Chapter 21
Kissing Russell on a football field, and in the hotel pool, had been great.
But it was nothing compared to this.
Getting to kiss him on my bed, in my room, with the door closed. With nowhere to be but right here and hours ahead of us.
No AstroTurf, no smell of chlorine, no worry that we were going to be discovered. Just the two of us under my covers, finally getting to breathe a little and take our time.
And after so much talk—so many conversations and tangents and jokes and puns and fun facts—it all dropped away.
We were still talking. But we were no longer doing it with words.
There were still some words, of course. We checked in with each other at every stage, making sure we were both okay, that this was what we both wanted and were comfortable with. Russell went on a mini rant about my bra clasp and I had a moment of nervously babbling while my fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
But for the most part, it was just us and a different kind of conversation—his lips and his hands and my arms and our feet tangling together and getting to see every inch of him, and letting him see me.
It all just felt so natural, and so right. And I somehow knew that despite—or because of—four days of missed connections and mistakes; buses, helicopters, and cars; lucky accidents and twists of fate, I’d somehow found myself just where I was supposed to be.
And so when Russell asked me if I was okay—if I was sure—I nodded without hesitation.
I stretched up to kiss him, and gave him a smile. “I’m ready.”