Are You Mine

Chapter 17


Saige


Someone comes up next to me, and I know it’s not my boyfriend. Fox is taking forever in the kitchen. He went in there for some non-alcoholic drinks, but now it’s been about twenty minutes or so, and I’m cornered by Fat Cody Hayes.

“How is it that you know every single word to this song?” he asks.

I hadn’t realized I’d been singing and probably wouldn’t respond if it was anyone else, but since it’s Cody and I don’t have a problem with him, I say, “It’s Bob Marley. How is it that someone couldn’t know all the lyrics to ‘One Love’?”

“Everyone’s shocked you’re here.”

I turn to look at Cody and for a moment, there’s a spark of anger inside my chest, burning to ignite the easy kindling of annoyance, but I pull it all back. Fox wants me to be polite and kind to his friends, so I will. Besides, it’s not like Cody’s saying anything defaming. I mean, I’m shocked I’m here. Myka and Val are absent, and it’s just me and the cool kids.

Despite wanting to drink, I don’t. Fox is right when he said I’m not the nicest person when I drink. I have to at least try to be sociable.

“Yeah,” I say, finally acknowledging Cody’s statement, “I’m always keeping people on their toes.”

He doesn’t say anything else, so I try to think of something to talk about. Myka would talk about something steampunk related, Val would just stand there and nod his head, but what would Fox do to win over friends? Probably just smile and. . .wait, maybe that’s a key action. Smile. I don’t do that much, so I try one on.

It makes me feel weird. The muscles in my face feel pulled and stretched inappropriately. How can Fox do this so much?

I think it’s creeping Cody out because his uneasy expression makes me feel like an alien creature asking to be taken to the human leader. “So,” I start oh-so-skillfully, “How’s your summer been?”

“Awesome.”

“Are you going to school in the fall?”

“Yeah. I’m going to. . .”

I intentionally don’t listen, even though I know Fox would, but there’s so much noise and music blaring, and it’s not like I’m interested in where Cody Hayes is going to school. I’ve still got the smile on my face when Fox finally comes back to me. He hands me a soda, nods to Cody, and shakes his hand like he hasn’t seen him in fifteen years.

“What’s up, brother?”

“You know,” Cody says, “the usual.”

I tune out the rest, because that seems like the coping mechanism that will get me through the night. The unfortunate part of not paying attention is when you get caught, you look and feel like an idiot.

“Having fun?” Fox’s voice is so low and so near me that I jump. It’s obvious that I’ve been zoned out, and the ever-present smile on his face tells me he thinks it’s hilarious.

“Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Your lies make little babies cry.”

I screw up my lips and narrow my eyes, but then release them as I shrug. “Good thing I don’t like babies, or that would make me stop lying.”

Fox allows his jaw to drop open and lifts his eyebrows high. “You don’t like babies? No way! You’re so warm and fuzzy, I’d think—”

“Stuff it,” I say, giving him the narrowed eyed look again.

“Seriously, Saige, I’m going to take you to a day care. You’ve heard of aversion therapy? This will be immersion therapy. Babies are the cutest with those big eyes and overlarge ears.”

“They poop in their pants.”

“Well, I think if their parents do it correctly, they poop in their diapers, but point taken. They’re so tiny and—”

“Too tiny. They can’t do anything for themselves, and—”

“But they have those little fingers that wrap around your big fingers, and they look up at you with those great big eyes that have never seen anything like you before, and—”

“Want children, do you?”

For some reason, he laughs at this. I’m not sure if it’s because of the tone I take or something else, but the sound his voice takes when it comes out like that turns me into something squishy. I want to be wrapped in that laugh and let it take any lingering pain and anger away.

“Someday,” he answers. “I’ll be an awesome dad, except when it comes to homework. You can take care of that part of parenting.”

It feels as though my heart actually skips a beat. He’s looking out into the sea of people in this little house, almost like he didn’t just imply that we’d be together long enough to actually consider having babies together.

Oh, my God, are we really having the baby talk at Bree Howerton’s party?

As if she’s drawn by my thoughts, Bree appears in front of me. She smiles, but then turns to Fox. I crane my neck to see him give her this look back, and I’m not sure what the hell’s passing between them, but I don’t have to be a conspiracy theorist to know something is.

All of the sudden, Bree’s hand is on my forearm. I have to stop myself from jumping away from the contact. People like her don’t randomly touch me, but it’s not like she’s acid or anything, and I want to prove to Fox that I can be social. So I grit my teeth and put on what I hope is a friendly smile.

“Hi, Bree. Nice party.”

She shrugs and part of her long blond hair falls off her shoulder. How can she looks so damned perfect all the time?

“How’s it going?” she asks me. “Hey, I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” How she says it is weird and awkward, but I don’t comment.

“Okay.”

“Um, do you want to go outside for a second?”

Immediately, I’m hit with the fact that this may be a trap. I don’t want to go outside with her, but then my rational mind kicks in, and I realize there’s no trap, she can’t hurt me, and if this happened to Fox, he’d go out and talk with her. With a backward glance at my boyfriend, I let Bree lead me through the people to the back door, then down the deck and to the little swing set.

“Wow. This is old,” I say as I sit down on the brittle plastic swing.

“Yeah. My dad wanted to throw it out, but I’ve got tons of memories all centered around this thing. Remember that one time when you swung so fast you nearly flipped over the bar?” Bree shakes her head and looks off into the night as if she can see that day in the distance. “And I was freaking out because I thought you were going to fall and break your neck.”

“I remember.”

“But you didn’t fall. You launched yourself right out of that swing, flew into the air, and landed on your feet.”

I don’t have anything to say to that. It’s bizarre she’s even bringing it up. “So what’s going on, Bree? Why are we out here?”

“I just wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“Well, I’m leaving for Colorado soon, and something’s been bothering me for a while.”

I glance at her as I wrap my fingers around the cold metal chain. She’s still looking out into the night, like the noise from the party isn’t but a few feet away.

“So that day way back in fifth grade when Kaitlyn bitched you out in the cafeteria in front of, like, everyone?”

I look away again and bite the inside of my cheek. Who cares about that day? I don’t even acknowledge that Bree’s said anything, but she continues anyway.

“It was totally wrong of me not to stick up for you.”

My head whips up, almost as if I’m not in control of it. I don’t want to look at Bree, but I can’t help but do it. “What?”

“She was jealous of all the attention you were getting, you know, because of your dad.”

Heat fills every inch of my body, and when it gets too hot, tears burn at my eyes. “My dad?”

“Yeah, don’t you remember? She did it about two weeks after the burial.”

There are a lot of things about the past I don’t remember. It’s the details I typically forget. I think I purposefully forgot the blow-up happened so close to my dad’s death.

Bree’s pause is just long enough to let my mood sink into a place not even Fox would be able to pull himself out of.

“She’d been talking for a few days about how stupid everyone was for treating you like a princess just because your mom died so long ago. Then she said that this would be just another excuse for you to get all the attention and praise from everyone because who doesn’t love an orphan?”

I feel like I could puke. “So she was pissed that people were sorry for me? She was jealous that I no longer had parents?”

Bree shrugged. “I don’t know why, exactly, I just know that I thought it was shitty then, and I still do. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up to her for you. I went home and cried about it.”

There’s nothing to say, so I push off with the swing and start pumping my feet as I lean back and forward. I go higher and higher and higher until I think I can just barely see the little girl I used to be, and just when the chains buckle, I jump off.

But this time I don’t land on my feet. I land on my knees. The pain is nothing compared to the thought of how different my life would have turned out if Kaitlyn hadn’t been jealous of the attention a poor, little eleven-year-old orphan received. Or if Bree had just told Kaitlyn she was an epic bitch, and I’d known someone had my back; if my dad hadn’t been a marine; if my mother hadn’t gone to work that day.

I wish I could remember what she looked like in her business suit and if she wore her hair up or down. I wish I could remember the kiss on the forehead she probably gave me when she dropped me off at Gramma’s.

These damned tears need to go away. They are useless.

“Are you okay? That looked like it hurt.”

I look up at Bree as she bends down to help me off my knees. “It’s fine.”

“Saige,” she says as soon as I’m standing up. “I’m sorry I—”

“Thanks for telling me. Have a good life in Colorado.”

I don’t run away from her, but I’m inside the house in under thirty seconds. A minute after rising from the ground, I’ve got a shot of amber liquid in one hand and a beer in the other and as soon as I drink them, the tears will dry up.

***

“Better?” Fox asks as he lets down my hair. It’s been hours since I grabbed that first drink, and the car ride home has made me sick.

I flush the toilet, then move to the sink. He smoothly moves out of the way so I can brush my teeth. When I’m finished, Fox takes a hold of my elbow and leads me through my apartment to my bedroom. Everything is hazy even though I’m not as drunk as I’ve been in the past. I try not to look at him for many reasons, but one is because I’m pretty sure he almost threw up when I did but not because of intoxication. Fox is the kind of guy who risks making himself puke to hold my hair back while I vomit.

My boyfriend hasn’t asked why I drank, and he doesn’t wear a mask of disappointment on his face either, but I feel it for him. He asked me to stay sober but I hadn’t. I don’t even know if I’d be able to elaborate on why I did that shot of Tequila or drank that beer. Of course I remember everything Bree said, but I don’t remember why I had such a huge impulse to get wasted, or why I didn’t fight the urge.

“Are you staying with me?” I ask him.

“Do you think I’d let you stay here drunk and alone?” When I don’t reply, he says, “You know, I’d wanted to make out with you tonight, but now I can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” I protest.

“You just puked.”

“I brushed my teeth.”

“You could puke again.”

I shake my head but then stop when it makes me feel sick. “I feel better.”

“I can’t put my tongue in a drunk girl’s mouth, that would be ungentlemanly.”

“Even if the girl wants you to?”

He lies down next to me and puts his hand on my belly. “Especially if the girl wants me to. You’re drunk. You can’t make the—”

“OMG, Fox. You’re the world’s most perfect guy. A walking Public Service Announcement!”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” he says before giving me a kiss on the nose. “Now go to sleep.”

Sleep doesn’t come easily. There’s something aching deep inside of me. I cry against Fox’s chest before finally drifting off into the blackness.

Fox isn’t there when I wake up, but when I get to my coffeemaker, I see his drawing. If he was any other guy, it would’ve been a simple ‘gone to work’ note, but because he’s Fox, it’s a sketch of himself putting boxes on a slatted wooden platform. The best part about the picture is the pencil-sketched Fox has a visible heart on his chest with the letter S on it, and there’s a thought bubble. Again, instead of words, the drawn Fox has pictures of a stick figure guy kissing a stick figure girl.

I’m not hung over much, but I down a full glass of water anyway, then go right back to the coffee. One of the best things about Fox is how nonjudgmental he is. If I had made a promise to Myka to not get drunk and then did, she’d be oozing disappointment all over me.

As I drink my coffee, I start thinking about how easy it was for me to go back into the party and grab some alcohol when I started feeling all the stuff I hate feeling. I don’t like that I did that. I don’t like that one conversation about something important and meaningful left me pulsating for ways to drown out emotions.

So after my coffee, I start getting rid of all the crap in my apartment that makes it easy for me to run away from emotions like that. I pour all my alcohol down the drain. It’s uncomfortable to watch liquids you enjoy drinking going down to mingle with the dirty water, human waste, and God knows what else, but when I go to flush the weed down the toilet, I have an actual gut reaction. I’m angry as I tuck the baggie into my pants pocket, because who the hell has the right to make me feel bad for smoking a joint every once in a while? Hell, it’s legal in some states, but while New Jersey allows for medicinal uses of marijuana, I can’t claim that’s what I do.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with smoking pot, but I can’t deny that I probably don’t use it right. Instead of breaking the pipe and flushing the papers and weed, I put it back in the box and call Myka.

When she gets to my apartment an hour later, I shove the box at her as quickly as possible because I might change my mind and my entire morning will have been wasted. There’s a little urge in me to smoke up with her one last time, but I think about Fox and if he’d want me to do it. The answer, of course, is no, he wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t make me feel bad. The fact that he wouldn’t shove it in my face is such a prime motivator to me, and I don’t know why. If he was blatant about his disapproval, it would make me want to get high more, like when my Gramma gives her opinion. But because he’s so cool about it, he makes me want to give it up, just to see if he’ll be proud of me.

“What’s all this?” Myka asks with box in hand.

“My weed and pipe.”

“Um,” says, drawing it out as she raised an eyebrow at me. “Okay.”

“I don’t want it anymore.”

“You don’t want your pot?”

I shake my head and turn around. “I don’t want to keep running to things that everyone says I shouldn’t run to.”

“Who says you shouldn’t?”

I can tell she’s trying to figure it out but failing. “Just take the stuff okay?”

“Okay. So how’s the book going?”

“Good. How’s Valentine? Has he agreed to stay with you forever and go to NYU?”

“Actually,” she says as she puts the box on the coffee table and sits down, “he has. I mean, sort of. He’s considering it, like really thinking about it. I mean, with you being iffy and all, there’s a space for him in whatever apartment we settle on, and—”

While Myka continues to talk, I’m struck by how much it hurts that she’s planning for me not to share the apartment with her in the fall. I know it’s my own doing and I could change it by committing to going to school with her, but it still sucks that she has contingency plans.

“But even if you do go, there’s still enough room in the apartment for Val. He’s skinny and doesn’t take up much space, and if he sleeps in my room. . .” Myka doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she lets it hang there with a waggle of her eyebrow.

“You’ve got the whole thing planned out,” I say.

She shrugs. “Not the whole thing, but how awesome would it be if all three of us are living it up in New York?”

Just like every time we talk about college, my mind turns to California and the beach. Maybe it’s stupid to have these dreams of something other than college. Kids are supposed to go to college after high school. Both my parents went to NYU, so I should go there too, right? I don’t even know anyone in California and so far, being a writer seems only to be me writing some stuff and letting it sit unfinished on my computer until I forget that it’s even there.

“Hello? Saige? Earth to Saige?”

Myka’s snapping fingers draw me back to Pechimu, New Jersey. “What?”

“You did it again.”

“Did what?” I ask.

“Went to that far off land you sometimes go to when you refuse to take part in talks about our awesome future. You’re like Peter Pan.”

“I don’t refuse to grow up; I just get bored talking about college.” But I think maybe Myka’s right. Peter was basically an abandoned child, needy, wanting, and desperate to keep Wendy.

Wait. I’m not the desperate one. Myka’s desperate to keep Valentine. I’m okay if I lose Fox. In fact, I’m fully expecting it to happen sooner rather than later.

Right?

A pressure in my chest builds. I need to do something to make sure Fox and I are solid. It’s been a while since I gave him those earrings. I need to do something badass. Something he’s going to love.

So, forgetting all about Myka, I pick up my laptop and start searching the internet. I don’t find what I’m looking for until after she leaves, but when I do, I go all out on it. As soon as everything has been arranged, I call Fox.

“Hey, Saigephina.”

I smile at the name and sound of his voice, but I can’t be distracted. “So I have a surprise for you but it requires you to miss work Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”

“Cool. I’m in.”

His quick answer shouldn’t surprise me, Fox is just like that, but the way he’s so free about everything, even obligations he cares about, like work, is so jarringly different from the way I am. I’m organizing this trip, so it feels less spur-of-the-moment than it would if Fox had called me up and said, Let’s go away for the weekend.

Fox takes stuff like this in stride, so I feel it’s my duty to be concerned about the important stuff. “Will you be able to switch some shifts and get the time off?”

“Yeah, no big. So? Where are we going? Huh, huh? Where?”

I laugh at his enthusiasm. “It’s a surprise. All you need to know is that I need you at my apartment no later than nine in the morning on Friday with a small bag of clothes for the weekend.”

“Oh, my God, where are we going? Where are we going? Where are we going?” Fox sounds like a little kid.

“You’re going to be unbearable until you know, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea how many times I’m going to ask you.”

“But it’s a surprise.”

He chuckles over the phone. “Yes, but never ending questions and guessing are parts of surprises, so be prepared. The next time I see you, I may have to tickle the answer out of you.”

***

Somehow I manage to keep the secret until Friday. Fox had been serious when he said he’d try to tickle it out of me, but I managed to turn that into making out on his bed. Well, it almost turned into more than just making out, but I could hear his father’s footsteps upstairs, so I ended it by getting off the bed and studying his newest drawing.

Today, his eyes get huge when he sees the airport. Through sideway glances, I’ve seen him watching the blue sign with the word airport and a picture of a plane pass by, but he doesn’t say anything until we are in the parking garage.

When I pop open my door, he says, “I’ve never flown before.”

The softness of his voice stops me from getting out of the car. I turn to him. “It’s not even a three hour flight.”

Fox nods. “Okay.” He makes no move to get out of the car.

“Are you scared or something? Flying is—”

“I’m not scared,” he interrupts. “It’s just. . .haven’t you ever felt a bit nervous before doing something you’ve never done?”

“Yeah, but you’re Fox,” I say as if that clears everything up. “I mean, you’re fearless, aren’t you?”

He takes a big, deep breath and looks away. “Yeah,” he says as he opens the passenger door. He doesn’t sound convinced, so as we walk from my car to the terminal, I hold his hand.

After security, as we’re putting our shoes back on, I nudge him with my shoulder. “This is like a trial run for your trip to England, right? It’s better for your first flight to be a short one than one across the sea.”

“Yeah,” he says back.

I reach up and push a bit of hair off his forehead. Fox takes my hand and holds it in his lap for a moment before releasing it to finish tying his shoes. He stands, holds out his hands to me and pulls me up. “Sorry I’m being a baby.”

“You’re not a baby,” I say as I squeeze his hands. “I think it’s kind of nice that you’re showing your nerves. Makes you a real person instead of the superhero you almost always are.”

The way he looks at me with his intense eyes makes me want to turn away, but I force myself to stay put.

“I’m not a superhero.”

“You are to me,” I say. I wriggle one hand free, pick up my bag, and tug him away from the bench.

Fox lets me lead him for a little bit, then he stops. I try to tug him forward, but he’s like a boulder, so I turn back. “What?”

He shakes his head for just a second before pulling me back to him and saying, “I love you,” before kissing me in front of everyone walking around us. When he ends the embrace, he says, “I feel better now.”

This time, it’s Fox who pulls me through the terminal until we reach our gate.

***

Four hours later, we’re on our way to the hotel I booked. In the cab, Fox is like a little kid. He’s bouncing up and down, pressing his face against the window, asking if we’re there yet. When we get to the Peninsula Hotel right off Michigan Avenue, his eyes get big again.

“We’re staying here?”

“Yep.”

Fox takes my shoulders and gives me a gentle shake. “Saige!”

I mirror his expression and say, “Fox!”

“Why are we in Chicago?”

This is what I’ve been excited to reveal since coming up with the idea. I press my lips together like I’m not going to tell him, but the nervous tickle in my belly balloons into something unstoppable. I pull out the printed tickets from my bag and casually hand them over.

A little of my enjoyment dies because I forgot how hard reading is for Fox, but he’s working at it. He is moving his eyes slowly over the bold letters, and finally, he looks up at me. “You’re taking me to an Avett Brother’s concert?”

There is nothing I can say to match the expression on his face. His lips are stretched in the biggest smile I’ve ever seen—on him or anyone. His chocolate eyes are glinting and gleaming; all of the sudden a bit watery. Fox is vibrant with happiness brought by two little pieces of paper held tightly in his hands.

“Saige!”

“Fox!” I say again.

“You’re. . .I mean. . .Oh, man.”

I chuckle as I pull out some bills to pay the cabbie. “I didn’t think it was possible to make you speechless.”

As soon as the cab driver has the money, I turn to the door, intending to pop it open, but Fox grabs my waist and pulls me to him. I twist to face him and am pressed back into the seat. His mouth is on mine. With his tongue, he carefully encourages mine to slide against his. With just the tiniest shift of his neck, Fox pulls his mouth from mine and glides his lips down my jaw, to just below my ear. I can hear his breath. So close. Every tiny sensation seems to ripple down my body like a pleasant hurricane inflicting beautiful havoc within me.

Fox moves his hands up just a little from my waist until his thumbs touch the sides of my breasts, and the moment I take a small gasp of air, he covers my mouth with his again.

A cough and a tap on the car horn breaks our connection. The cabbie stares at us. He obviously wants us to do this outside his vehicle. I say nothing as I get out, but Fox thanks the guy for his time and wishes him a good day before hopping out and grabbing our bags from the trunk.

Just like the hotel in New York, Fox is awed by the grandeur of this one. It makes me wonder where he’s planning on staying while in England. Probably not a five-star hotel. He’ll probably stay at youth hostels. Now, I know nothing about hostels beyond the few glimpses I’ve had from travel shows, but I don’t enjoy the image of Fox sleeping on a tiny bunk with dudes he doesn’t know.

But it’s his trip, not mine.

“Saigey-poo, this hotel is crazy. We should’ve just stayed—”

Although he’s usually the one to interrupt, I stop him. “We’re staying here. We’re not staying at a cheap motel because I can afford better and because I want this trip to be awesome. We’re not going to go to the concert tomorrow night and come back to a raggedy old mattress inside a room with dingy, dirty wallpaper and a broken toilet that smells. Okay? We’re staying here. It’s beautiful and clean, and you’re going to love it.”

Even though he’s carrying two bags, Fox sweeps me up and twirls me around once. I can almost feel everyone’s eyes on us, but I don’t mind it so much. When he puts me down, I take his hand and lead him to the front desk.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to the Peninsula Hotel.”

“Thank you!” Fox says before I can respond. “This place is. . .wow!”

The guy behind the desk just smiles at him in a polite way.

I take over. “Saige Armstrong. I booked an executive suite.”

The man types on the keyboard. “Ah, yes. Departing Sunday morning?”

“I’ve never been to Chicago,” Fox says. “How awesome of a town is this? I mean, really.”

“Well, sir, Chicago boasts—”

Fox holds up his hands. “I don’t want the normal speech.”

“The what, sir?”

“The normal speech you give to everyone else,” Fox explains with a grin. “I want what you say to out-of-town relatives or friends you’re trying to get to visit. Tell me what’s awesome about Chicago.”

I fear by the clerk’s expression, he might say something condescending to Fox, but I’m surprised when a little light sparks in the man’s eyes. “Everyone loves the planetarium and the aquarium, but there’s a nighttime bike tour of the city that is just incredible. And everyone always wants to go up into the Willis Tower, but—”

“The what?” Fox asks.

“Used to be the Sears Tower. Anyway, the tourists love doing that, but I think if you’re interested in something other than a tall building, you should check out Frank Lloyd Wright’s homes. The architectural significance is something not to be missed. And while you could go to the Navy Pier for the ferris wheel and amusement, I’d tell you to spend your time at Cuneo Museum and Gardens. It’s a little outside of town, but the drive is well worth it.” The clerk looks to me, then back to Fox. “It’s beautiful and romantic.”

“Thanks, man,” Fox says with genuine enthusiasm. He holds out his hand to the guy and they shake. It still amazes me how easy it is for Fox to make friends.

***

“Come on, Saige. Dance!” Fox says as he moves around like someone possessed by the music.

I’m not sure what happened to the past day and a half. It feels like it’s just flown by. Because this trip is mainly for him, I let him pick the itinerary, so after checking in last night and grabbing dinner, he forced me on a bicycle tour of the city. Thank you, hotel clerk. My thighs are still sore from all the peddling, but Fox had a great time, and if I have to admit, I did too.

Before the concert we shopped and ate, but Fox wanted to rest before the show. I didn’t get it until now. Fox isn’t the only one dancing to The Avett Brothers. It seems like this entire section is moving. To be honest, the music and the band’s energy is infectious.

“No one can see us,” Fox yells over the music as he takes my hands and forces me to dance.

“Everyone can see us!” I shout back.

“But no one’s watching. Dance, girl!”

And so I do. I give myself over to the collective spirit of the crowd, and before I know it, the night is over. As the band leaves the stage a final time, they toss things into the crowd. I’m not sure if it’s meant for him, but Fox snags a fingerpick out of the air.

He holds it reverently for a moment, before looking back up on stage and yelling his thanks. He turns to me, face aglow with the thrill of the concert and having such a special keepsake. “Oh, my God, Saige. I have Scott Avett’s banjo pick.”

I nod. “That’s awe—”

“I mean, he used this the entire night!”

“Yep. And now it’s yours.”

Fox picks me up and twirls me around. It’s not the first time he does it, but I still have to stop myself from pushing away from him. I don’t really want to get away, but it’s not comfortable to be picked up.

We’re quiet and subdued in the cab back to the hotel. We leave tomorrow and head back to our regular lives, but neither of us are thinking about that right now. Fox is cradling the pick in one hand and holding mine with the other as we both lean back against the seat.

“I love you, you know,” he says in a quiet voice.

I turn my head to look at him.

He locks his eyes on mine and says, “I can’t believe you flew me to Chicago to see The Avett Brothers.”

“There’s another concert in Camden in a few weeks. I bought us tickets.”

He gathers me into his arms and holds me close to him. “You are a spoiler, do you know that?”

“Spoil? Like in a bad way?” I ask.

“No, but I like being with you even without fancy hotels and concerts.”

“But seeing The Avetts live isn’t bad, is it?”

“No,” he says with a chuckle. “Thanks for giving it to me.”

In the hotel room, I laugh as Fox sings “The Ballad of Love and Hate” in a very dramatic manner. He has a hold of my hand and is dancing us through the room. I’m not sure how he does it, but he manages to navigate between furniture and doorways until we’re in the bedroom of the suite.

Just as he sings the last line and holds it, the backs of his legs hit the bed, and he sits. With his hands on my waist, he stretches his neck up. Fox wants a kiss, and I want to give it to him.

I step into his space. Fox brings his legs closer to mine so his thighs trap my knees. He is tall enough I don’t have to lean far to reach his lips, which is good since when my lips touch his, my body feels boneless, weightless, fragile yet strong.

I don’t have enough experience kissing before this to know I’d like the closeness, but I know it now. The way his heat radiates through the small spaces between us and penetrates my flesh is a sensation like none other I’ve had. Soon, Fox moves his hands down, over my hips and slides them down the outsides of my thighs. He curls them around the back and brings them up.

It’s difficult, but I try not to be so shocked and girlish when I feel the palms of his hands flat against the back pockets of my jeans. With gently applied pressure, he brings me flush to him. It makes kissing him more awkward, so I try to pull away.

Fox doesn’t let me.

Instead, he brings one hand back up to my waist and tugs me until I’m sitting on one of his legs. Once there, he sweeps my hair away from my neck and starts kissing a spot that makes my toes curl inside my shoes.

“Maybe I should. . .” I stop my words as shivers run down from that spot on my neck. “I probably smell like the concert. Maybe I should. . .”

“You smell wonderful,” he says, lips still against my flesh. With one of his hands cupping the side of my face, he turns my head back to him and kisses me again. Everything is happening so fast, and yet it feels like slow motion.

It takes little effort on either of our part to lie back on the bed. Likewise, it takes no thought to remove my shirt after his hands have bunched it up near my breasts. I kick off my shoes without thinking about it, and without consciously knowing I’ve told them to, I realize my hands are underneath Fox’s shirt, pushing it up and over his head until he’s half naked.

We’ve made out in the past, and there have been some heavy touches, but I’ve never been chest to chest with him like this. The only thing limiting the experience is my bra, so I take my hands from him, twist them around while arching my back and unclasp the strap.

For some reason, I can’t look him in the eyes, so I focus on his mouth. His lips are parted and for just a split second, he sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip. Fox removes my bra, then covers one naked breast with his hand.

I think he’s going to kiss me again, but he nudges my face with his chin until my eyes are locked with his. My first instinct is to look away because too much eye contact is overwhelming, but I make myself hold his gaze. I am perfectly calm. He’s smiling at me through his eyes as his hand carefully manipulates the flesh of my body.

Before I know it, he’s down to his underwear, and I’m only wearing my panties. His hands are in places no other guy’s have been because the time with Tommy St. John wasn’t like this.

Fox lifts himself up onto his elbows, then leans his head down to me. The stubble on his jaw scratches at the skin on my chin. With his lips close to my ear, he asks, “Is this okay?”

I nod, but then realize nonverbal communication in a time like this probably isn’t the best, so I say, “Yes.”

He lowers himself down onto me again, tucks his thumbs into the waistline of my panties and somehow removes them without pulling away. My belly is full of nerves, and I feel like my shaky breath isn’t providing enough oxygen. I really want this with him, so as soon as he’s finished taking off his boxers, I smile at the newness of the sensation of full flesh on flesh. I can feel the smile on my face falter just a little when he fiddles with the condom, but soon, he kisses me, and it calms the wild butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

No words are spoken between us, and I keep my eyes fixed on his forehead for as long as I can. When we are as close as two people can be, he kisses me with such tenderness I have to close my eyes to appreciate it fully.

It’s not like in the movies where love scenes are slow and carefully practiced. Our bodies move fast and there is no over-the-top orchestral arrangement disguising the noises we make. But this is better than in the movies, because this is real. This is Fox’s passion meeting mine. While there is a little nagging part of my mind worrying about if I’m doing it right and if he likes it, for the most part, I keep myself focused only on the here and now; the movements we make; the beauty of what we’re doing.

At some point, he rolls us over, and I’m on top of him. I feel so incapable and immature, and all of the sudden, I freeze. My body won’t move and my mind won’t work.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as he sweeps the hair away from my face with both his hands. He brings one hand to cup my cheek, the other to my hip.

And with his words and his touch, I melt.