Chapter 34 Ryan

CHAPTER 34 RYAN

January 2007

Los Angeles

The first night after Cass extended her trip, I was lying in bed, wide-awake. An hour passed, then another. The entire time I was poised, always just a moment from climbing out of bed and knocking on Cass’s door. My senses were heightened. I was listening deeply. Every creak of the house, every branch hitting a window had me wondering if maybe it was her coming to me.

I was wearing just an old T-shirt and thong, and my skin was alive against the sheets. I imagined what would happen if she slipped into bed next to me. The energy of it felt like a tornado, with me at the center. I thought at once that it was my imagination and also that it was the realest thing I’d ever felt. Across the hall, she must be listening for me, for my footsteps. Nothing else made sense.

Then finally, like a dream, I got out of bed. The clock read 1:57. The wood was cold on my feet, and I shivered, nervous. With every step toward her, I was in disbelief that I was upright. The cover of night made me curious. Was I real? Was this real? I kept telling myself it was.

I knocked so softly on the door. Softly enough that if she was asleep—but she couldn’t be asleep—she wouldn’t hear me. I pressed my ear to the wood. A long second passed.

“Come in,” came Cass’s voice from inside, a faint whisper. I turned the knob gently, letting myself into the room, releasing it only after pressing the door closed behind me. My eyes had just started to adjust. I could see Cass on the left side of the bed, right leg flung over the covers. I tiptoed to the other side and as I got closer, she lifted the covers for me and I laid myself down, facing her. Her hair was falling in her eyes. I reached over and tucked it behind her ear, which I’d seen her do a dozen times and had fantasized about doing myself. I let my hand rest on her neck, her skin warm beneath my touch, and I made my eyes as soft as possible so maybe she could see how much I wanted this—her.

My body was a loose wire. I resisted the urge to wrap myself around her. Wait, wait, wait , I told myself many times. Wanting everything to be perfect. We lay staring at each other for many seconds and my heartbeat was a sound that seemed to fill the room. Then she was moving her body toward mine. We were only centimeters apart and still the only place we were touching was my hand on her neck. She leaned into my ear and whispered, “What took you so long?” Then she brought her lips closer, so they were hovering next to mine, a molecule apart, if that. And I waited for her still, waited some more. But then I couldn’t help myself, and I pressed into her, and she exhaled in a way that made me know for sure that she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

The thing I remember about that night is that no stop signs existed. Not even a yield. The moment our bodies came together—her hard nipples against my skin—we each escalated in turn. She brought her left hand to my breast. I reached for her hip. She slowly moved her right hand, which had been briefly gripping my neck, down the length of my body, pausing her open palm on my stomach and subtly pressing her hips into mine, then traveled farther until she was just outside of me. I arched my back—I wanted her to feel how wet I was—until she was inside. Then I exhaled slowly into her ear, whispered, Fuuuuuck . She turned my chin with her free hand and looked me right in the eyes, began rhythmically moving herself into me.