“Very funny. Also, they have loads of cameras and people sneak away up here all the time, try not to get a ticket for indecent exposure though, yeah?”
“Yup.” She backs away from me and stretches her arms over her head.
I choke out a laugh. “Are you, are you stretching?”
“Yes! I’m preparing! I’m not flexible, Jude, and it shows.”
“What the hell kind of sexual gymnastics do you think we’re going to be doing that you need to be flexible. For the record I’m not complaining, it’s more of a question also will there be a demonstration?”
She smacks me on the stomach. “I’m serious, I don’t want to look awkward.”
“It’s me, why would it be awkward.”
“Because days ago, you would have kissed me then broken my heart.”
“And today?” I cross my arms. “What makes today any different?”
“Today I realized I never really had it back anyways. You took it with you, you still have it, so breaking really isn’t in my control or my hands.”
It’s like she punched me in the stomach. “You can’t say things like that to me and expect me not to want you.”
“The goal is for you to want me. And others to see.”
“I was going to attempt not to feel.” I say dumbly. “But that was a lie.”
“Glad you can admit it.”
“Is there too much, you think…” I swallow hard. “Too much damage between us?”
“Yes.” She crosses her arms again. “But right now, I'm not going to think about that.”
“Good.”
I reach for her before I can stop myself.
One hand slides around the back of her neck and I pull her toward me.
For one suspended second she just stares at me.
Then I kiss her.
Not carefully.
Not strategically.
Not because we're trying to catch whoever is behind the Dean's List.
I kiss her because for seven years I've imagined what it would feel like to know she was alive, to hear her laugh again, to argue with her, to hate her properly.
Nobody ever warned me that seeing her again would be worse.
That wanting her would be worse.
Her breath catches against my mouth.
My entire body goes tight.
And then she's kissing me back.
