“You would have waited an eternity? You know what that is, right?” My toes press into the side of his leg. They’re cold, and he’s warm. It’s strange how whatever I need, Torrin has. Or how whatever he needs, I have. Cold toes and warm side of a leg included.
“Forever?” he answers all innocent-like. “Yeah, I know its general definition.”
“And you’d be willing to wait forever for me to be ready?” My eyebrow lifts. Not because I don’t believe him but because a girl’s brow should rise when a boy proclaims he’d wait for her forever. My family believes in fairy tales like they believe in the possibility of world peace.
I’d rather be whatever Torrin and I are.
“There’s only one you.” He shrugs again. My body bobs with his again. “Of course.”
Another laugh escapes my lips. “You used to hate me.”
He groans. “I didn’t hate you. You just annoyed the crap out of me.”
I probably should check the time on my phone, but I’m too happy. This moment is too perfect to end with something as trivial as a curfew. “Because I was faster than you, scored higher on tests than you, and kicked your butt in every game of one-on-one?”
“Exactly. Annoying.” He tugs on the ends of my hair again.
“Yeah, well, you used to annoy the crap out of me too,” I fire back, pinching his side.
“You’re welcome.” He says it like he’s proud of it because, you know, annoying the crap out of a girl is medal-worthy or something. I guess it worked out for us though.
“So how does a guy go from hating a girl to loving her?” I tip my head back just enough that I can see his face.
His chin is barely stubbled from not shaving today. His dark hair is scattered all over his face and pillow. His light eyes are alive—almost as though the ones I’d been looking into for twelve years had been dead in comparison. In the soft light of his lamp, with his face flushed from what we just did . . . God, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I never want this moment to end. Even though I know it has to, I want it to stretch into my next three lifetimes.
“For the millionth time, I didn’t hate you.” He sounds annoyed, but nothing about his expression matches that feeling.
“But you do love me?” It’s a rhetorical question. I know. I’ve known for a while now.
“Damn straight I do.” His words come out like they were dipped into steel—strong and weatherproof.
That’s when my phone resting on the edge of his nightstand vibrates. I’ve started setting an alarm when I’m with Torrin because time just kind of gets away from me when we’re together. I wouldn’t worry about setting an alarm in the first place if my dad wasn’t a police chief who carries a gun twenty-four-seven and who also carries an impression that the Costigan boys are the type of people who end up in the back of his cruiser, not holding hands with his firstborn.
“Eh, I’m late.” I sigh because this is my second alarm. The one that means I’d better haul ass and get home if I’m not there already. I distantly remember the first one going off fifteen minutes ago, but I was a bit preoccupied by something else at the time. Or preoccupied by someone else. “My parents are going to be pissed.”
“You just got here.” Torrin reaches for his phone settled beside mine.
“Yeah, I just got here two hours ago.” He’s shifting beneath me, but I’m not ready to move yet. I’m not ready to let go of him.
“What? Really?” He snatches his phone off the nightstand and flips it around. His eyes widen when he reads the time. “Shit.”
“Time flies when you’re having sex for the first time.”
His eyes are the palest blue I’ve ever seen, but they darken when I say that. Might have something to do with my leg holding him in place when he tries to slide away.
“Is it true for the second time?” Now he isn’t pulling away—he’s pulling me closer. He rolls my body on top of his, and my legs straddle his narrow hips. He’s all muscle and skin—he’s got the classic soccer body. I’m not exactly “soft,” but when my body’s pressed against his, I feel that way.
“Only one way to find out.” My hands cap his shoulders, and I feel the muscles roll beneath my fingers.
“When?” Torrin’s hands settle on the peaks of my hips, and I don’t know if he means to, but he makes my lap burrow deeper into his. My stomach feels like it’s been filled with lava.
“Now?” I ask, but my body isn’t really asking. It’s more along the lines of telling.
I feel him beneath me. I know he wants to. He knows I want to. So I’m not sure why he clenches his eyes closed and grinds his jaw like he’s trying to restrain himself.
“I thought your dad was going to lock you away in some tower and lock me up after the way he found me kissing you last week in the hallway. He finds out about this”—his finger waves between us—“and I’ll be in some unmarked grave decomposing under a pile of lye.”
My nose curls at the thought. “Ugh. How do you know about that stuff?”
His eyes are still closed, but his jaw relaxes a little. “This beast known as the Internet and morbid curiosity.”
His eyes open a second later, right before he gently shifts me off of his lap and slides off the mattress. He snags his jeans from the lampshade and pulls them on. I know I tore off a pair of boxers earlier, but who knows where they landed.