Page 63 of The Ripple Effect

I suppress the way my neck wants to arch back and open up underneath his mouth. “Lyle! Were you checking to see if I remembered?”

His cheek curves against my undercut. “Maybe.”

“I remember everything about that night,” I say, strangely sad. I remember his texts—three lonely shouts into the void, still unanswered. “I’m sorry I pulled you into my mess back then. Maybe I shouldn’t be pulling you into my mess now.”

“You don’t have to be perfect to deserve love, Stellar. Theoretically,” he adds, when I tense.

“Yeah, but you didn’t want distractions or complications at the Love Boat, and I’m…” I sigh. “I’m complicated. What happened to me at the hospital… it’s kind of still happening in my brain. It’s why Fisher makes me lose my mind. It’s why I like things to be balanced in relationships, so I have proof everything’s fine. And now we’re kissing in public and doingthisin private,” I say, wiggling my ass against him, “even though at my job interview we agreed there couldn’t be anything between us. It’s confusing. I’m confused.”

“Do you want to stop doing this when we’re alone?” He tucks his face into the crook of my neck, tightening his cordedforearm across my stomach like he definitely does not want to stop.

My chest squeezes with all the things he doesn’t do at this moment. He doesn’t stiffen, or move away from me, or get atonein his voice. He’s made of spaces I want to curl into—the hollows on his body where shadows collect and the places inside him where my heart seeks shelter from the glare.

“No, I don’t want to stop. But if we keep going, I need to know that when you touch me, whether it’s here or in front of the guests, it’s because you want to.”

“I think you know I want to, Stellar.” His voice is low and slow, dark with promise. “Especially ifyouwant to.”

My breath goes shallow in my chest. “But would that be meaningful enough for you if that was all it was? I don’t want to screw things up by promising too much too soon. I’m not ready to talk about commitment or… words like that,” I finish awkwardly. “All I can promise is my best.”

I turn to my back and look up at him. He’s still on his side, my head pillowed on the bulk of his biceps. I’ve never seen anything like Lyle McHugh on a narrow camp cot, his damp hair a banked fire, his eyes burning as he takes me in. The open sleeping bag falls away from his torso, the waistband of his gray boxers becoming visible. With the rain drumming on the fly and the light barely illuminating his features, it feels like we’re alone.

Truly alone.

Not trying to be seen together, not forgetting we could be discovered.

“I’ll take that deal,” Lyle says finally, with a crooked smile. “I couldn’t ask for better than your best, Stellar J.”

I know I’m lost even before I put my hand behind his head and pull him down.

Chapter Eighteen

There are a few sensory moments in my life that stand out for the way they brought me unexpectedly to life.

When I was sixteen, there was the boy whose kiss I thought would be wet and mechanical like all the others, but by the time he pulled his puffy lips from mine, I would’ve said yes to anything he asked.

In my first year of university, there was the girl who looked down into the nonexistent gap between our bodies and whispered, “Can I?” and the thrill of anticipation was almost better than getting the very first orgasm I hadn’t given myself.

And then there’s this moment, the lamp dimming as its battery burns down and down, the white noise of fat raindrops on canvas and the steady sluice of runoff hitting damp earth. In our private universe, the slow swipe of Lyle’s thumb against my upper arm is as shocking and sweet as a tongue between my legs, giving so much more than it should be able to.

The stillness between us makes the smallest movements more powerful than I ever could have dreamed. Simply imaginingmy hands drifting across his topography—it lights up my palms, the inside of my wrists, the creases of my elbows.

My nipples push hard against my oversize tank top; his knit boxers are putting on a three-dimensional show. Between the two of us, there isn’t a single body part that couldn’t be revealed in the space of one hot moment, but neither of us makes a move.

“Stellar J,” he says, his hushed voice reverberating in my throat. He brushes across and down the tender inside of my arm, where summer color fades.

His chest is warm under my hands like campfire embers: easy and mellow, with dozens of glowing nooks where you could toast a marshmallow to sweet perfection. But when I serve him a “Lyle” in reply, his eyes flare to life with a thousand golden sparks, like someone stirred up the fire until our faces got as hot as mine feels now.

“This is…” His voice cracks. “This is what I think it is? I don’t want just tonight. I don’t want this if we don’t… if we don’t care for each other, Stellar.”

Damp curls tumble across his cheek. I tuck them behind his ear, smiling when I discover it’s slightly pointed, like he’s part elf, part giant. “I promise I’ve got your back, Lyle. Not just for the Love Boat. Not just for tonight. For everything.”

I stand up, step out of my sleeping bag, and toss it on my bed. When I turn back, he’s sitting up, his bone pendant tucked into the notch above his sternum. I step wide around his thighs and settle myself onto his lap, running my hands down his neck to rest them across the poetry of his collarbones.

He makes a low sound, a catch and release of breath as if I should be more mindful of how substantial I am, how much weight my body and my actions carry, and I love it.

“Not too close. Not too fast,” he says, the words tight. “I’m… if I’d known earlier, I would have… give me a minute.”

I’d give a lot to see him lose control, but I back off with my hips, moving my focus to the cord around his throat. Understated, biodegradable, and on message—it’s very Lyle. “Where’d you get this?”

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