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All of that was there as we kissed—my canvas bag falling down at my feet, forgotten; his strong arms around me, lifting me up for just a second before returning me to the ground on legs that felt unsteady.
A sharp bark shook me out of this reverie, and I broke away from Russell and looked over to see my neighbor—and her beagle—walking back up the street. She gave me a nod, even though it looked like she was trying very hard not to smile.
“Um,” I said as I clasped my hands behind his neck and looked up at him. “Maybe we should…”
He smiled at me, his thumbs tracing circles on my waist. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”
Russell grabbed my tent and duffel, and we hurried up to the front door. I flashed for just a second to Wylie’s endless driveway and priceless art. But just for a second. It looked like my dad had forgotten to cancel the papers, and I scooped up copies of the Times—both New York and Los Angeles—and pulled my keys out of my bag.
I stepped inside and held the door open for Russell, who set down my things and pulled it closed behind him, and then we were kissing again, and I was lost in his lips and his hands and his arms around me. I started to walk backward toward the stairs, while also continuing to kiss him, but Russell pulled back. “Shoes-off house?”
“Oh,” I said, trying to focus. “Um—sure.” I kicked off my Birkenstocks, and Russell took off his sneakers by stepping on the backs of them. He then quickly stripped off his socks, rolled them together, and rested them in his empty left Nike.
He stood up and looked at me a little questioningly, and I just smiled at him and ran up the stairs, hearing him following right behind me.
The door to my room was ajar and as I walked inside, I was relieved that it wasn’t a gigantic disaster, and that I’d even made my bed.
“This is your room?” Russell asked, stepping in behind me.
“Uh-huh.” And even though I knew we were alone in the house, that my dad was stuck up in Fresno with car troubles, even though nobody else would be coming in, I closed the door.
Russell held on to my hand, his fingers drawing circles along the inside of my wrist, but all the while looking around, like he was drinking everything in, which seemed only fair. I’d had access to so much of his life, after all—now he was the one getting to see my front lawn, my house, my bedroom.
“Let me guess,” Russell said as he looked at the Polaroids stuck around my dresser mirror. He pointed at the one from the prom—me, Katy, and Didi, all of us looking in a slightly different direction, all of us laughing. He pointed at Katy. “Katy?”
I nodded.
“So that’s Didi.”
I smiled. “Very impressive. They’ll be incredibly pleased to hear you got it in one.” I reached over and picked the photo up. My hair had been blown out and put in a half updo, and Katy had spent almost on hour on my makeup. “This is what I look like when I actually have my hair done and makeup on.”
Russell shook his head as he looked at me. “You look beautiful.” He said it in such a steady, simple way, like there was no other answer.
My heart started to beat a little harder, a little more joyfully. He took my head in his hands and smoothed my hair back from my forehead. He traced his fingers under my jaw, like he was taking in every detail of me. “So beautiful.”
My instinct was to make a joke, or brush this off—but then I looked into his eyes and saw how much he meant it, and so I just let myself take it in. I stretched up to kiss him, and took my hand in his, pulling him with me until we tumbled back together onto my bed.
CHAPTER 21 Monday
6:00 P.M.
Kissing Russell on a football field, and in the hotel pool, had been great.
But it was nothing compared to this.
Getting to kiss him on my bed, in my room, with the door closed. With nowhere to be but right here and hours ahead of us.
No AstroTurf, no smell of chlorine, no worry that we were going to be discovered. Just the two of us under my covers, finally getting to breathe a little and take our time.
And after so much talk—so many conversations and tangents and jokes and puns and fun facts—it all dropped away.
We were still talking. But we were no longer doing it with words.
There were still some words, of course. We checked in with each other at every stage, making sure we were both okay, that this was what we both wanted and were comfortable with. Russell went on a mini rant about my bra clasp and I had a moment of nervously babbling while my fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
But for the most part, it was just us and a different kind of conversation—his lips and his hands and my arms and our feet tangling together and getting to see every inch of him, and letting him see me.
It all just felt so natural, and so right. And I somehow knew that despite—or because of—four days of missed connections and mistakes; buses, helicopters, and cars; lucky accidents and twists of fate, I’d somehow found myself just where I was supposed to be.
