“You know,” I say, sitting on his lap and snuggling into the clean scent of him, “it’s funny we’re talking about being out together in the future since I could’ve sworn you didn’t even like me in the beginning. You barely spoke to me and seemed irritated when you had to.”
“Growing up, was there ever a boy who called you names, pulled your hair, and then tried to kiss you behind the sliding board on the playground?”
“Yeah, because it’s never too early for toxic masculinity.”
His face falls, and then he grins. “I was gonna say it’s kinda like that, but never mind.”
We laugh and eat bar food and drink, though I stick to water. Especially given the rash I found on my arms and legs, and the spots on my scalp, I’m staying away from alcohol. I get one glass of champagne to ring in the New Year, but that’s it. I’ll schedule a video call appointment with Dr. Ansford when we get back. I can’t afford my body to start acting up now.
I shove those worries into my not right now, can’t you see I’m partying box, and indulge in another hour of dancing, food, and the most stimulating conversation I’ve ever had. I’ve felt indifferent for so long, with no guy really holding my interest. Canon is like a supernova when you’ve been staring up at an empty, starless sky, and I cannot get enough of him. Even in the crowd, it feels intimate as we quiz each other with any and every question that comes to mind.
There’s an anonymity in this partying press of bodies, and I take advantage of it, resting on Canon’s chest, reaching up to caress his neck, kissing his chin. It’s that much sweeter because I’m not sure when we’ll get to be this open again. I pour my affection, my desire into every look and every gesture for the next few hours, and Canon reciprocates, not holding back how much he wants me.
“At this rate,” he says against my lips as we sway on the dance floor, “you won’t even want to kiss at midnight.”
We are lost in this writhing congregation of dancers, and I reach between us to grip his cock through his jeans. “This is where I want to kiss you at midnight.”
I pull on him and slip my hand beneath his T-shirt, grazing my nails down his back. He shudders, the response reverberating into my chest, and clenches his eyes shut.
“You win,” he says, resting his temple against mine. “Let’s get out of here and go home. There are better ways to bring in the New Year.”
He leads me off the dance floor and down to the water’s edge. The house is about a mile up the shoreline, and I’m glad we walked.
We take off our shoes and venture close enough for the cool waves to lap at our feet. Several other couples shunned the waterfront party for the serenity of the beach, and we smile at them as we go, wishing each other a Happy New Year, even though we’re still shy of midnight. It’s an evening made of champagne, moonlight and new beginnings.
“I know you need to get back tomorrow and start preparing to shoot,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. “But—”
“I was thinking leisurely breakfast in bed.” He stops on the beach, turning me into his arms and kissing the top of my head. “And take our time getting on the road.”
“That sounds perfect.” I grip his shoulders, nearly drunk on the ocean breeze and him. I don’t care that we’re still minutes from midnight. I want another kiss right now because life is short and fickle. I want to take life—to take him as my own at least for now. I fill my hands with this moment until it runs over, spilling into a desperate kiss with the ocean licking at our heels and the night still waiting.
“Canon?”
His name being called is like a scratch across a classic record, and so out of place in this alternate universe, that for a moment, neither of us moves.
“Canon?” a woman asks a second time.
Canon’s head snaps around. We turn to greet the woman standing in our path, holding a man’s hand on one side and a dog’s leash on the other.
“I thought that was you earlier.” Her smile widens. “Didn’t I say it looked like Canon, Ralph?”
For his part, Ralph looks self-conscious, recognizing he’s interrupted an intimate moment. His companion, however, is too obtuse or too rude to keep it moving.
“Well, it’s dark,” Ralph mumbles. “So I wasn’t sure.”
It is dark, but there are some lights on the beach, and the glow of moonlight reveals a middle-aged woman with silver hair. I can’t make out the color of her eyes, but I know that as they flick between Canon and me, they are curious.