In A Holidaze(58)

I hear Andrew strumming his guitar from outside, and reach up, knocking tentatively. “It’s me.”

He gives an immediate “Come in.”

The sun wanes, dropping behind the mountain, casting the Boathouse in an eerie twilight shadow when I step inside.

“Hey. I’ve been hoping you’d come soon.”

Relief blooms in me. “Hey.”

He sets his guitar down near the cot and walks over. I Cupping my face, he leans in and kisses me so intensely the world around us goes milky. “You had a rough afternoon,” he says once he’s pulled away.

“Yeah, I was hoping to explain a little about—”

“You were almost killed twice in five minutes,” he says. “Any of us would have been freaked, too. I was worried, Mae.”

I kiss him for that; even though he doesn’t know or probably believe what’s really happening to me, he isn’t leaving me hanging in this emotional skydive.

He reaches up, pushing my coat from my shoulders in a way that reads hungry and ready. It is exactly the distraction I need. We move through the room, leaving a path of discarded clothing: boots, socks, shirts, pants, bra . . . shivering, we dive into the sleeping bags together.

He’s already hard, and comes over me with a groan of relief, his face pressed into my neck. “I’m so glad you’re okay. This has been the longest day of my entire life.”

Andrew reaches down and unzips the two bags, opening one side so that he can toss it open like a blanket. I catch a glint in his eye when he looks up at me briefly, but it’s dark so it takes me a few seconds to realize what’s happening.

He kisses down my neck, across my chest—lingering— down over my stomach and hips, and then his kiss is there, vibrating with the sound he makes. I throw an arm across my eyes, wanting to block out everything except the way he wraps his arms around my hips, the way his fingers dig into my delicate skin.

I’m never good at shutting off my own brain, and the past few days—today especially—I’ve been a mess of nerves and confusion. Even right now, when it’s nearly impossible to let any other thought in but how good it feels, I’ve still got that tenderness at the edge—the fear that somehow this is all going to go away and I’ll wake up on the plane with these deep, real emotions that only I remember.

Falling apart with a cry, I reach for him, urging him up and over me. He rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth, impatient hands shaking, and only seconds later we’re moving together and he’s pressing a groan into my neck. I wonder if, now that I’ve managed to restart time, I can figure out how to stop it, because I never want this night to end. I want it to go on and on forever. I want him to never get enough of me. But then Andrew is moving faster, and his breath goes jagged, and the muscles of his shoulders bunch tightly under my hands. He says my name on an exhale and shakes over me.

Going still, he breathes in uneven bursts against my neck. “I’ve loved you my whole life, but this new thing . . .” He sucks in a deep breath. “It’s amazing and scary.”

When he says this, it feels like having a drink on an empty stomach: a shot of heat straight down the middle of my body, followed by the sensation of being immediately tipsy.

And then a ringing screams in my head. I can’t have heard him right.

I start to panic.

Catching his breath, Andrew pulls back and looks down at me. I can’t see his expression very well; it’s dark and my vision is blurry, but I feel the weight of his gaze. “You okay?”

I nod.

He lets out a little laugh and rolls beside me. “Shit. Sorry. It was too much. I ruined the moment.”

“No, you didn’t.” The problem isn’t what he said—I wanted him to say that, of course I did—it’s that I’m suddenly unable to imagine a situation where I can keep him, where this won’t all go away in the next second, or the one after that, or later tonight, or first thing tomorrow. I have no control over anything anymore, and it feels how I imagine jumping from a plane without a parachute might feel.

“It’s not okay,” he says, pushing up onto his elbow to hover over me. “I can tell it upset you.”

“It didn’t upset me. I want to hear you say that.”

He laughs again, for real this time. “Clearly. You’ve suddenly turned into Robot Mae.”

“Are you kidding?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. “I’ve wanted you my entire life. There is literally nothing I want to hear more than that you feel the same way. I promise.” I take a deep, shaking breath. “But I really need to tell you something hard, and I’m not sure where to start.”

He pauses, and I feel the realization as it passes over him. “Do you have a boyfriend back in California?”

“What? Of course I don’t.”

He deflates in relief. His mouth comes over mine in the dark, and I chase it, pushing up and over him, suddenly wanting to wash away my anguish with the feeling I love most in the world right now, which is having Andrew all to myself.

“Hey, hey.” His hands come to my shoulders, and he coaxes me back and away. He’s nothing but a series of angles and shadows in the darkness. “Is this about the Groundhog Day dream Benny was talking about?”

“Do you remember when I got here,” I say, “and I ran into the house like a crazy person? I told Kennedy not to trip over Miso, I told Dad not to eat the cookie. I went through the thing about Theo’s hair being fine, about your dad and the gin. All of that?”