Either way—
I have tea.
I have today.
I can hang out on the couch with Holden.
Or drag him to my bed.
Or jump into the ocean.
Or whisper my secrets in his ear.
The world is full of possibilities.
After I go through my morning routine, I change into a cute sundress and I head downstairs.
He’s in the kitchen, fixing a mug of tea, one eye on the pot of oatmeal on the stove.
“Hey.” He turns to me with a megawatt smile. It’s pure Holden. The guy I’ve known for… it feels like it’s been forever. Maybe it has. Since he and Oliver started at the same high school. How long was that? Six years? Seven? Eight?
“Hey.” My chest warms. This is just so… easy. How can anything be this easy? “Is there one for me?” I motion to his mug.
“Not yet.” He takes a sip. Lets out an over-the-top sigh. Makes a point of holding the tea close to his chest.
“Cruel.”
“Is it?”
I nod.
“How’s that?”
“You’re showing me this perfect, beautiful thing I could have. Then denying me.”
“Sounds kinky.”
My cheeks flush.
“You into that?”
“Into…” I want to play coy. To convince him I’m less clueless than I am. But I’m really not sure what he means.
“Edging?”
“Edging?”
He chuckles fuck, you’re adorable. “If I pushed you against the wall, slipped my hand between your legs, and worked you until you were right. On. The. Brink.”
I swallow hard.
“Then kept you there until you were begging me.”
“Oh.”
“Then kept you there a little longer.”
“That… uh…”
“Not usually my thing.” His eyes pass over me slowly. They stop on the sweetheart neckline of my dress. My waist. My hips. My thighs. “I don’t get off on… well, I guess you could say I get off on getting you off.”
“How can something sound so hot and so cheesy at the same time?”
“It’s pure skill.”
“It must be.”
He motions come here.
I close the distance between us.
He sets the mug on the counter behind me. Wraps his arms around me. Pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.
Mmm, he tastes good. Like cinnamon and honey and Holden.
My hands go to his waist reflexively. The soft fabric of his t-shirt. Then under it.
Soft skin over hard muscles.
All the warmth of him.
The feel of his heart pounding against his chest.
The soft pressure of his palm against my lower back.
His hands in my hair.
This is better than a chai latte. Than a perfect English Breakfast.
Hell, it’s better than discovering the perfect book. Or listening to my favorite album. Or dancing all night.
He pulls back with a sigh. Cups my face with his palm. Stares into my eyes. “You need to go easy on me, kid.”
“I do?”
He nods yeah. “I have the best of intentions.”
“To…”
“Show you a great last day. Whatever you want.”
“What if I want to take you to my bedroom?”
“Keep doing what you’re doing.”
My smile spreads a little wider. “Maybe we… uh… Can we do that?”
“Can we do what?” He plays dumb. Reaches behind his back. Grabs the mug of tea. “Fix chai lattes?”
I shake my head.
He motions to the pot on the stove. “Eat cinnamon raisin oatmeal?”
“No.”
“Hmm…” He makes a show of pushing his lips to one side. Tapping his forehead. Looking to the ceiling for answers. “Listen to eighties music?”
“Well… that could be part of it.”
“Read our poetry?”
“God no.”
“Read someone else’s poetry. I asked Luna for recs.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.” His eyes meet mine. “I had to write the names down. I only recognized two of them.”
“She knows my favorites.”
“It’s quite a list.”
“I’m really not… that pretentious.”
He raises a brow you sure about that?
“Honestly, I’d rather listen to a Lorde song than recite Adrienne Rich.”
“Who?”
“She’s a… Oh, that’s your point.”
He nods yeah.
“I mean, I did have to study all that stuff last year. For AP Language. We did a poem analysis every week.”
“How did that go?”
“We’d copy the poem on one side of the paper.” I fold an invisible piece of paper. Draw a line over the left side. “Then we’d write our thoughts on the right. It was short and sweet. The first thing that came to mind. And I… I loved it. It was my favorite thing we did.”
“More than—what the fuck do you do in—” He raises his voice to something prim and proper. “Advanced Placement Language.”
“Advanced Placement Language and Composition. If you want to get technical.” My laugh is light. Easy. “We read a lot of books. Wrote a lot of essays about them. Then more essays. Essay tests. Short answer tests. More short passages. More novels.”
“You love reading?”
“Is that not obvious?”
He holds up his thumb and forefinger a little. “You don’t talk about it.”
“Well, uh… no offense, Holden, but you don’t seem like the literary type.”
He feigns insult. “How dare you.”
“Oh? You finished Catch-22 last night? Heart of Darkness the night before? Writing a blog series about war in literature?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Can I read it?”
“Of course. But it’s all about The Hunger Games.”