Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

On the street outside my building, the sounds of Manhattan ensue. Metal gates being pulled down over storefronts. Hot dog carts lumbering down the sidewalk to whatever magical land they disappear to overnight. Cabs tapping their horns.

Inside, though, it’s just breathing. Music still drifts from my iPhone into the room’s darkness, artificial light seeping in through my blinds to highlight the sheen of sweat cooling on our bodies. I’ve never felt closer or further away from anyone in my life as I do with Charlie right now. It’s almost like we’re on two different ships, both standing on the ends of a plank, facing one another. One of us need only take one step, climb onto the other’s plank and be taken into the safety of the ship, but the tide keeps bobbing up and down, keeping the elusive something we’re seeking just out of reach.

Here in reality, though, we’re in my bed holding hands. And I’m trying really hard to be content with that. Something happened between us when Charlie was inside me. It’s never been like that before. Intense, desperate, raw. He’s still here, too, his fingers wrapped tightly around mine.

What happens next? Do we spoon? I can almost hear Charlie asking himself the same question in some discombobulated inner male dialogue. Truthfully, I would die to have Charlie pull me back against his chest, curving his warm body around mine. I would die to fall asleep with his deep breaths in my hair. Of course I want those things from the man I’m in love with. Of course.

Have I decided to be Charlie’s friend with benefits? To attempt baby steps with him, like spending the night and holding hands . . . and hope for the best? No. I’ve made no decisions or devised any plans. I’m only living in the world of tonight. The world where Charlie spends the night in my bed and I don’t have to say goodbye while my heart is still racing from sex. Maybe I’m just hoping the universe tilts and rights itself, doing me a solid, so I can continue having this man in my life without experiencing any of the pain.

“Ever,” Charlie murmurs into the darkness. “Do you ever think back to when you were . . . I don’t know, seventeen? And do you remember how positive you were at seventeen that you had everything sort of figured out? You thought there’s no way I can speak to people better than I do now, or be more self-aware . . .”

“No way I can drive more efficiently or understand stand-up comedy better . . .”

His laugh drifts across the bed and curls up in my ear. “How did I know you would understand?” My heart squeezes, but I don’t answer. “So even though we look back and know damn well at seventeen we were still learning, here we are at twenty-three, thinking the exact same way. We have it all figured out.”

“And you wonder if, when we’re thirty, we’ll look back and shake our heads.”

“Exactly.”

“I know we will.” I turn onto my side, yawning into the pillow. “The good news is, we never would have had this conversation when we were seventeen. We didn’t have the hindsight yet. The fact that we have it now . . . that has to be progress. And admitting the problem is the first step, right?”

“Yeah.” He rolls onto his side, too, bringing our faces mere inches apart. “Or . . . doing something again and again while expecting a different result is the definition of insanity. I guess it depends how you look at it.”

“I like the progress version better than the we’re insane version.”

His lips tilt up, but his eyes are serious. “I don’t want to turn thirty and wonder what the fuck was wrong with me at twenty-three.” The muscles in his throat slide up and down, his hands tightening around mine. “You know what I mean, cutie?”

My body tenses, every pulse point ticking like a clock in hyper drive. What is he saying? That he wants to pursue an actual relationship, so he doesn’t regret letting what we have fall by the wayside when he’s older? Or. Or is he telling me he doesn’t want to saddle himself with a girl, because he might regret it when he rounds the corner into his fourth decade? His eyes . . . it’s hard to tell in the near dark, but I think they’re apologetic. Oh God. Asking him to stay was a mistake. This is his exit strategy. “Y-yeah, I know what you mean.” I try to take my hand back, but he holds tight, his brow furrowing. “It’s scary to think decisions you make at twenty-three could . . . put you off course—”

“Right. I think. There’s more than one course, though, right?” He goes up on an elbow, so he’s staring down into my face. The intensity of his concentration momentarily steals my breath, so I can’t dissect the doubts sprinting through my mind. “You can’t focus so much on one course, you forget the one running alongside it. Through it.” He gives a nervous laugh, but once again, his eyes are laser focused. “I’m not sure we’re on the same page here, Ever.”

“What page are you on?” I whisper, scared to find out. Relieved I’ll finally know what he’s thinking. Polarized by the possibility of change. Loss. All of the above.

The music cuts out as my phone starts to ring across the room.

Which is the shittiest timing on the planet.

Especially because Charlie is breathing heavily—so am I—and we’re staring at one another in the darkness, like two people who left a costume party together and just removed our masks for the first time. I can barely move or blink, I’m so consumed by the way he’s looking at me. But a memory from earlier today intrudes, and I have no choice but to go answer the phone.

“That’s my mother’s ringtone,” I say, remembering how optimistic she’d looked today. Just for a hint of time. “I—she was going out tonight, and it was my idea. I just need to make sure she’s all right.”

Charlie nods, but I can see he’s frustrated by the interruption. “That’s fine. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” I let go of his hand and slip from the bed, stooping down to drag on my underwear and discarded shorts. By the time I reach the phone, it’s ringing for the second time, causing panic to slither into my chest. Crap. What if something bad happened on her night out, setting her way back . . . and it was my idea. “Mother?” I answer. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Better than okay.” Her enthusiasm, though restrained, reaches out and grabs me through the phone. “I did what we spoke about. I put on the green dress and went out to a singles mixer I overheard my coworkers babbling about. And it was awful. It was just awful.”

In the window, I watch Charlie climb out of bed and approach me, his cock halfway to hard again, rebounding off his upper thigh with each step. A distraction for the freaking record books, but I command myself to focus on my mother’s words, even as Charlie’s hands settle on my hips, his lips pressing a kiss onto my shoulder. “If it was so awful . . .” I inhale through my nose, out through my mouth. “Why are you laughing?”