Gabe didn’t respond.
My eyes wandered. The room was pretty clean considering that it had been full of people a few hours ago. There were some empty cups strewn around, but for the most part, the place was tidy.
Like Gabe’s bedroom, there were piles of books and movies everywhere. A box set of the entirety of Star Trek: The Next Generation was sitting next to the TV alongside some leather-bound books. I would have bet this month’s rent that Lolita was in a pile somewhere.
“What’s that?” I said, pointing to his end table.
I knew what it was, of course. I had a stack of them on my bookshelf. I’d practically memorized the spine.
“Oh, this?” Gabe asked with a grin that indicated that he knew that I knew exactly what it was. “I told you that I did my research.”
“You read it?”
He looked at me. “Yeah,” he said. “Some of them big words were real tough, but I got through it.”
I’d noticed he did that. Put on some slow, hick-like accent any time we circled around the idea of his intelligence.
“I don’t think my parents have read it,” I said.
“Oh,” he said.
I picked up the literary magazine, stroking the front of it like I’d done with the first copy I got in the mail. There was a line on the spine that indicated it had been cracked open, the pages pulled into place. I let it fall open in my lap, balancing it next to the popcorn bowl.
“The Garden” by Chani Horowitz.
“I’m bad with titles,” I said.
“I liked it,” he said. “Wasn’t expecting the dragons, though.”
I flushed.
No one in my grad program had expected them either and considering that this was the only piece of fiction I’d ever managed to get published, I was pretty sure that my tendency to weave fantasy elements into my naturalistic fiction wasn’t something that people were clamoring to read. The piece had been personal—not the way my blog was personal, where I just blurted out details about my private life—but intimate. It was about the way my mind worked—how I thought, how I felt—like sawing open my skull and letting people look inside.
While also writing about dragons.
It was a metaphor.
“I guess I don’t really get it,” Jeremy had said when he first read it.
“It was an experiment,” I told Gabe. “I don’t really write stuff like that anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” he said.
“I’ll probably just stick to nonfiction,” I said.
“I like your nonfiction,” Gabe said. “But I like dragons too.”
I did as well, but they weren’t serious. They weren’t real literature. They weren’t good writing.
At some point while watching Star Trek, we’d moved closer together. I hadn’t noticed—not like I had at the club when I had been almost painfully aware of his proximity at all points. But now, I’d been distracted by talking about the short story, so when Gabe put his hand on my knee, I wasn’t expecting it.
In fact, I was so surprised that I jumped—tossing the magazine and the bowl up off my lap and into the air, spraying popcorn everywhere.
“Oh my god.” I clutched my chest, more out of embarrassment than anything.
“Wow,” Gabe said. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that reaction before.”
“I’m so sorry.” I got off the couch, gathering up the popcorn kernels I’d thrown across his floor.
“Hey.” Gabe was next to me on his knees, stilling my hand. “Hey. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
We sat back on the couch. My face was hot, and I knew it was probably an extremely unattractive splotchy shade of red. I put my hands against my cheeks.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I said.
“Don’t be,” he said. “I should have…well, I guess I should have read the mood a little better.”
I looked at him.
“The mood?”
Now he looked a little sheepish.
“I thought, you know…” He gestured between us.
“Oh,” I said. “Oh!”
Gabe gave a little shrug. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I just thought—”
I kissed him. Before he could even finish his sentence, I flung myself at him and planted my lips on his. Aggressively.
It was a terrible, terrible kiss. My lips hit his teeth, making my eyes water.
Gently, Gabe put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back.
“Oh my god,” I said again. “I am really, really sorry.”
I closed my eyes, wishing I could just disappear.
“Hey,” he said.
I felt his hand on my chin. His thumb stroked the line of my jaw, sending chills through me. I opened my eyes.
His face was right there. His beautiful, perfect face.
“Hey,” he said again.
I could smell the whisky on his breath, but I didn’t mind. I was certain my own breath was probably still fragrant from jelly beans.
“Hey,” I whispered.
Time inched forward as his lips moved toward mine. I thought dimly that if I could live in this moment, in this beautiful anticipation, I would be pretty damn happy. Then Gabe’s mouth touched mine and I realized that this was far, far better than I had ever imagined it would be.
This time, his lips seemed to fit perfectly against mine. They were warm and firm and soft and his hand was still on my face and the combination of the two sensations was enough to turn my insides to Jell-O. I wobbled and sighed and leaned closer.
I was kissing Gabe Parker. Or rather, he was kissing me and I was kissing him back.
His hand slid back and upward, getting lost in my hair. That’s when his lips parted and I slipped my tongue into his mouth. His fingers tightened against my scalp and I thought I felt his breath catch. As if I had caught him off guard. As if I had surprised him. I liked how that kept happening.
If he was surprised, he recovered quickly.