Every Summer After(73)
He hands me a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I’ll let you change,” he says and steps outside, closing the door behind him.
Sam’s clothes are about six sizes too big. I fold up the sleeves of the shirt and tie it in a knot at the waist, but there’s not much I can do about the pants, except to tighten the drawstring and roll up the legs.
“You’re going to laugh when you see me,” I call as my eyes catch on a yellow-and-red box on the top of the bookshelf. It’s no longer standing upright on display, but it’s there nonetheless. I’m reaching for it when Sam walks back into the room.
“I can’t believe you still have this,” I say, holding the Operation box out to him.
“You know, that dress was hot, but this is a much better look on you.” He smirks and motions to the pants. “Especially the saggy crotch.”
“Leave my crotch alone,” I tell him. One of his eyebrows quirks up in response. “Shut up,” I mumble. He takes the box from me and puts it back on the shelf.
“Unless you want to play?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“What else do you still have?” I wonder aloud, leaning closer to the shelves.
“Pretty much everything,” Sam says from beside me. “Mom didn’t pack up my stuff, and I haven’t touched it since I’ve been back.”
I squat down in front of the Tolkien novels and sit cross-legged on the carpet.
“I never finished this.” I tap The Hobbit and look up at him. He’s watching me with a tight expression.
“I remember,” he says quietly. “Too much singing.”
He kneels beside me, his shoulder touching mine, and I nervously adjust my hair so it falls over my face, putting a barrier between us. I run my fingers over the thick medical tomes. I stop on the anatomy textbook, remembering what happened in this room when we were seventeen.
The thought enters my head unbidden and leaves my mouth at the same time: “That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.” And then: “Shit.” I keep my sight clamped to the shelf, wanting to die in an avalanche of out-of-date science books. Sam lets out a breath that sounds a little like a laugh, and then moves my hair behind my shoulder.
“I’ve picked up one or two moves since then,” he says, his voice low and close enough that I can feel the words on my cheek. I put my hands on my thighs, where they’re safe.
“I’m sure,” I say to the books.
“Percy, can you look at me?” I close my eyes briefly but then I do, and I immediately wish I hadn’t because his gaze drops to my mouth, and when it returns to my eyes, his are dark and wanting.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” I blurt. “It should never have happened.” I fidget with the drawstring on the pants.
“Percy,” he says again, framing my face with his hands so I can’t look away from him. “I’m not sorry.”
“What did you mean when you said you’ve changed since we were young?” I ask, partially because I want to know but also because I’m stalling for time. He takes a deep breath and runs his hands down the sides of my face to grasp my neck, his thumbs tracing the curve of my jaw.
“I don’t take things for granted anymore. I don’t take people for granted. And I know time is not infinite.” He smiles softly, sadly maybe. “I think Charlie always understood that. Maybe because he was older when Dad died. He thought I was wasting time with Taylor. But I think it’s more like I’ve been following the path of least resistance.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” I ask. “To have as little friction as possible in a relationship?”
His answer is quick and sure. “No.”
“Why did you break up with her?”
“You know why.”
Instead of relief, I’m sticky with panic. I can feel my heart picking up its pace. I try to shake my head in his hands, but he holds it firmly and then slowly brings his face down to mine, pressing his mouth so gently to mine it’s barely a kiss, barely a whisper. He pulls back slightly.
“You drive me crazy, you know that? You always have.” He kisses me again with so much care I can feel my heart relax a little, like it thinks it’s safe, and my lungs must agree because I let go of a sigh. “And I never laughed with anyone like I laughed with you. I’ve never been friends with anyone like I was with you.” He takes my hands and puts them around his neck, pulling me up so we’re both kneeling. I want to tell him we need to talk before we head down this path, but he hugs me tight to his chest, and my bones and muscles and all the bits holding them together liquefy so that I melt into him.
He releases me enough to brush the hair back from my ear and whisper into it, “I’ve tried to forget about you for more than ten years, but I don’t want to try anymore.” I don’t have time to reply because his lips are on mine and his hands are in my hair, and he tastes like pizza and movie nights and resting on the sand after a long swim. He sucks on my bottom lip, and when I moan, I feel him smile against my lips.
“I think I drive you crazy, too,” he says against my mouth. I want to climb him, and consume him, and be consumed by him. I slip my hands under his shirt and over the two indentations on his lower back, bringing him harder against me. I feel his groan rather than hear it, and he pulls off his shirt, then mine, throwing them both on the floor while I stare at the expanse of tanned skin. I move my hands through the light hair on his chest and then over his stomach, memorizing every ridge.