SEXT

We emerge from the theater into the night, streetlights bright around us. That’s always a surreal experience in New York, the way that even late at night, on busy streets like this, it still looks like broad daylight. We wander along the street hand-in-hand, appreciating the storefronts we pass along our stroll. Zayne suggests ice cream, so we pop into a small shop for cones, which we enjoy as we continue our walk. Then we trade licks of one another’s cones, and burst into laughter again as we fail at holding the cones steady, and smear ice cream on each other’s noses.

Zayne cups my cheek, turns my face to his, and licks the ice cream straight off my nose without hesitation. I laugh and pull away, blushing. But whereas that would normally embarrass me on a date with any other guy, with Zayne it feels normal. Natural. I don’t care what anyone else who sees us might think about us, because we’re the only two whose opinions matter.

I can’t remember the last time I felt like that around someone. Maybe never.

“Where next?” he asks when we deposit our ice cream soaked napkins into the trash can.

“The park?” I suggest with a shrug. It’s still early enough that Central Park is full of activity, lights brightening paths, and couples strolling through in every direction, hands clasped.

“Maybe we can find a dark corner to sneak off into,” he agrees with a wink, and there’s that blush again. Damn him. My face is going to catch on fire if he makes me blush anymore.

We head into the park, and breathe in the cool evening air, scented with flowers and freshly cut grass and the faint whiff of waffle cone trucks packing up for the night. We stick to a path with some pedestrian traffic, some couples, dog walkers, and us, meandering slowly through Central Park. Still, something gives me the chills, makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand up and a faint shiver run through me.

Zayne senses it and pulls me closer to his side. “Cold?”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing.” I let my head fall back and gaze at the stars above to distract myself from this odd chill. “So, tell me about yourself. What’s the real Zayne like, what makes him tick?”

He laughs. “I think you already know that.” His grip tightens around me, protective and possessive all at once. “You learned how to push my buttons far too quickly, Clove.”

I grin. “Maybe. But I don’t know all of them. I mean, what about your family, for instance? Are you guys close? Who are they?”

“They’re great. My dad’s an auto mechanic, my mom stayed at home with me until I was in high school, then went to work as a secretary in a law firm. They’ve been together since they were in college.”

“They sound nice.”

“They’re probably the other reason I hadn’t dated much before. I’m picky, because…” He hesitates, and now it’s my turn to squeeze my arm around him tighter, reassuring. “I want what they have. A real partner. Someone who matches me. You don’t find that just anywhere.”

I can feel a smile spreading across my face as I lean my head against his shoulder. “Oh trust me, I know.”

“When I dated my ex, I think it was just… I was lonely and sick of waiting for the right person. I thought I could make this girl into the right partner since she cared about me. So I thought. But she didn’t really care about me—not the real me. She just wanted to be with a guy, any guy, and she just projected who she wanted me to be on me.”

I can feel myself nodding in sympathy. I’d dated guys like that. Not for long, but I knew all too well how it felt to have someone date you because they wanted to change you, not because they truly appreciated you for who you were.

“But the best relationships are the ones where you can be yourself. Because that’s who the other person wants. The real you.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” I tilt my head back to catch his eye and feel another flash of gratitude. Even given everything that’s gone wrong, all the drama we’ve been through, I don’t regret meeting Zayne. Or, well, not meeting him—finally seeing him for the first time. This feels like a beginning. The start of something real. And as far as I can tell, he feels that too.

He leans in, and when we kiss this time, it’s slow, both of us savoring the moment. Our lips touch, part, and close again as we sink into one another. I could kiss him forever. His lips are so soft, his cheeks a tad scratchy with stubble, his hands strong yet gentle as he traces them up my back to pull my body against his.