November 9: A Novel (18 page)

A loud knock prevents his lips from reaching me and his attention moves to the door. It swings open and Ian walks in, looks at me and then does a double take.

He points at me, but is looking at Ben. “There’s a chick in your bed.”

We both sit up. When we do, Ian cocks his head, narrowing his eyes in my direction. “Wait. I’ve met you before. Fallon, right?”

I won’t lie; it feels good that his brother remembers me. Not that my face is one a person easily forgets. But he didn’t have to remember my name and he did, so that can only mean that girls aren’t in Ben’s bed very often.

“It was nice of you to come,” Ian says. “You hungry? Came up to let Ben know that dinner’s on the table.”

Ben groans as he scoots off the bed. “Let me guess. Casserole?”

Ian shakes his head. “Tate was craving pizza, so we ordered delivery.”

“Thank God.” Ben pulls me up. “Let’s go eat.”

“Let me get this straight,” Miles says, looking at me and Fallon from across the table. “You blocked each other on social media. You don’t know each other’s phone numbers, so no contact whatsoever. But you’ve met up every year since you were eighteen?”

“Crazy, huh?” Fallon says, lowering her glass to the table.

“It’s a little bit like
Sleepless in Seattle
,” Tate says.

I immediately shake my head. “It’s nothing like that. They only agreed to meet up once.”

“True. It’s like
One Day
, then. That movie with Anne Hathaway?”

Again, I dismiss her comparison. “That just focuses on one particular day every year, but the two people still interact throughout the year like normal. Fallon and I have no contact.” I don’t know why I’m being so defensive. I think writers just naturally become defensive when their ideas are compared to other ideas, even if it’s done innocently. But mine and Fallon’s story is one-of-a-kind, and I feel somewhat protective of it.
Very
protective of it, actually.

“When will you stop? Or do you plan on doing this for the rest of your lives?”

Fallon glances at me and smiles. “We stop when we’re twenty-three.”

“Why twenty-three?” Ian asks.

Fallon answers the next few questions being fired at us, so I use the opportunity to excuse myself from the conversation to refill my drink. I lean against the counter and watch all of them interact from the kitchen.

I’m happy she’s here. I feel like having her here somewhat eases the grief everyone is feeling. She wasn’t tied to Kyle in any way, so no one feels forced to walk on eggshells around her. She’s like the breath of fresh air we all needed this week. I know I already thanked her for coming today, but one day I’ll tell her exactly how much it means to me that she showed up.

She glances at me from her chair, and when she sees the small smile on my face, she excuses herself from the table and walks into the kitchen.

My entire body relaxes when her arms slide around my waist. She plants a kiss on my arm and then stifles a yawn.

“You tired?”

She looks up at me and nods. “Yeah. Still on New York time, and it’s after midnight there. You mind if I use your shower before we go to bed?”

I lift my finger to her mouth. “You have something in your teeth.” She bares her teeth and I wipe what looks like a piece of pepper from her tooth. “All gone,” I say, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “And yes, you can use my shower. Let me know if you need assistance.” I wink at her, just as Ian leans against the counter beside us, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Did you just pick something out of her teeth?”

I don’t say anything because I don’t know what he plans to do with my answer.

“I’m being serious,” he says, looking at Fallon now. “Did he just pick something out of your teeth?”

She nods hesitantly.

Ian smirks. “Wow. My brother is in love with you.”

I can feel Fallon freeze against me.

“That’s not awkward at all,” I say sarcastically.

Ian shakes his head with a sly grin. “It’s not awkward, Ben. It’s cute. You’re in love.”

“Stop,” I say to him.

Ian releases a lighthearted laugh, and for once, I don’t mind being picked on by him. It’s the most air that’s been let in this house in two days.

“People don’t do gross things like that unless they’re in love,” Tate says from the table. “It’s a proven fact. It’s on the Internet or something.”

I grab Fallon’s hand and pull her out of the kitchen, away from the teasing. “Good night, guys. Fallon has other pressing hygiene issues I need to assist her with.”

I hear them laughing as we exit the kitchen and walk upstairs together.

To my bedroom.

Where we’ll spend the night.

Together.

In my bed.

It’s tricky knowing I won’t see her for another year, so I have no idea how far she’s willing to take it. I think that would all depend on how far she’s taken it with guys in the past.

Of course I don’t want to think about her with anyone else, but that’s the whole point of meeting her every year. I want to make sure she’s experiencing life like every girl her age should, and that means experiencing different people. But every night I close my eyes, I selfishly pray that she’s sleeping in her bed alone.

I want to ask her about it, but I’m not sure how to bring it up.

I open my bedroom door and follow her inside. It’s different walking into my room with her this time. It almost feels like there are expectations that have to be met before we exit this room in the morning. Conversations that need to be had. Bodies that need touching. Minds that need sleep. And not enough time to cram it all in before she’ll leave me again for another year.

I close and lock the door behind me. She’s facing the bed as she reaches up and pulls her hair into a knot, securing it with a rubber band she’s had around her wrist all day. I take a moment to admire the perfection of the curve between her neck and shoulder. I step forward and slip my arms around her waist so that I can press my lips against that very spot. I shower her in soft kisses from her shoulder to her ear and back down again. I kiss away the chills I’m responsible for. She makes a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“I’ll let you shower,” I tell her without releasing her. “Towels are under the sink.”

She squeezes my hands that are wrapped around her waist and then breaks away from me. Rather than head toward the bathroom, she walks toward my closet. “Can I sleep in one of your shirts?” she asks.

I glance at the closet and then at her. My manuscript is in my closet, sitting on the shelf. What I’ve written of it, anyway. At this point, the last thing I want her to do is read a single word of it. I grip the back of the shirt I’m wearing and pull it over my head.

“Here,” I say, handing it to her. “Wear this one.”

She grabs the shirt from my hands, but as soon as she looks up, she stops mid-step. She swallows, staring straight at my stomach. “Ben?”

“Yeah?”

She points at my stomach. “You have abs?”

I laugh and look down at my abdomen. She said it like it was a question, so I give her the obvious answer. “Um . . . yeah? I guess.”

She covers her mouth with my shirt, hiding her grin. “Wow,” she says, her words muffled by my shirt. “I like them.”

And then she rushes toward the bathroom and closes the door.

I made sure to lock the door before getting into the shower. Not that I wouldn’t want to take a shower with him, but I’m just not at that point yet. To me, showering with someone registers higher on my scale for potential humiliation than most things, including sex. At least with sex I’ll be hiding under the covers in the dark.

Sex.

I think about that word. I even roll it around on my tongue as I rinse the conditioner out of my hair. “Sex,” I say quietly. It’s such a weird word.

The older I get, the more apprehensive I become at the thought of losing my virginity. On the one hand, I’m ready to experience what all the fuss is about. It has to be great or it wouldn’t be such a huge factor in the lives of all mankind. But that also scares me, because if I end up
not
liking sex, I’ll be a little bit disappointed in mankind as a whole. Because it seems to be the root of a lot of evil, so if it’s mediocre and I don’t instantly want more of it, I’ll feel a little misled by the entire world.

Perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic, but whatever. I’m too nervous to get out of the shower, even though I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair several minutes ago. I have no idea what Ben’s expectations are for tonight. If he wants to sleep, I would totally understand. He’s been through hell and back this week. But if he wants to do something
besides
sleep, I will absolutely, without a doubt, be a willing participant.

After I dry off, I pull his shirt over my head. I look in the mirror and admire the way it hangs off my shoulders. I’ve never worn another guy’s t-shirt before, and I’ve always wondered if it felt as good as I imagined it would feel.

It does.

I pull the towel off my head and run my fingers through my hair a few times. I take Ben’s toothpaste and squeeze some onto my finger and then rub it in my mouth for a minute. When I’m done, I take a deep, calming breath, and then I turn out the lights and open the door.

His lamp is on and he’s lying on the bed, facing the center of it, with his hands tucked beneath his head. He’s kicked his covers onto the floor and is wearing nothing but his socks and a pair of boxers. I stand here and admire him for a moment, since his eyes are closed. He might actually be sleeping, but it doesn’t disappoint me at all. Tonight’s for him and him only, because I know he’s hurting. I just want to help him while I’m here, so if he needs sleep, I’ll do what I can to ensure he gets the best night of sleep he’s ever had.

I walk to the lamp and switch it off and then pick his covers up off the floor. I gently sit on the bed and cover us both as I lie down next to him with my back to his chest. I try not to wake him as I adjust my pillow.

“Shit.”

I roll over at the sound of his voice. It’s dark in the room, so I can’t tell if he was talking in his sleep or if he’s awake. “What is it?” I whisper.

I feel an arm go around my waist, and he pulls me closer. “I left the light on so I could see you walk out of the bathroom wearing my shirt, but you take really long showers. I think I fell asleep.”

I smile. “I’m still wearing it. You want me to turn the lamp on?”

“Fuck yes, please.”

I laugh and roll over toward the lamp. I switch it on and then face him again. His eyes are unmoving, yet somehow all over me.

“Stand up,” he says, lifting up onto his elbow. I stand up and his eyes never meet mine. They’re roaming over my thighs, my hips, my breasts. I don’t mind that he isn’t looking at my face. I don’t mind at all.

The hem of his shirt falls several inches above my knees. It’s just long enough to where he can’t tell that I’m not wearing underwear right now. It’s also just short enough to where he’s probably
praying
I’m not wearing underwear right now.

His eyes drop to my legs again and he begins to speak slowly, as if he’s reciting poetry. “The only sea I saw, Was the seesaw sea, With you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy. Let me shipwreck in your thighs.” His eyes drag up my body until they meet mine. “Dylan Thomas,” he says.

I release a slow breath. “Wow,” I say. “Poetry porn. Who knew?”

Ben smiles at me lazily. He lifts a finger and points at me. “I’d like to have my shirt back now.”

“Now?”

He nods. “Right now. Before you turn off the lamp. Take it off, it’s mine.”

I laugh nervously and begin to reach for the lamp. Before I’m able to turn the light off, he jumps up and walks across the mattress, hopping to the floor directly in front of me. His eyes are playful, yet somehow stern at the same time. He grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up without hesitation, yanking it off my head. He throws it somewhere behind him and I’m immobile in front of him, completely exposed. His eyes read every curve of my body before he lets out a shaky breath.

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

I can’t recall a single time, even before the fire, when I’ve felt this beautiful. He’s soaking me up like it’s a privilege rather than a favor. And when he leans forward and takes my face in his hands, I part my lips and wait for his kiss because I’ve never wanted it like I want it right now.

His lips are moist, and he kisses me with entitlement. His tongue is rough and unapologetic, and I love it. I love feeling needed this way. I realize, as his fingers are slowly trailing down my spine, that angst doesn’t have to be a factor for a kiss to be a ten, after all. Because angst is nowhere in this kiss, and it’s already a nine.

He pulls me flush against him, my naked chest pressed against his
. Okay, it’s a ten now.

He turns us around and lowers me to the bed, but doesn’t lie on top of me. He adjusts us to where we’re side by side and my head is on a pillow, but his mouth is still on mine. Quiet, desire-filled sounds begin to leave my mouth, each one of them a direct result of what this kiss is building inside me.

I don’t even care that the lamp is still on. If it means he’ll be looking at me again like he looked at me before this kiss, I’ll let him turn
all
the lights on. I’d even let him install fluorescents.

“Fallon,” he says quickly after tearing his mouth from mine. I open my eyes and find him looking down at me. “We’ve read the same books. You know the rules. If you want me to stop or slow down, just . . .”

I shake my head. “It’s perfect, Ben. So perfect. I’ll tell you if there’s something I don’t want to do, or if I get nervous. I promise.”

He nods, but it still seems as though there’s something else he wants to say. Or ask. And then I remember that we’ve never really had this discussion.

“I’ve never done this, but that doesn’t mean I’m not ready,” I tell him.

I feel his body stiffen, just slightly. “You’re a virgin.” He says it as more of a realization than a question.

“Yeah, but only for a few more minutes.”