Page 110 of Love, Theoretically
My first thought isI’m going to buy him curtains.
My second:I’m going to do without cheese, insulin, and possibly toilet paper for the next six months. To save up. To buy him curtains.
Blackout. Rod pocketed. Floor to ceiling.
It’s unacceptable, falling asleep that late and then waking up at what—seven thirty? Eight? Nine? Just because some guy doesn’t know that shades exist. Seems like a pretty simple concept to—
“I’ll get you a sleep mask.”
I open my eyes and I think,Blue. Which—less than one-eighth of his eyes is blue. It makes no sense. “How do you know what I was—?”
“Your frown woke me up,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He shifts in a stretching yawn, and it’s like a seismic event, a hugetectonic fault shifting under the crust of the earth. Because during the night, I ended up facedown on top of Jack.
“How?” I ask.
“You moved around a lot,” he says. “Felt like the easiest way to keep you from kicking my shins.”
“Wait—when did you—?”
“About five minutes after you fell asleep.”
“Wow.” Ishouldmove away. But he makes for a good bed, firm and bulky and warm. I’m groggy with sleep that was either not enough or too intense, and don’t want to leave just yet.
For once, I feel myself, my body. Jack’s hand is on my lower back, under the hoodie. My feet are wrapped around his shins. His mouth is several inches away, but also accessible, and I reach for it.
I aim for a simple peck, suspecting a mess of rotten-eggy morning breath, but there’s none of that. He tastes like himself, familiar, and deepens the kiss into something gentle, slow, deliciously lazy. Time doesn’t exist. This bed is the expanse of the universe. We’re still dreaming, tucked safely inside our heads.
There is no urgency in him, no pressure point. Just the unhurried rhythm of his tongue against mine, leisurely patterns traced against my skin. His heartbeat speeds up but remains steady. His breathing grows shallow, but I know it only from the rise and fall of his chest against mine.
It’s a good way to wake up. I want to wake up exactly like this again and again and again. I want to feel the blinding sunrays wash over us, and this new brightness inside me, fragile and scalding hot all at once.
Maybe that’s why there are no curtains. In the light, it’s easy to feel brave. All those things I’m scared of seem conquerable, and honesty is almost effortless.
“Jack?” I pull back, balancing on my palms, one on each side of his head. My hair has come undone and drapes around us like a shrine.
“Elsie.” His palms come up to hold my face.
“I...” I’m not scared. I’m justnot. “I lied.”
His mouth quirks sleepily. “Which time?”
I glare. “I hate you.”
“Sure.” His thumbs swipe gently over my cheeks. Lovingly. Because that’s what this is about. “What’s this lie you speak of?”
“I said I didn’t know. But I do.”
“Know what?”
I swallow. “Where this is going. Where we’re headed. The two of us.”
Something thickens between us, dense and weighty. I know. He knows. We’ve acknowledged it. It’s almost a sign, the universe’s permission to move forward. Jack’s eyes are warm and probing, and he says, “Come here.”
I don’t remember taking off my bra last night, but I must have, because when he tosses my hoodie to the floor, my too-pale skin is bare in the blinding light. I don’t even want to ask him to look away.
Jack sees me. And it’s okay.
“Come here,” he repeats, and his mouth’s on mine, insistent, brakeless this time. Like he’s kissing me for now, for all the times he couldn’t before, for later, too. Whatever it was that held him back yesterday, two nights ago, the past two weeks, it melts in the morning sun.