He wraps his hand around the back of my neck, firm but not painful, and he pulls me in for another kiss. My lips part. I never understood what ahungrykiss meant until now, with his body up against mine, his fingers against my skin, his tongue teasing mine. Because I am competitive, and because I learn quickly, I won’t be outdone. I rake my fingers through his hair, tease him back.
It is the best I’ve felt in what might be my entire life. We ease through rises and falls of burning urgency and sweet, slow touches. I always thought that when I made out with someone for the first time, my mind would shut off, but I’m still thinking. I’m thinking about Ash’s breathing, how heavy it is, which means he’s excited. I’m thinking about the smoothness of his hair. I’m thinking about what this means for us, what it will be like when we stop kissing. I’m thinking about how far this is going to go. How far I want it to go.
We break apart in one of those sweet, slow moments and lie facing each other. Ash brushes my hair behind my ear. He doesn’t mind that I don’t break eye contact, because he doesn’t either.
“Was the computer a ploy?” I ask.
He snorts. “No. I thought you’d want to see it.”
“I do. But I’m not upset this happened too.”
“Me either.”
My leg is thrown over his hip. I run my fingers down his back lazily; he arches into me. I feel like the hunter in the woods. People assume because I don’t like to be touched, because my brain works differently, that I would be cold or unfeeling, but the opposite is true: This is natural to me. My feelings and instincts are so intense I’m just selective about who I share them with.
“I should go home soon,” I say.
He makes a noise of disapproval. “Don’t like that. Homework?”
“Healz wants to run the Fenhallow Underground tonight. Now that he believes I’m good at the game, he’s totally fine grouping together.”
Ash laughs. “What a dick. You were serious about winning world first, huh?”
“I don’t make that up.”
“I’ll get on in a bit and group with you,” he says. He kisses meon the lips, the jaw, the neck. I don’t want to get up, but if I don’t, I won’t do anything else today.
The front door opens downstairs. We both sit bolt upright.
“One of them is home early,” Ash says. “It’s fine that you’re here. I mean, they would have seen your car—”
“I walked over,” I say. My heart is hammering. I don’t want to see or talk to Alissa’s parents. I don’t want them to know I was here, in her room.
There’s another elm right outside Ash’s window. When we were younger, Alissa and I used to joke about climbing it to play pranks on him. I scramble out of the bed, grab my coat, and hurry to unlock the window and throw it open.
“You’re not serious right now.” Ash grabs my arm. “You could fall.”
“I won’t,” I say, pulling my arm from his grasp and sliding the screen up. Of course there are no branches close enough to reach.
“Wait.” Ash touches me again, not grabbing me, only to get my attention. “I’ll go downstairs, distract whichever one of them it is, and you sneak out the front door.”
“Ash, you here?” It’s his mom. Her footsteps start up the stairs.
“Okay,” I say.
He leaves the room to intercept her. I edge up to his bedroom door and peek out. He’s stopped her on the third step.
“I made chili, there’s some in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” he says.
“Oh, that’s nice.” She sounds distracted. “What were you doing?”
“Playing games.”
“How was school? Do you have any homework you need to get done?”
“Some reading for English. I’m going to do it later.”
“I don’t want you to get behind.”
