Starry Eyes(86)

“Hey,” Lennon says in a soft voice, pulling my hand away from my stomach and threading his fingers through mine. “It’s only me.”

“Only?” I shake my head. “That’s the problem. It’s you. And me. And I just got you back. We don’t even have a plan yet for what’s going to happen when we go home. Everything could fall apart. My parents could divorce. I could be forced to move in with my dad—”

“Or things could work out just fine.”

“That’s the problem, though. Life is unpredictable, which is the worst part about it. I need dependable. I need something I can count on. And if this is terrible or weird, then—”

“Then what? How terrible could it be? I’m pretty sure I understand the basics.”

“It’s easier for you. You’re a guy. Your body isn’t a mystery.”

He considers this for a moment. “I like mysteries. I’m very good at solving mysteries.”

I hesitate. “How good?”

“Very, very good. I will not rest until a mystery is solved. I’m Nancy fucking Drew.”

My chuckle is breathy. “Oh?”

“Remember Mr. Henry’s missing tabby? Who figured out it had been catnapped by the white supremacist at the end of the cul-de-sac?”

“You did. Stop making me laugh.”

Eyes merry, he opens a camp towel and crooks a finger. I lean forward and let him dry my hair. “And who discovered that the hair salon was siphoning electricity off of the Jitterbug after the manager kept complaining about her electricity bill?”

“You did,” I murmur, head bowed. His hands feel good on my hair, and it’s giving me a really good view of his chest and arms. “Wait, we both solved that mystery. I’m the one who first said someone could be stealing their electricity.”

“But who looked up online how to do it and traced it back to the salon? Who made you sit in the alley and be my lookout while I checked the meters, and then you yelled at me because I wouldn’t let you get coffee until we were finished?”

“I didn’t yell at you.”

“You totally did,” he says, pulling the towel away and quickly rubbing it over his own wet hair until it stands up. “And it made me furious. And that was the first time I really wanted to kiss you.”

“Wait, no. That couldn’t be. We were . . .”

“Fourteen.”

“You wanted to kiss me when we were fourteen?”

“I wanted to do lots of things to you when we were fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. By the time you kissed me, I’d built a Zorie vault of sexual fantasies bigger than Fort Knox. I thought you’d never catch up to me.”

My voice fails. I’m stunned, trying to fit all of these confessions into my memories of what we were.

What we are now.

“And I know you hate my parents’ shop, and sometimes I do too,” he says, tossing the towel into the corner of the tent. “But other times, it has its advantages.”

“Besides the free condoms?”

“Besides that,” he says, a sly smile lifting his lips. “You’d be surprised what I’ve learned. Customers are surprisingly specific, and you would not believe the shit they tell you. Anything you can imagine that could go wrong—or right—someone else has probably had that happen to them, too.”

“Um . . .”

“What I’m saying is, all bodies are weird. Throw whatever mystery you have at me. Let me help you solve it.”

“It’s not that I can’t solve it by myself. I just want to make that clear.”

“This is the best conversation we’ve ever had, by the way. And I’m definitely adding an image of you solving your own mysteries to the ol’ vault for later—”

“Oh my God,” I murmur, mildly horrified.

“But right now, wouldn’t it be more fun to team up and solve crime together?”

“I’m worried it could be bad or awkward,” I say in a small voice.

“I’ve worried about that too,” he says, running the backs of his fingers along my shoulder, down my arm, following the path he’s tracing with his eyes. “This isn’t nothing. This isn’t not serious. It’s big. It’s epic.”

“It’s you and me,” I say.

He nods. “But after last night out on that hill, and then just now, out there?”

“We’re so good together,” I agree, opening my hand when he runs his finger over my knuckles. “Right?”

“We are goddamn amazing. We’re a rocket ship filled with potential. Either we die in a fiery blaze before we leave the Earth’s atmosphere, or we make it through and orbit the moon.”

“If you’re trying to seduce me with space stuff, it’s totally working.”

His smile is divine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to try?”

I nod slowly. “I think so.”

“You sure?”

Yeah. I actually am. “Fly me to the moon.”

Rain drums against the tent as he pulls me closer, and we sink into the sleeping bags. Mouth on mouth, hip on hip, heartbeat on heartbeat. We’re less desperate than we were outside, more aware of each other. It’s a fervent awareness, both nervous and thrilling, and when we remove the last layers of our clothes, he steadily talks to me in a calm, low voice, and I follow it like a lighthouse beacon.