The Unhoneymooners

These words are spoken into the sensitive skin behind my ear; the particular Olive-and-Ethan brand of compliment blows through me, soft and seductive. Ethan’s reaction to me at the wedding gave no indication he thought anything other than that I was a short green satin troll. “I’m still rewiring that

aspect of things.”

“I always assumed my attraction was obvious. I wanted to translate your frowns and find out what your problem with me was and then bend you over the back of my couch.”

All of my internal organs turn to goo at his words. I work to remain upright, letting my head fall back into the crook of his neck.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he reminds me quietly.

I bite back a smile at his persistence. “Is this just a fling?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine with a fling, I guess, but I want to know so I can figure out how to handle it once we’re home.”

“You mean whether or not you’ll tell Dane?” I ask carefully.

“I mean whether I’ll need some time to get over you.”

This corkscrews an ache through my heart. I turn my head so that I can meet his kiss as he bends to deliver it and let the feeling of relief and hunger wash over me. I try to imagine seeing Ethan at Ami and Dane’s house, keeping my distance, and not wanting to touch him like this.

I can’t. Even in my imagination it’s impossible.

“I’m not entirely done with whatever this is,” I admit. “Even if it is a fling, it doesn’t feel—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—flung.” I grin up at him and he groans.

“That was almost as bad as your ‘on the cuff’ line at the wedding.”

“I knew that would hold a special place in your memory.”

Ethan bares his teeth on my neck, growling.

“So, I guess what I’m saying is,” I begin, and then take a deep breath like I’m about to jump off a cliff into a pool of dark water, “if you wanted to keep seeing each other once we’re home, I wouldn’t be totally opposed.”

His mouth moves up my neck, sucking. His hand slides beneath my jacket and shirt, coming to a warm stop over my breastbone. “Yeah?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I like it.” He kisses along my jaw to my mouth. “I think this means I get to do this even after our fake honey­moon is over.”

I arch into his palm, urging it over with my own hand until he’s cupping my breast. But with a frustrated growl, Ethan pulls his fingers back down to my stomach. “I wish we’d had this conversation back at the room.”

“Me too.” Because we definitely can’t fool around now: the sun isn’t visible yet, but it’s off the horizon, lighting the sky a million shades of orange, red, purple, and blue.

“Did we just decide something?” he asks.

I squeeze my eyes closed, grinning. “I think so.”

“Good. Because I’m sort of crazy about you.”

Holding my breath, I quietly admit, “I’m crazy about you, too.”

I know, if I turned back to look at his face, he’d be smiling. I feel it in the way the band of his arms tightens around me.

We watch together as the sky continues to transform every few seconds, an unreal canvas changing constantly in front of us. It makes me feel like a little girl again, and instead of imagining a castle in the sky, I’m living in it; truly the only thing we can see all around us is this dramatic, painted sky.

The gathered audience falls into a unified silence, and my own spell is broken only when the sun is high and bright and the mass of bodies begins to shift in preparation to leave. I don’t want to leave. I want to sit right here, leaning against Ethan, for eternity.