What If It's Us(79)

“I am sometimes—”

“No, you’re not. You’re so—you’re just good. Do you even see it? We’re not even on speaking terms, and you drop everything to be there at the hospital with me.”

“Well, I really like you,” I blurt. “And I like us. Even if we are a hot mess as a couple.”

He hugs me sideways. “I like us, too. And I feel really lucky to have you, even as a friend.”

I stop short. Record scratch. “As a friend?”

“Well, I thought . . . I didn’t want to assume anything?”

“Excuse me, we are not platonic bros, Ben Alejo.”

“Okay then.”

“And when we get back to my apartment, we are not going to do platonic-bro things.”

“Good to know.” He bites his lip. “So we’re . . . boyfriends again?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” I nod, beaming. “This is a really great birthday.”

“For you or Obama?”

“Both!”

“Okay, one more thing,” Ben says. “I just want you to know I’m going to be open with you about stuff from now on. I’m not going to sugarcoat.”

“I like that. Totally open. Me too.”

“I don’t think you could be closed off if you tried.”

“You don’t know me.” I swat him, but he just laughs and wraps his arms around my waist.

“Here’s the thing,” he says. “I’m not going to pretend this Hudson stuff isn’t confusing, because it is. But I just want you to know that the way I feel about you? Isn’t confusing.”

“And how do you feel?”

“I mean—”

“Tell me in Spanish again, okay?”

He laughs. “Okay.”

“But—”

But then he kisses me right here on Columbus Avenue, and I forget what I’m saying. I forget how to speak.

The next hour is a blur, in the best possible way. Ben insists on a quick detour to Levain Bakery, where he skips all the bullshit and orders the biggest, warmest double-chocolate-chip cookie ever made. “Your favorite.”

“How did you know that?”

“I just know.” He insists on treating me—and he looks so pleased with himself that I don’t even protest. He holds my hand the whole way home, and when the elevator door closes, we’re kissing. When it opens again, we’re kissing. I kiss him while I root in my pocket for my keys, and I kiss him in the doorway, and I kiss him in our foyer. We shove the bags on the dining room table, and we kiss beneath Uncle Milton’s horses. You’d think I’d be tired of kissing right now. You’d think I’d get distracted, but I’ve never been more focused in my whole entire life.

I just love this. Every part of it. The hitch in his breath and his slightly swollen lips and knowing I’m the one who made both of those things happen. I love the way the spaces between our bodies vanish, like we can’t be close enough. I love the feeling of my hands in his hair. I love the softness of the nape of his neck. And most of all, I love it when our lips are touching and our mouths slide open and my heart’s a mile a minute, and breath becomes something we share. I’ve spent my whole life thinking talking was the best thing I could do with my mouth, but maybe talking’s overrated. Mouth is still the best organ, though. Hands down.

“What do you think is happening”—I kiss him gently—“at the Obama party right now?”

He kisses me back. “Probably this.”

It’s strange that you can laugh against another person’s lips. “Barack and Michelle?”

“Barack and Trudeau.” He kisses me again.

“With Joe watching wistfully.”

“So wistfully.”

My phone starts buzzing in my back pocket, which is currently right underneath Ben’s palm.

“Someone’s calling you,” he says.

“Let’s ignore it.”

“No. No way. Last time I ignored a phone call, Dylan was—”

“Sheesh. Okay.” I pull it out and peer at the screen. “It’s my dad.”

Ben kisses me quickly. “Answer it.”

“Hi, Dad.” I sound breathless and guilty. I sound exactly like a boy who’s been making out with his boyfriend in an empty apartment.

“How’s the birthday going?” he says.

“Great.”

Ben keeps his eyes fixed on mine.

“I miss you, bud. I’m eating cake tonight in your honor.”

“Cool.”

“I got them to put your name on it, too, and now I’m like, why don’t I always do this? You don’t have to wait for a birthday. I’m going to start going once a week and giving the bakery guys some random name, and voilà.”

“Great idea, Dad.”

“So what have you been up to?”

“Not much.” I shake my head slowly. “Actually, Dad, this is kind of a bad—”

“Wait, I’ll let you go! But I just wanted to let you know your present from Mom and me just got delivered. It’s waiting for you now in the lobby.”

Ben just watches me, smiling.