I stared at him, breathless.
“Kick my door in.”
It was absolutely the sexiest thing I’d ever said to a man.
He stared wide-eyed at the door, then back at me.
“Are you sure?”
I was sure. I wanted him to ruin my apartment’s front door. I wanted him to ruin me—in the best fucking way possible.
“Kick my door in,” I repeated, hungrily against his lips.
Garrett closed his eyes as my hand ran up his leg, tightening over the bulge in his jeans. He tilted his chin to the ceiling, sucked in air, then backed up from my body and adjusted his pants. I stood a few inches behind his strong build, my body trembling as his wingtip shoe met my door’s handle. The wood splintered at the lock, sending my front door wide open.
Garrett turned to me with a devilish grin, and before I could undress him right there in the doorway, he tugged my mouth back onto his, and spun us both through the open door—as if we were one.
I lifted my arms as he pulled the shirt off my body, leaving me topless in front of him. His shirt came off in a fever, and he held me against his body, so my breasts met his chest.
We stood still for a moment, two hearts racing as Garrett traced long lines with his eyes and his hands up and down the naked sides of my ribs.
I moved back, and with eyes wide on him, I stepped out of my heels and took off my jeans, now only in a pair of underwear.
His eyes didn’t leave mine as he reached back to wedge the door shut. He stared, unblinking, taking in every side of me, with just the light of the city beaming through the window, yellow hues against my sweltering skin.
“You’re ridiculously beautiful,” he exhaled.
I kept my eyes on his as I unbuttoned his jeans. He stepped out of his pants and his briefs, setting himself free, and in one motion, he pulled me toward him.
I kissed the curve of his neck, musk and vanilla, and I let my hand move down his abs, until I had his hard dick in my grip. His breathing thickened as my hand slid back and forth, sending his eyes to the ceiling. Garrett pulled back slightly, my hand still on him as he kissed my naked shoulder. His lips made a trail down my body, taking one breast at a time full in his mouth, my eyes going to the ceiling, his tongue down my rib cage, sending my hands off his body. The heat of his mouth hovered above my lace underwear, the tips of his fingers moving up and down my inner thigh, my legs shaking. Heat engulfed my chest, as his mouth tugged my wet underwear to the floor. I clenched my hands in his hair as his tongue went inside me, my grip squeezing tighter and tighter. His tongue and his touch weakened my legs until my vision was blurry and my trembling body turned white hot. I arched my head back in a loud moan, my body writhing.
He came back up toward me and pulled my trembling frame against him, our mouths fighting for air against each other as he lifted me onto the bed with ease—his perfect, naked body on mine.
Garrett hovered over me, hands on either side of my face, his blue eyes scanning my body the way I always dreamed they would. He encircled the small tattoo on my rib cage—a full black-and-gray moon.
“You have a tattoo,” he marveled.
I smiled. “It’s like…maybe the only thing you don’t know about me,” I said.
His smile faded, face stiffening, as if remembering that he knew everything about me. Everything but this. He tucked a strand of hair back from my face, keeping one hand on my cheek.
“Maggie, I’m leaving for nine months.”
“I know…” My voice quivered in confusion, wondering where this was going.
“I’ve thought about this, about us—so many times. But I did long distance right after college and it went very poorly.…I don’t want to do that to us.” He closed his mouth, gaze on me.
I knew where he was going, but I couldn’t go there, not right now. I’d overthought us five years ago, when our lips almost touched, and that moment punched me in the loneliest hours of the night, or every time he smiled at me the right way. My default was to overthink every scenario, but I couldn’t live with the regret of not moving forward because of fear that it wouldn’t last.
“Do you want this, right now?” I asked.
His body was swelling hard against mine, fingers tracing a circle around my hip bone.
“More than you know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the admission.
My heart raced as I took my hand and wrapped it around him, showing him that I was right there with him. I wanted this. I wanted him. Garrett’s eyes closed at my touch, and his breathing quickened.
“Do you have a condom?” I whispered into his ear.
He pulled back from me with a grin, then leaned his torso over the side of my bed, finding his wallet inside his pants pocket on the floor. I watched him put on the condom, and a moment later, he steadied his naked body over mine. His eyes blazed down at me, and he pinned my wrist over my head. His lips came back down to mine, soft and warm, delicate and tender, and his other hand pulled me upward in one motion, as he sank deep inside me.
Like that time when we had sung together, we just fit. Our mouths, our limbs. We knew where to touch each other without knowing—and there was no unknowing this kind of pleasure.
I wasn’t someone who prayed often, just on High Holidays, but right there, with Garrett’s strong hold effortlessly rolling us over, I looked down at his grin, and I silently prayed. I prayed for the memory of this moment to hurt less than the what-if of it never having happened. I shifted back and forth on top of his body, his hand on my waist—back and forth, hard and soft, until pulses inside me clenched over his dick, heat moving up my throat and expelling a moan from the depth of my lungs. He rolled me back over and moved back and forth, faster and faster until he was saying my name into my ear, his hands clenched up in my hair, his body sinking onto mine, my chest collapsing against his.
Later that night, my fingers memorized his naked body as he slept tangled up in me. I felt tears prick my eyes, and staring at his sleeping calm face, I prayed once more. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to pine for this moment—that Garrett and I would do this again and again, forever and ever. All I wanted was everything. What’s so bad about that?
Let’s lie to ourselves like new lovers do
33
THIRTY-FIVE
ONCE I WALKED AWAY FROM Garrett at the engagement party, I broke down and called Summer. In between tears, I told her we had to leave immediately. She came and rescued me in front of the sprawling entrance to the stables. I cried the entire short drive back to her East Hampton home, while she patted my shoulder with wide eyes.
When we got to Summer’s house, after I sobbed in the shower, Summer and I curled up outside by the firepit in her backyard. I leaned back in the Adirondack chair with wet wavy hair, plucking my guitar, trying out a verse for the movie.
I watch you throw hope to the wolves
You shrug as they rip the dream of us apart
Why should our finale have a heart
Go ahead, burn me at the stake saying words better left unsaid
Until the ashes of our maybes become my bed
Summer gaped at me, alarmed, as the last line left my lips.
“Jesus Christ, Maggie.”
“What?”
“You’re make Elliott Smith seem fun.”
I scribbled the chords down alongside the lyrics in my songwriting notebook. “It’s for the All Is Lost moment in the movie,” I said.
“I thought you said this song was supposed to be hopeful.”
“It is. I just…I might be projecting, a little bit.”
“You think?” Summer grabbed the cup of melted ice at my feet, tossed it over her shoulder and refilled it with whisky. “Babe, Garrett’s a giant coward, and I refuse to let you sleep in the embers of his shitty spinelessness.”
“I know. I just— Ugh. I wish I hated him more than I do.”