re losing momentum.”
“Do we need momentum?”
“Yes. We can’t just... I’ve already turned into a pumpkin. The horses are field mice. If this is going to happen, I need
it to happen quickly—and I really want it to happen.”
Cary touched her side. “Hey. Lie down. I’m still here.”
“But you won’t be tomorrow.” She was looking for her bra. “This is a window.”
“A window?”
“Yes, a break from reality.”
His hand fell away from her. “Lie down, Shiloh.”
“In a few hours, you’re going to sober up—”
“I’m not drunk .”
“You are. Metaphorically. You’re going to snap out of it. In a few hours, you’re going to fly home and go on with your life—can’t we just have sex before that happens?”
Cary sat up. He reached for his pants.
“Are you going to 7-Eleven?” she asked.
He huffed. “No. I’m leaving.”
“You can’t leave.”
“I can, actually.” He was standing up, pulling up his dress pants. “I...” He exhaled loudly. “Am not. Doing this. With
you.”
Shiloh felt tearful. She felt like she’d been tearful for a while now. “Doing what ?”
Cary made that huffy noise again, that mean breath of a laugh. “Any of it. This was a mistake. I’m sorry, Shiloh.”
“No—Cary. Please.”
He didn’t turn back. “I don’t know why I thought you’d be different.”