Page 67 of All Our Almosts

“Is it caught on itself back there? Can you see if you can scootch it up?”

She wanted me to look. I had to look. I had to look down and see if it was caught on something. But that would be fine. Just a body. Just a body.

I looked down through the scant inches of space between us, to the dress rolled and scrunched at her ribcage. Then lower, to her underwear—light pink, with lace along the top and bottom edges.

And fuck me, I’m not a saint, alright? I gave in and enjoyed the view.

Sophie’s body curved in all the right places. The generous swell of her ass, the smooth skin of her back, the softness of her thighs. I had a desperate, virulent impulse to sink my teeth into each of those places and watch her body respond.

“Andy?”

“Ah! I mean… uh, yeah. I mean no! No. No, it’s not caught on anything, I think I just have to um… pull it harder.”

“Alright but please go slow now because I’m nervous about my arm.”

“Okay,” I exhaled. Determined to keep my hands steady, I changed my grip from the bottom hem of the dress to the fabric at her ribs, which snagged just under her breasts and around her shoulders. Gently, I urged it upwards until her chest was free and only her shoulders remained confined. I slowly brought the dress up her arms, listening and watching for any sign of pain. When it finally slipped off over her hands, I tossed it aside onto the bed.

The dress was off.

I could have moved, but I didn’t.

Instead, we stayed frozen in place. Me, fully clothed. Her, in almost nothing. I wasn’t even touching her—was barely allowing myself to look at her—and yet my whole body felt alert. Mere inches apart, her back to my front, our breaths shallow.

I reached for my self-restraint, and found the well completely dry.

Slowly, I placed a hand on her bare waist.

She took in a shaky breath, and I felt the rise and fall of it in her abdomen.

I wished I could see her face. Wished more than anything that I could hear her thoughts. Did she want this? Did she want this the way I wanted it, with every molecule of myself for as long as I could remember?

I had to know.

“Sophie?” I asked from behind her back, frozen still.

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah,” she said, quieter this time.

I knew this was my chance to get the truth out. It had to be now, before I left her room and my courage behind. So I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and said, “I don’t think that kiss was a mistake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think it was the best thing I’ve done in a long time.” My voice was a low scrape, the words barely daring to cross the threshold of my lips. “And then tonight, at the gala, you were so… so beautiful and so smart and now you’re here and…” The fingertips of my free hand trailed up her side. She shivered in response, and it felt like victory and possibility. “...and I want to do a lot more than kiss you.”

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Then why don’t you.”

It was not a question. It was a request.

Slowly, I placed both hands on her waist, letting my thumbs trace a sloping path across her ribs. My blood was thrumming in my ears, part of me eager to rush, to take and to have, another part wanting to discover her slowly, take her apart piece by piece.

That had to be the way. Slow and steady. I wouldn’t mess this up again.