Space (Laws of Physics #2)(70)

I’d had sexual contact with men without being in a relationship. In fact, I’d never been in a romantic, committed relationship, so this—with Abram—should be easy. I’d done it before. Why not with Abram? It made so much sense.

I’m going to do this.

But just like those encounters, what I needed from Abram was his explicit consent. Of course, first I would define my expectations and boundaries, he would define his expectations and boundaries, and then we’d enter into our brief arrangement fully informed. Perfect!

Consent was good. Consent saved people heartache. It removed doubt and disorder and hopefully would dispel this nebulous agitation.

Good. This is good. Good plan.

Movement in the corner of my vision caught my attention and I turned my head. As though I’d conjured him, Abram was there, walking toward me, his hands in his jacket pockets, a lazy smile on his face.

Goodness. I sighed.

I watched him come, enjoying every movement of his body, every moment of his approach. I took a greedy snapshot, saving the image for later, when I needed it.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice still sounding sandpapery with sleep. Abram sat next to me in the snow and immediately leaned close to give me a kiss, his hand fisting in my coat to tug and hold me closer.

When our mouths met, he tasted like mint, and his beard tickled my cold face, and warm lips were soon replaced with hot tongue, and that’s when my body decided to climb onto his lap. Lifting to one knee, I straddled him, grabbing the front of his coat like he’d done with mine, tugging and holding him closer.

Yeah. We made out in the snow. I felt him grow hard beneath me, through underwear and snow pants and maybe leggings. It frustrated me. Unlike my bathing suit, there were too many layers to yield any real friction or satisfaction. But his mouth made up for the constraints of my clothes, the heat of it moving from my lips to my jaw to my neck to my ear, increasing the temperature of my entire body, my breath hitching, my mind frenzied.

And then, just like he’d done in the pool and in the kitchen yesterday, he stopped. He breathed against my neck for several seconds, sending ticklish shivers racing along my clothed skin, and his hands were gripping me through my puffy coat. Even with the fabric and feathers between his fingers and my body, I felt the strength of him, of them, how he held me.

“Thank you for the note,” he said, his voice strained.

He was still hard, pressing against my inner thigh. The man’s self-control was impressive, and frustrating.

“You didn’t burn it?” I took a deep breath, inhaling his delectable scent, and then leaned back to look at his face.

Abram was smiling. “You told me not to. You wrote DO NOT BURN on the outside of the envelope.”

Delighted with his grin, without considering my words I said, “I missed your smile. It’s infinite-dimensional.” That wasn’t even the right way to express the concept, but my ability to form words, coherent, intelligent phrases, didn’t feel necessary at present.

His smile grew, and he laughed. “Infinite-dimensional?”

“Oh yes. Thank you for it.” I moved my arms to twist around his neck. “And I missed it, a lot. Your smiles in photos—and even when I first arrived—they weren’t. But this one, up close, and without meanness, definitely is.”

“My smiles were mean?”

“Yes. Since we’re talking about it, I also remember you being funnier,” I teased.

“What?” He continued to grin at me, sounding mock-offended.

“You’re not a very funny person anymore.”

“How can you say I’m not funny? You were begging me yesterday to stop telling jokes.”

“Yes, but those were Chuck Norris jokes. Those are universally funny.” Now I was laughing.

Abram flashed his teeth, making a face like a snarl. “Is this a mean smile? How can a smile be mean?”

“I don’t know, but it’s something you’ve perfected. Mean smiles, no jokes, broody eyebrows. You’re like an arthouse movie but without the nudity.”

He laughed, hard, at that, and so did I, loving his face right now. I decided I loved his face best when he laughed.

Eventually, tilting his head to the side, he said, “Well, I can fix that.”

“Good. Because, like I said, I really miss your smile. And you—”

“I meant the nudity.”

I barked a laugh, and his answering chuckle sounded low and sinister.

“Very funny,” I said, shaking my head at him. “Now you’re a comedian.”

He smiled, just a small one, but my heart lifted at the sight. Though it was small, it looked meaningful, intentional, like a gift just for me. My breath caught and, again, I sighed.

“Am I smiling?” he asked, his eyes on my lips. “Is it mean?”

“No,” I responded, dazed. “It’s a good one.” It was the best. I took another greedy snapshot, saving the image for later.

When I needed it.





17





Selected Radioactive Isotopes





*Mona*





We made snow angels. Together. It was fun. His were huge.

He’d also brought food with him in a bag I hadn’t noticed earlier. My Abram-tunnel vision was apparently a strong force.