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“And then?” Her question relaxes her features, disclosing emotions other than irritation at my obtuseness. Indulgence. Affection. Maybe even pride.
“I’ll stay in Ohio. My lab will be close to the Air Force Base in Dayton. I can easily commute from Columbus.”
“Declan will be happy to hear that you’re staying. Have you told him?”
“He’s the only one I talked to when considering the offer. He’s supportive, although he isn’t crazy about me contributing to arms technology.”
Her phone pings. “Shawna is asking if she should pick me up now,” she declares while looking at the message.
“You decide. But if you let me, I’d like to be the one to take you home. Later.”
“Don’t you have to see your friends?”
I shrug because they’re the last thing on my mind.
“What would it mean for me to stay, Bryce?”
And there it is. The million-dollar question that had been haunting me even before we kissed. I want to say: It would mean everything. My entire life would change course to keep you in it.
That’s probably coming on too strong, so I hold back.
“We’ll hang out for as long as you want. Maybe grab some of that shrimp you love from Meadowlark. I’d love to listen to your plans for California while I answer questions you might have about my new job. We would talk.”
“That’s it?”
The words inject hope into my bloodstream. “What else do you want?” I ask, bending down.
The aroma of honeyed skin awakens my body. I speak into her ear, indulging in a single nudge against her black mane.
“Tell me, Ana. Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”
Ana turns her head, our lips almost touching. “I don’t know, exactly. But, after what happened, maybe we can do more than talk? Or not.”
Her hesitation inspires a mixed reaction from me: I relish the longing in her words but hate that she feels any discomfort or shyness at all.
“We haven’t fully talked about what happened.”
She blinks and blushes. Yet underneath the innocence of youth is the growing determination of a woman.
“We kissed the other night. Can we do that?”
“Yes, if you want to.”
“I want to.”
My arms wrap around her waist. Ana rises on tiptoe, brushing her pebbled nipples against my shirt. Her soft lips press against mine, her aroma of sweet skin and minty breath stoking my fiery hunger. But I control myself, indulging in a soft press of our closed mouths.
It takes everything not to grab her hair and plunder her depths with a real kiss. But it’s worth every effort to savor her slowly. To nip her bottom lip and hear her gasp in surprise; to lightly suction her tongue so she wiggles and moans with yearning; to entangle our mouths in the perfect give and take.
If I were a poet, I’d write something about this moment. How Ana’s mouth feels like destiny. Verse after verse about her perfect lips. Flowery language about pleasure and purpose. Meaning of life, and all that.
But I’m no poet. I’m a man who realizes how fucked he is because getting what he wants gives him no satisfaction. It only fuels something that’s already out of control. Our kiss isn’t a spark of something new. It’s the unleashing of a forest fire strong enough to destroy everything in its wake.
Being with Ana might feel like salvation, but my obsession with her damns us both.
She pulls away, panting. I hadn’t been allowing her to breathe, greedy bastard that I am.
“Will you be back for my graduation?” she asks, still catching her breath.
