Page 67 of No Place Like You

Hours later, after the last of the cheesecake was wrapped away in foil and the empty wine bottles clinked in the recycle bin, Dexter and I are on our way home. We spent the rest of the evening poring over old photo albums Janet had tucked away on her large floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, mainly to embarrass Dexter but also because I asked. When Janet mentioned science camp and advanced rocketry, I had to see them for myself. And when I caught a glimpse of eleven-year-old Dexter in protective goggles and a gap-toothed smile, I fell harder.

“You know, you were right,” Dexter says, sliding his hand into mine.

“About what?”

“That was very coupley.” He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses the knuckle on my middle finger. “And I liked it.”

I giggle. Like a girly giggle with a hand to my mouth and my chin tucked down to my shoulder. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, becoming bashful when Dexter gives me the kind of attention only boyfriends do. Like when he makes a silly joke just for the sake of making me laugh or when he says something like he just did.

“I liked it too,” I answer as he lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “It felt very…comfy-cozy.”

He laughs this time, the deep throatiness of his chuckle vibrating against me. I know moments like this are measured, each one being ticked off an already premade list of kisses and hugs and more kisses. We both know the end is coming at some point. Every moment between us is full of expiration dates. My internship, my sister’s wedding, my flight back to Seattle. All of those have actual dates on a calendar, like on a milk carton or a tub of peanut butter. And the expiration date of our…relationship, if that’s what we’d call this, is becoming more and more invasive with each passing day. At first, we knew and simply pushed it aside, where we could ignore it. But now, with only a month until the wedding, it’s becoming harder to ignore.

We get home and get ready for bed. With the early days we have tomorrow and our usual routine pat down, we mosey our way to our separate bedrooms and reemerge shortly after in our night wear. Me in a long sleep shirt that stops at the top of my legs and him in just pajama pants. Bare chest and pajama pants. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt, but each time I do, it takes my breath away a little bit. I love how I can see the faint ridges of the muscles on his stomach that make him soft and warm. Or the way the bulge of his biceps show how strong he is while knowing how gentle he feels when those arms wrap around me. There are also the grooves that line down his hips, centering the smattering of hair that runs from his belly button to below his waistline.

We move to the bathroom, where we wash up. Dexter stands over me while he brushes his teeth, and I continue my extensive seven step skin care routine as he watches. When I’m done and he’s just waiting, I turn around to face him. “You know when Janet said my marketing experience must be helping me during this internship?”

“Hmm?” he hums with serious eyes.

“I really thought I came into this with zero experience and I was basically algae. Just, bottom of the food chain with absolutely nothing to offer. And Janet made me realize I actually brought some of my experience with me and maybe I’m not, you know…scum.”

He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me and running his hands up and down my back. I press my face into his bare chest and bask in the feel of my skin against his. “First of all, you could never be scum,” he says into my hair. “And second, Lucy, I’m not saying your work is amazing because I’m trying to get into your panties.” I giggle when he pauses, and he uses that moment to peck my cheek. “You’re going to find your pictures on the side of a bus one day.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll be happy to make it out of this internship with my will still intact,” I say bashfully. “But I guess,” I add a little more resolutely, “just hearing all of that once in a while makes me feel like I actually might have a shot of doing something after this internship. Something big. At least, forme.”

“Yeah,” he says softly with a smile that teeters between pride and tenderness.

I push away from him and saunter into the hallway. My back is turned to him, and I don’t feel him close behind me. When I look over my shoulder, I see that he’s still at the doorway to the bathroom. He’s leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes track the length of my body. “You’re not going to bed?”

He takes a slow, cautious step toward me. “I will.”

“Did you want me to stay up with you?”

He shakes his head. “Only if you want to.”

I yawn. “Sure,” I say as I raise my arms above my head. It causes my shirt to lift a little, and Dexter’s eyes zone in on the exposed skin below the hem.

His hands grip my waist, and he nudges me toward the wall. “I really don’t want to push you into anything. I want to be responsible adults here because I really do think it’s the smart thing to do given our…situation, but Lucy, I’m still a man.” He pauses to swallow. “A man whoknowshe has the sexiest woman in the world standing in front of him.”

My eyes round, and the sleep that was creeping its way through my body vanishes. “Are you asking me to put some pants on?”

He chuckles and leans into me. “Absolutely not.”

“So…no pants, huh?”

“No pants.”

I stand on tiptoes and press into him for a long, lingering kiss. My mind starts to sift through ways to bend the rules of our abstinence pact, looking for illogical ways to call the whole thing superfluous or overly cautious. Maybe even finding a few cracks we can slip through without fully breaking the rules.

“I know we said ‘no sex’ and all,” I say, mischief written all over the racy gleam in my eyes. “But we can do other stuff, right?”

Dexter’s eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. “What other stuff did you have in mind?” he asks in a low whisper against my lips.

I kiss him again, trailing my hands down his stomach and letting our tongues tangle in a knot of desperation and heat before dropping to my knees. I peer up at him, and the realization of what this “other stuff” is I’m implying settles in his dark gaze.

“Lucy,” he groans. “You don’t have to.”

I tilt my head to the side and bat my eyelashes. “I want to.” And before he can protest again, I spring his already hard erection free and take him in my mouth in one long, greedy pull.

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