Chapter 27
RYAN
This is my first kiss.
The thought floats through my consciousness, detached and wondering, as if it belongs to someone else.
Twenty years old, and I’ve never done this before.
Never wanted to, not really, not with anyone who wasn’t Oliver.
And now Oliver is here, lips moving against mine with careful deference, and I’m floating somewhere above the fairground with the stars as my witness.
His hand comes up to cup my jaw, same as in my fantasy, thumb brushing against my cheekbone, and I forget how to breathe.
My fingers find the front of Oliver’s shirt. I pull him closer, and he makes a sound against my mouth. A soft, surprised exhale that vibrates through me and settles precisely in my chest.
The kiss deepens.
I’m not sure which of us initiates it, but his tongue suddenly traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him. The sensation of his tongue inside my mouth is so overwhelming that I whimper.
It should embarrass me. But all it does is encourage Oliver. He angles his head and kisses me deeper, more thoroughly.
The sound of a plane flying overhead breaks the magical moment. Oliver pulls back first. Not far, but enough to rest his forehead against mine. His breath comes in uneven bursts that match my own.
“Ryan.” My name on his lips carries a gravity it never had before.
“Yeah?”
“Was that okay?”
I almost laugh. I almost cry. I almost kiss him again. “Oliver. That was…”
There aren’t words for what that was. Every adjective in my considerable vocabulary is inadequate. Amazing is too common. Perfect is too cliché. Life-altering is too dramatic, except it’s not, because something vital shifts in my chest, rearranging itself around this new reality.
“That was my first kiss,” I finish lamely.
Oliver’s lips curve. “I know.”
“You know?”
“You told me before.”
Oh. Right.
His Adam’s apple bobs, a motion that draws my eyes downward before I can stop myself. “I wanted to make it good for you. I wanted—” He stops and reconsiders his words. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
“Me too,” I admit. “Since we were kids, I think. I just didn’t have words for it then.”
Oliver’s thumb traces my cheekbone again, featherlight. “And now?”
“Now I have too many words, and they’re all fighting to get out at once.”
“That sounds like you.”
The Ferris wheel lurches back into motion, beginning its descent. Oliver’s hand finds mine again as we sink back toward the fairground.
I watch the stars recede as we descend, Cassiopeia still visible near the horizon. Even punishment can become a gift, Mom used to say. I wonder what she’d think of this moment. Of Oliver.
I think she’d be happy for me. I also think she’d say it’s about time.
The gondola reaches the bottom, and the bored teenage operator unlatches the gate, his attention on the phone in his hand. We step out on wobbly legs—mine from emotion, Oliver’s from being crammed into a carnival ride designed for smaller humans.
“There you are!” Gerard’s voice booms across the fairground. He’s flushed with triumph. Elliot follows close behind him with an expression of fond exasperation. “You missed my encore! I did ‘Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It’ and three people passed out!”
“From joy or horror?” Oliver asks.
“Joy! I think.”
Oliver squeezes my hand once before releasing it, and I feel the loss like a physical ache. But his smile is soft and private. Meant only for me.
“Ryan!” Gerard barrels toward me, oblivious to whatever moment he’s interrupting. “Bestie! Did you see any cool stars from up there? Did you point out constellations? Did you have a romantic moment? You totally had a romantic moment, didn’t you? I can tell by your face!”
“Gerard,” Elliot says, catching his arm. “Boundaries.”
“What boundaries? Ryan’s my bestie! Besties don’t have boundaries!”
“Yes, they do. Do you think I know everything that goes on behind Drew’s bedroom door with Jackson? Nope.”
I glance at Oliver, who’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. Something hopeful. Something scared. Something that mirrors exactly what I’m feeling.
“It was nice,” I say to Gerard, which is possibly the understatement of the century. “The stars were beautiful.”
Gerard beams. “I knew it! I knew you two would have a moment! This is the best night ever!”
“You’ve said that three times tonight,” Kyle points out, emerging from the darkness with Alex on his heels.
“Because it keeps getting better!”
The group reconvenes, drifting toward the exit as the fair begins to wind down. Drew has somehow acquired an inflatable palm tree. Nathan is carrying a bag of kettle corn the size of his torso.
And Oliver walks beside me, close enough that our hands brush occasionally, sending sparks up my arm each time.
Jackson appears at my other side. “Hey,” he says quietly, falling into step with me. “You okay?”
I consider the question. My lips are still tingling. My heart is still racing. My entire understanding of myself has shifted on its axis in the span of a single Ferris wheel rotation.
“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
Jackson studies my face for a moment, then grins. “Good. I’m glad.”
He doesn’t push for more, which is one of the many reasons Jackson Monroe is my best friend.
The dorm room door barely closes before Jackson rounds on me.
“Okay.” He tosses Derek the penguin onto his bed and turns, eyes bright with barely contained excitement. “Spill everything. Now.”
I set my jacket on my desk and take my time stepping out of my loafers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ryan Abrams, don’t you dare play coy with me.” Jackson crosses his arms, but he’s grinning too wide for the stern pose to be effective. “I saw your face when you came back from that Ferris wheel. That was not the face of someone who just looked at stars.”
My cheeks heat. I flip back the corner of my bedcover, smoothing out the wrinkles with trembling fingers.
One button at a time, I work my way down my shirt, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of fairground popcorn.
My shorts drop to the floor with a soft whoosh.
I peel off my socks, the elastic leaving faint red lines below my knees. “The stars were very nice.”
“The stars were very—” Jackson makes a sound of pure frustration. “Ryan! Did something happen with Oliver? Did he finally make a move? Did you make a move? Oh my God, if you did, that would be incredible. That would be character development of the highest order.”
“I didn’t make a move.”
“But something happened.”
I straighten, meeting Jackson’s eyes. He’s practically shaking with anticipation, his whole body leaning toward me. This is Jackson in his element—supportive, enthusiastic, and ready to celebrate whatever I’m about to tell him.
“He kissed me,” I say.
The noise Jackson makes is not quite human. It’s somewhere between a squeal and a scream, high-pitched enough that I’m concerned about the RA filing a noise complaint. “HE KISSED YOU?!”
“Jackson, volume—”
“Oliver Jacoby kissed you! On the Ferris wheel! Under the stars!” He’s bouncing now, causing the furniture to shake. “Ryan, this is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever, in the history of romance!”
“That is an exaggeration.”
“It’s not! He took you to the top of a Ferris wheel and kissed you!
That’s literally the plot of every teen movie from the early 2000s!
” Jackson grabs my shoulders, his grip tight with excitement.
“Tell me everything. How did it happen? Who leaned in first? Was there tongue? Oh God, please tell me there was tongue!”
“Jackson!”
“There was tongue! I can tell by your face! Your face is doing the thing!”
“What thing?”
“The ‘I just had my first kiss, and it involved tongue’ thing!” He releases my shoulders and does a little spin, arms thrown wide. “This is incredible! This is momentous! This is—wait.” He stops mid-spin, eyes narrowing. “How was it? Scale of one to ten, how was the kiss?”
I sink onto my bed, the events of the night finally catching up with me. My lips still feel warm and tingly. I can still taste the faint sweetness of Oliver’s ChapStick. Blueberry, maybe?
“Eleven,” I say quietly. “Maybe twelve.”
Jackson’s expression softens. He crosses to my side of the room and sits beside me on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I stare at my hands, at the fingers that gripped Oliver’s shirt, unable to let go. “It was…I don’t have words for it, Jackson. It was better than anything I’d ever imagined. He was so gentle. So careful. I think he was afraid of scaring me off.”
“That tracks. Oliver’s always been the protective type.”
“He asked if it was okay. After.” My voice catches on something that might be emotion or wonder. “No one’s ever asked me that before. No one’s ever cared enough to check.”
Jackson’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Ryan, buddy, no one’s ever gotten close enough to need to check. You’ve kept everyone at arm’s length ever since I’ve known you. Hell, I think if I ever tried to kiss you, you would’ve dropped out the next day.”
“I know.” The admission comes easier than I expected.
“So what changed?”
I look up at Jackson, at his earnest face, at the friend who’s stuck by me through two years of emotional unavailability and weird vintage fashion choices. “Oliver came back into my life, and I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t want him there.”
Jackson nods slowly, processing. His expression shifts into something more serious. “Okay, real talk time. What do you want from this? From Oliver? Was this a onetime thing? A moment on a Ferris wheel that you’ll both pretend didn’t happen? Or do you want something more?”
Something more. The phrase echoes in my head, conjuring images I’ve only let myself consider with my hand down my pants.
“I’ve never gotten this far before. I’ve never let myself imagine past the wanting.”
“But you do want something more?”
“I want to have sex with him,” I say slowly, feeling my way through the words.
Jackson’s face splits into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on him. And then he pulls me into a hug—one of those full-body Jackson Monroe specials that somehow manages to be both crushing and comforting at the same time.
Before I know it, I’m crying, and I can’t stop. Everything from the night crashes over me at once—the Ferris wheel, the stars, that kiss.
“Hey, hey.” Jackson’s voice is gentle, his hand rubbing circles on my back. “It’s okay. Let it out.”
“I’m sorry,” I manage, my voice thick and embarrassing. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
He pulls back to look at me, and his expression holds nothing but understanding. “You’ve been holding everything in for so long. It’s okay to let some of it go.”
I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, mortified and relieved in equal measure. “This is ridiculous. I’m crying because a boy kissed me.”
“You’re crying because you finally let yourself want something.” Jackson squeezes my shoulder. “That’s not ridiculous. That’s brave.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. “For being here. For asking.”
“Always, space boy.” Jackson grins, some of his usual energy returning. “Now, let’s get some sleep. You’ve got a boy to lose your virginity to, and you always want to look your best.”
I throw a pillow at him. He catches it, laughing, and the sound fills the room with warmth.