Page 226 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

“Even if our arrangement is over?” George clarified.

“Of course.”

It was a promise that this wasn’t the last time we’d meet. Which wasgood—wonderful even. It made the weight on my chest ease some.

But it still…

It still didn’t feelright.

“And you—when will you…um,” I stumbled. “When will you be visiting Ohio next?” I asked, when I’d found my words.

“I have a week off for Christmas,” George said.

A couple walking by us nearly whacked him with their suitcase. George side-stepped, leaning into my space with a nervous laugh.

Nothing about this conversation felt even remotely right.

Dad was right.

I was scared.

Scared that if I offered George myself in all my unrefined, unrestrained glory—he would find me lacking.

“Nothing before then?” My hands cupped his biceps, steadying him.

“I mean…I could take a few days for my birthday.”

“When?”

“October.”

I nodded, up and down. “Tell me the dates. I’ll take them off too. I never did get to take you ice skating.”

“Okay.” George opened his mouth again—then sighed, when nothing came out. It clicked shut with finality. Instead of speaking, he reached for my face, palms cupping my cheeks. “Can I kiss you? Just one more time.”

“Of course.”

Just one more time.

George didn’t hesitate, leaning into my space to steal a long, lingering kiss. He moved away a moment later, and I chased him, unable to let him go so soon. Longer, greedier. My tongue swiped his lower lip, begging entrance. His hands felt cold. Like he was anxious.

“Alex,” he admonished, “we’re in public.”

“Don’t care.”

George didn’t fight me. His lips parted submissively. Slipping inside him with a needy growl, felt like coming home. My fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him in tight, sharing his breaths like they were my own.

Someone whistled but I ignored it. Ignored the cars that pulled in and out of the drop-off zone. Ignored the rattle of suitcase wheels on the cement. Ignored the fact my father was watching us from the car. Ignored the elephant in the room—like the coward I was.

One hand slid to George’s backpack pocket, fingering the flap as I made the last-second decision to give him something to remember me by. Something important.

This was enough.

Wasn’t it?

It was something.

We’d meet again.

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