Page 56 of My Unfinished Heart

“Because I’m trying so hard not to do this.” His mouth is on mine before I can even inhale.

My jaw locks. I’m shocked and still sort of uncertain about the wisdom of this. He just seems so…I don’t know. Innocent? I wasn’t expecting the first move to come from him.

But the pressure of his lips on mine has my heart trying to break through my ribcage. Maybe it’s less like walking off a plank than it is like jumping off a cliff. The rush. The adrenaline that builds.

His hand tenses on my arm. My breath catches in my chest.

I pull back an inch and watch his eyes flutter open. “Is that like—a thing you do?” I ask. “Surprise attack?”

“No. I’ve never done that before,” he says, his mouth still very close. “Did I misunderstand something?”

“Not at all. Can we try it again? I wasn’t ready.”

He nods. “Okay.”

With his permission, my hand finds its way beneath his hair to the back of his neck, and I lean in. My lips meet his deliberately this time, parting them with the slow movement of mine. I feel breath rush in, coming from me, from the air around me. This moment where our lips are the only things touching drags itself out in the fabric of time. I’m sure it’s only a second or two, but it feels like forever in a good way. On an exhale, our mouths open together. His tongue meets mine, and I’m done. It’s less like discovering electricity than it is like finding religion.

I kiss him deeper. I let him in.

I lose my mind a little. My other hand lets go of his to reach around him and pull him closer, but he’s already moving toward me. I tear my mouth away to breathe. The moment my lungs fill, he’s back, kissing me in a way I have never been kissed.

Like he needs me.

His arms hold me up, hold me close, pressing us together. His whimpered sigh in my mouth has me so fucking desperate for him, I’m willing to rewrite the script for both our lives—just so we can stay like this—never any farther apart.

I slide him onto my lap, pulling at the backs of his thighs to wrap his legs around my waist. He’s not small, but he’s a little smaller than I am, and he fits here. The heat of his mouth on mine is enough to light a fire in me that will burn forever.

For him.

I can’t stand this feeling. His fingertips are on my face, and his body is in my arms, and his mouth is so connected to mine, I can’t remember what it felt like not to be kissing him. Look—I know how big a mistake this is. I know none of this is okay or normal or how a man is supposed to act, but what the fuck am I supposed to do? Push him away? Break his heart? I can’t do that. If there were a way to get him to stay, I would do it. I’d do almost anything. Unable to let go, I hold him tighter—pulling at his hair, kissing his neck, driving my mouth back onto his.

His hands, gripping both sides of my face as hard as I’m clutching at his shoulders, slowly drop away. Our mouths part, and he rests his forehead on mine. The only sound left between us is our breathing. Heavy. Panting. Overwhelmed.

I watch as something breaks in his face, his eyebrows draw together, and tears fill his eyes, turning them a surreal shade of gray in the black and white night— a gray that’s almost transparent. He crumples against me, his forehead falling onto my chest. His body shakes in my arms. If I could take it in—absorb whatever bad things he’s feeling into myself, I would do that for him because my own heart’s been broken a long time. I was so sure I had nothing left to lose, but I don’t feel like that’s true anymore.

I hold his head against my chest as he tries not to cry. My cheek rests on top of his head, the silken tangles of his hair brushing past my closed eyes. The world is no longer slanting. I’m closer to sober, but no farther from lost.

I kiss his hair, using my hands to tilt his face back up to mine. “Tristan, please stay.”

His eyes open as he begins to move. I can see the shine of his wet lips as he speaks, his hands half on my face, half in my hair. He leans close, and I feel his breath by my ear. Then he whispers the best words. “Take me with you.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you’re going. Take me with you tonight.”

I run my hand down his arm and slip my fingers between his. “Like a restaurant, or…?”

With his mouth against my neck, he whispers, “Like a hotel.”

TEN

Four Seasons

We end up at The Four Seasons downtown where Tristan has me sit on the bed as he crouches on the floor between my legs, holding a towel full of ice against my swollen knee. My unfortunate injury has forced us both to press the pause button on this farewell. Getting checked in and up to the room was a struggle.

But I don’t mind the extended chance I’m getting to look at him. I stroke his hair, twisting it around and around my fingers. His features come into sharper focus as the alcohol continues to work its way through my liver. With my painted thumb, I trace the outline of his lower lip, memorizing the sharp curve and dip of it. “Sorry,” I say. “I can’t stop touching you.”

“I don’t want you to.”