The Speed of Light: A Novel(22)

“Intramural football.”

I’m enjoying Harper’s snark.

Her husband laughs. “Hey, it impressed you, didn’t it?” She rolls her eyes but smiles when he kisses her cheek. “Anyway, we all used to hang out in college, sometimes double-date—you know.”

The silence is definitely awkward, and they both dart wide eyes at Connor. He chuckles, though I notice a quick flash of pain in his eyes. “Guys, it’s okay. I’m sure Simone won’t be offended to learn I dated someone during college.”

They laugh, too, and soon we’re chattering again. Maybe it’s the wine or the fact that Harper is hilarious now as she continues to rip on Jason, but I’m at ease.

When her wine is gone, they exchange a look and then stand. Jason claps his hands. “Well, Simone, it’s been great. But my wife here has to get up tonight with a toddler who refuses to sleep through the night.” Harper glares at him. “Okay, okay, we need to get up with her. Anyway, happy New Year.”

“You too.”

To my surprise, Harper squeezes my hand. “It really was great to meet you. Hope to see you again soon.” Then she and Jason disappear into the throng of people.



The crowd thins the closer it gets to midnight. Turns out O’Malley’s is not the kind of place hip young people ring in the New Year, but that’s fine by me. The more people leave, the more Connor and I can hear each other talk.

“Favorite Star Wars movie?” he asks.

I take a sip of wine and set my glass down with a thud. “Wow, that’s like asking parents to choose between children or something.”

He laughs. “Well, my brother, Cam, loved Rogue One.”

“Great movie.” I nod. “But so sad. They were doomed from the beginning.”

He shrugs. “Cam always said they fulfilled their mission. ‘Without their sacrifice, the dark side would’ve won.’ He thought it was the most meaningful, I guess.”

Wine flushes my face and drives my hand forward as I squeeze his arm. “I’m sorry.”

He flashes a crooked smile. “No worries.” Then he clears his throat. “Hey, I was wondering, though, how everything, you know, was going.”

I blink, pull my hand away, and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Um, fine, I guess. How about you?”

“I’m great,” he says quickly. There’s a beat of silence, and awkwardness starts to creep in. Then he cocks his head toward the dance floor and holds out his hand. “Dance with me?”

I smile, any awkwardness dissipating as I let him lead me to the dance floor. It’s not as packed as before—only a few groups of friends dancing together under the kaleidoscopic light of a disco ball. The song is a fast, driving dance mix, and I lean toward Connor to speak above the music. “This is a bit different from last time!”

He winks down at me. “I guess no swing dancing tonight, huh?”

I laugh, and although being out on a dance floor like this would normally give me all kinds of social anxiety—since my sense of rhythm resembles that of a malfunctioning robot—tonight I just let go, my confidence fueled by the wine and Connor’s smile, fixed on me.

I’ve finally found my groove when the music slows, falling back into an old ballad: “At Last.” Connor places a hand on my waist, tentative but strong. He holds out his other hand and I take it, my other settling on his shoulder. Our bodies fold closer together as the music croons around us, smooth as silk, pulsing through the dance floor, through my entire body. Soon my arms are wrapped around his neck, while his surround my waist. My head leans in to his chest; his heart beats in my ear. I close my eyes, melt into this moment.

“Okay, everybody!” The muffled voice blares out of nowhere, and I crank my head around in surprise. The DJ with his goofy “Happy New Year” headband grins into his microphone, on the other side of the dance floor. “It’s almost midnight.”

The music cuts out, replaced by a drumroll as the DJ leads the crowd in a countdown from thirty. Connor and I have pulled apart, but he hasn’t let go of my hand.

Twenty, nineteen, eighteen . . .

Should I kiss him, right here in the bar? I haven’t thought this through. The drumroll continues around me, the seconds ticking by.

Ten, nine, eight . . .

No—it’s too awkward to do it here, right? Our first kiss should be somewhere else, shouldn’t it?

Five, four, three . . .

I mean, I want to kiss him, but what if he doesn’t want to kiss me?

Two, one . . .

As the DJ booms “Happy New Year!” into the microphone, Connor leans down and plants a kiss on my lips, soft and quick.

Perfect.



The kisses we share in front of my apartment door are even better, and now my hands are on his neck; his are in my hair. I pull back to come up for air. “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“Me too.” His voice is husky, and he leans forward for another kiss.

We’re wrapped together for several more seconds, pressed up against my door, and the words float inside my head as if I’m trying them out. Seeing how they fit. Why don’t you come inside?

He pulls back, leans an arm onto the drab tan wall of the hallway outside my apartment. “I suppose I should get going.”

We stare at each other as a deep bass booms through the wall of an apartment down the hall, faint party chatter echoing within. Finally, the angel on my shoulder squashes out its counterpart—Take it slow, she advises—and I give a reluctant nod.