Tension rushed out of him like air out of a balloon. “Good,” he said.
“‘Good’？” I repeated, and he laughed, all joy, dropping his forehead to rest against mine.
“Yeah,” he said. He cradled my face between his hands, breathing my breath, his body radiating heat into mine. “Then it’s set, right? You and me? Official, and very serious about it?”
“Yes?” I said. “I guess so.”
The first kiss Ricky lowered to my lips was a firm press, a stamp to seal the deal. The second was breathless, his hands steadying my face against his, his body pressing, firm and unyielding, against my curves. God, I could kiss this man forever, and every time would feel like a thrill.
Eventually, Ricky pulled away. We looked at each other, smiled, kissed again. I twined my arms around his neck; he wrapped his around my waist. We stood like that for a long time, my cheek against his chest, his chin balanced on the top of my head, and I closed my eyes, savoring our closeness. Never mind all the pep talks I’d given myself over the last five days, the assurances that I wouldn’t let myself be seduced by sweet words when he inevitably turned up again. I’d failed to account for the details, for the crack in his voice as he confessed the depth of his regard for me, for the heart I could feel galloping in his chest. I’d forgotten that I couldn’t resist this man. And now, it seemed, I wouldn’t have to.
“I’m in love with you, you know,” Ricky said into my hair after some minutes. I looked up at him, shocked into stillness by his declaration, and he gave me a small, strained smile. “I just wanted to put that out there, for the sake of transparency. I know it’s a lot, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to say it back, but . . .”
I almost laughed. In love with you. They were words I’d wanted to hear my entire life but had thought might always elude me. Words that felt so foreign that I’d convinced myself no one could actually open their mouth to say them, words that seemed more suited to romance novels or cheesy movies than real life. But Ricky had spoken them like they were indisputable, like his feelings for me were too big to contain, even as his arms trembled around me. It struck me, then, how scared he must’ve been of confronting me, knowing that I could turn him away. How brave he was to tell me the truth.
It made me want to be brave too.
“It’s okay,” I said. This close, I could see his pupils widen. “I’m in love with you too.”
The smile that broke out across Ricky’s face was resplendent, like the sun peeking through clouds at the end of a thunderstorm, and, reflexively, I returned it.
“Jesus,” he said, making a show of clutching his chest. Our laughter bubbled forth unbidden, filling up the vacuum of emotion created by the abrupt departure of months of anxiety. We laughed so loud and for so long that I was sure Tom thought we were losing it, but I didn’t care. Ricky loved me. I loved him. And when we kissed again, it was with lips still stretched into smiles and mouths still open mid-laugh, with nothing but the sheer delight of having each other at last.
Twenty-Three
I’d never been the one-night-stand type. In high school and college, I’d been as horny as the next hormone-addled young adult, but rather than put my lustfulness into action, I expelled it outward. I read smutty fanfiction and rewatched racy scenes in my favorite TV shows and scrolled through my curated photo album of famous hotties to imagine as my next boyfriend. Cavorting with real boys was unthinkable; the ones in my circle were awkward and smelly and mean, and, on top of all that, had the nerve to not look like Morris Chestnut. They made jokes about the saggy tits or fat stomachs or funny-looking nipples that belonged to the girls that let them see them at their most vulnerable and traded their girlfriends’ nudes among themselves like baseball cards. They spread rumors about who used “too much teeth” and who needed to “wax their bush,” and I sat in the ramparts, observing them, and decided that, unlike those other girls, I would be discerning. Only ever with someone who actually cares about me, I told myself. And I waited for years to find someone who fit that description . . . only to realize that I’d been arrogant. How were you supposed to know if a man cared about you? He could say he cared all he wanted, could bring you flowers you didn’t want, whisper sweet nothings into your ear to break down your resolve, but he could also leave, without an explanation, with nothing but an Actually, I don’t think I’m into you like that, and where would that leave you then?