Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
After Central Park we wander through the neighborhood until before I know it, we’re turning the corner and my subway stop is in view.
Whether Connor knows I take this train or it’s just a coincidence that he’s depositing me here is unclear, but something tells me it’s the former.
Him seeing and remembering little details like that is just so incredibly him.
I know the walk to the subway is for my benefit.
He’s already told me he’s staying uptown so he can drop in on his mom.
Now that our time together is almost over I’m desperate to extend it, to eke out just a few more minutes of Connor’s company rather than go home and spend the rest of the day without him.
I stall for ages outside the subway entrance, scanning my brain for a conversational gambit that will keep us talking for the rest of the day.
If he’s wise to my ruse, he doesn’t show it. Maybe he doesn’t want to go, either.
Desperation leads to inspiration. “I meant to ask you,” I say, snapping my fingers. “What did you think about the whole free tier thing? What will they do?”
“That question has been haunting me since I was cc’d on the email.”
Brad, our brilliantly stupid VP of corporate development, has recently come up with a new initiative he’s extremely enthusiastic about: a free tier of Taskio.
We run on a subscription-based model, and Brad believes we could capture a bigger share of the market if we rolled out a free tier, where we’d generate revenue by showing users targeted ads.
Connor and Ben have been banging their heads against the wall at the stupidity of this—yet Brad won’t let it go.
He genuinely believes spamming our users with in-app ads will usher in the golden age of Taskio.
“Please bring me to that meeting. I would pay good money to see Brad and Sven duke it out on that one.”
“I would if I trusted that you would sit quietly and not put your hand up to volunteer your own even more insane solution,” he says, referencing another meeting where I did exactly that.
“Hey! You said yourself that was a good idea.”
“I said it was an idea,” he corrects. “The word ‘good’ was never mentioned.”
“You’re just upset you didn’t think of it.”
“I think it would be more accurate to say I’m upset that you did.”
I realize, then, why we’re still here: neither of us has a clue how to wrap this up.
Even if I did want to leave—which I don’t—what do I even say to Connor in this moment? Thanks for the best date I’ve ever been on, see you Monday? By the way, did you think it was a date too?
He, at least, looks just as awkward about this as I do, like now that we’re about to part ways it behooves us to acknowledge what exactly it is we’ve been doing all day.
“Do you know how to get home from here?”
I scoff at what he’s implying. “I do have a basic working knowledge of the New York City Metro, you know.”
“Seeing as you have go up the Empire State Building on your bucket list, I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”
I’ve already been fighting for composure all day, but the evil little smile he gives me tips me over the edge. Connor is never more irresistible to me than when he’s teasing me like this. His tiny, gentle little insults are subtle reminders of just how much I’m on his mind.
I’m leaning forward before I consciously realize what I’m doing, rising on my toes and dropping a kiss onto his cheek.
It’s warm and smooth and the second I make contact it’s nowhere near enough for me, so I regroup, grab his shoulder and kiss him full on the mouth.
It’s startling in its novelty, but also familiar—like some secret part of me has known about kissing Connor all along.
I can feel his surprise in the way his shoulder tenses under my hand, and though it can be said that I am kissing Connor, in this moment it could not be said that he is kissing me.
But then a split second later he catches up with me, tilting his head just a fraction and sending the pressure right back.
Our lips move together softly, tentatively.
I slide my hand up to the back of his neck, closing my fingers around his hair, launching myself into kissing him with everything I’ve got.
Too much, maybe: he jolts back to earth and releases me, taking a hasty step back. The look on his face is one of extreme shock. I’m sure mine mirrors it.
It feels like a giant speech bubble is floating above the two of us reading what the hell was that, exactly?
“Did I—” I say reflexively, just as he says, “I don’t think we should—”
We both halt.
He tries again. “This isn’t a good idea.”
I scramble to take it back. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I’m stammering, trying to string together a sentence that will erase the last thirty seconds and vanish me off the face of the earth. It feels like a bucket of cold water has been tossed over my head. The mortification is bracing.
“Annie—”
“No, my bad,” I say, shaking my head, holding my hands out in front of me, as if I can physically stave off the humiliation. “Forget it—I don’t know what I was—”
“It’s just—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, cutting him off before either of us makes this worse than it already is.
I give him a small wave—though am no longer looking at him to verify if he actually saw it—and then I turn and hotfoot it down the subway steps.
I could win a marathon at the speed I’m moving. Nice to know, I guess, that my fight-or-flight response is in good working order.
Miracle of miracles, a train is pulling into the station, the doors gliding open just as I push through the turnstiles. I rush onto the train, power walking to the farthest possible corner of the carriage, wishing I could keep going and continue walking straight off the edge of the map.
A short eternity later, the doors close, and we move: Connor hasn’t followed me.
I sink into the closest available seat, hugging my tote bag to my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it does nothing.
The image of Connor’s grave face saying this isn’t a good idea is seared into my brain. It burns me the entire way home.