I reach over to my nightstand drawer, rooting around inside for something I haven’t looked at in ages. “Do you remember this?” I pull out the strip of photos, watching his face light up.
“You kept this?” He stares at it in disbelief. “Yes. Of course I remember that day because we got in trouble immediately afterward.” He points to the last photo. “Look at our faces. We knew we were about to get caught.” He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “Worth it, though.”
I lean back against him. Whatever we have here, it’s something I never felt with Jonathan, or with any of the others. And maybe that’s the difference, that this with Tarek is comfortable, even when I want to climb on top of him and kiss him until he groans deep in his throat. The way my parents treat me, it’s as though I am too old for my skin, for my bones. With Julia, we’ve had our own language for so long. But Tarek is familiar and brand-new at the same time. My brain isn’t buzzing, aside from the low-grade anxiety-hum I carry through life. With Tarek, my mind is quiet, and god that’s a nice feeling.
Or at least, it’s quiet as long as I don’t think about what happens when we don’t have this anymore.
When he goes back to school.
When we maybe stop talking again.
“Could you play something for me?” he asks. “You’ve been teasing for so long. I’m dying to hear.”
Sitting in my desk chair isn’t the most ideal setup, but I make it work. I tilt the cherrywood harp backward, enjoying its familiar weight, and launch into the first few bars of a song I’ve been practicing a lot lately.
“Cat Power?” he says, eyes bright. “You learned that for me?”
There’s this dangerous sweetness in his words that nearly breaks me in half.
“I’m still figuring it out. That’s all I know so far.” But it doesn’t stop him from grinning.
I launch into another piece, a Maxine original, and the entire time, I’m aware of his eyes on me. Lately, I’ve been able to shut everything out while I’m playing—but not this. Not now.
“You love it,” he says when I finish, and there is something so earnest in his tone that I can’t not kiss him after that.
It feels like only the two of us exist up here in the tower, and I’m thinking I would be okay if we never left.
For long, lazy minutes, all we do is kiss. Slow, slow, fast. Slow, slow, fast. Building our own rhythm. His hands on my back and on my hips and then sliding down my thighs, like there is not enough of me for him to touch.
Gently, I run a hand along the faint reddish shadow on his arm. “Hey. It isn’t that bad today.”
“It isn’t,” he agrees. I can tell he’s fighting the urge to draw his arm away.
“I remember your mom used to get so mad at you for scratching.”
“And I’d tell her I was only touching, not scratching.” He continues to stare down at the rash. “It really doesn’t bother you? We’re not in the dark. You can see it all.”
I shake my head, finally letting out the words I wanted to say so long ago. “You’re beautiful,” I say quietly, my heart in my throat. It’s easier to say than You’re so easy to talk to and I can just be myself around you.
He pulls me to him and just holds me for several long moments. Eventually, his hands drift up the back of my shirt, pausing when they reach the strap of my bra. I break away from him for a moment to pull off my shirt, giving him easier access.
When he sheds his shirt and jeans, I have to will my heart to slow down. He is lovely, all that deep tan skin and the dips of his muscles. He closes his eyes as I run a hand down his chest, placing his hand on top of mine. “I’m going to say something, and you have to promise not to get mad at me,” he says.
“No way. I reserve the right to get mad at anything you say.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth, kisses the inside of my wrist. “Fine, I shall risk your wrath.” A deep breath, and then: “I really, really like you.” I must have some kind of reaction because he says, “Why does that make you scoff?”
“I—I don’t know. It was involuntary.” I shake my head, wanting to live a little longer in that compliment, though part of me doesn’t believe him. “This is such a dumb thing to ask, but now I have to know. What do you even like about me?” I have to laugh because it sounds ridiculous, and yet I keep going. “I’m just this weird, maybe-broken girl who played part of a Cat Power song on the harp and owns too many articles of clothing featuring tiny animals.”
“This is a difficult question to answer when we’re half naked, but I’ll do my best.” He backs up on the bed, putting some space between us, but he reaches for one of my hands and starts ticking items off using my fingers. “Okay. Things I like about Quinn Berkowitz. You have a fantastic sense of humor. I can open up to you in a way I haven’t been able to with anyone else. You care about your family, which is why it’s been so difficult for you to decide what to do about B+B. You’re brave, even if you think you’re not. And…” A flick of one eyebrow. “You’re sexy as hell.”
RIP me.
I don’t know how to react except to push him deeper into the bed. He doesn’t ask me the same question, possibly because his self-esteem isn’t down in the gutter where mine apparently was, and I’m glad he doesn’t.
Because then I’d have to say, everything.
I kiss him
