He nods against my neck.
“Does she want to meet me?”
“Yes,” he whispers against my skin.
This time I sit up, breaking the connection between us. I can’t take him seriously when all I want to do his rip off his clothes. I sit cross-legged in front of him. His hand immediately finds mine. He, too, needs to touch me. It’s like we need each other to breathe and that’s something I haven’t felt for a very long time.
“What’s going on, Ryan?”
He sits back up on his elbow. “We talked yesterday before I went to work. I told her that you’re important to me.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
“Yes, she does. I guess she’s helping me in a way. She doesn’t approve of me sneaking around, but she’s not going to tell my dad.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
Ryan chuckles. “Very good.”
“Where am I supposed to meet her?”
“Church,” he says as he looks at the bedside clock. “That gives you two hours to do whatever girls do before we have to leave.”
I punch him lightly with my free hand.
“How long does it take you to get ready?”
“I can be ready in forty-five minutes. Why?”
“Because I want to kiss you some more.”
“You do?”
“Come here, let me show you.”
I fall into Ryan’s arms. His hands don’t leave my hair, my neck, or my face. They never roam past my shoulders. This PG relationship is not what I had in mind when I thought about having a boyfriend, but I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever I can get with him.
Pulling away from him is torture. It’s like pulling two magnets away from each other. The pull is there and sometimes you aren’t strong enough to keep them from reattaching. That’s how I feel. He makes me want to be better, to write more, to smile at every little moment that happens to me, whether it’s a good thing or not.
I slip on a dress, one more appropriate for church, and stare at myself in the mirror. I’m twenty-two years old and in love with a boy. I mouth the words over and over again, I love him. I watch in fascination, as my face breaks out into the biggest grin I’ve seen in a long time. Nothing can even come close to what I’m feeling for Ryan and he’s about to introduce me to his mom. If he had told me this when we first met, I’d call bullshit.
Coming out of the bathroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s changed into slacks and a dress shirt. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we are an old couple following a daily routine. I like the idea of growing old with him.
He stands, taking the few steps that separate us. He pulls my hand into his. He’s happy – it’s written all over his face.
“I have a beautiful girlfriend.”
I shy away at him calling me beautiful. He doesn’t realize how much of a compliment that is. How much that word means to me. Sure, I hear that I’m hot or sexy, but never beautiful.
“Thank you.”
“I mean it.” He steps closer. I want to kiss him. Throw him back onto the bed and rip off his shirt. The desire to feel his skin against mine is there, testing my resolve.
“I know,” I say, nodding. “You make me feel beautiful.” He does. It’s in the way that he looks at me. The way that he holds my hand or caresses my face, his fingers stop against my skin.
A knock on the door causes him to step back; even though Alex knows he’s here and knows about us, he’s cautious. I can’t blame him, but would like him to feel at ease when we’re together like this. Alex isn’t going to tell anyone.
“Come in,” I holler. Ryan lets go of my hand. He turns away and stares out the window, stuffing his hands into his pockets when Alex walks in.