Page 64 of The Ripple Effect

“Tavish. My brother. He made it for me after…”

After his legal troubles, I’m guessing. “You’ve worn it for a long time.”

“It’s important to me.” He sends a hand down to adjust himself, and I could combust with the heat of watching him—feelinghim—touch his body that way. His breath eases a bit; mine is ruined.

I fit a fingertip to the hollowed center of his pendant, trying to stay on topic. “But does it feel good to wear?” It would feel complicated to me—an earnest gift with a fraught message.Don’t forget to be peaceful, McHuge.

“Feeling good isn’t always the point.”

I thought as much. “Can I take it off?”

“It won’t get in the way.”

“It gets inyourway,” I say. “It feels bad, and I want this to mean something good.” I find the knot at the back of his neck and lift it, questioning. Almost before he’s finished nodding, I have it undone, and I’m leaning into him so I can toss it at his pack.

“Fuck, you smell amazing,” he says, his nose at the corner of my jaw.

“I smell like you, after a week in your tent,” I say, and bite his earlobe. He tastes like raindrops fallen from leaves: green and wet with a touch of sweet summer.

He jerks under my fingers, and there’s a swell of something hard against my thigh before it falls away again, like a shadowof some rare beast turning under the water. I want to chase it, but I remember what he said about coaxing. About making thingswantto come to you, instead of forcing them.

So I let myself go soft and put my lips against the fullness of his mouth, licking into him like an invitation, letting that be all there is until we’re both trembling, necks twining as we seek every last drop of each other. Every inhale is a gasp, every exhale a sigh. He’s got one big hand up the front of my shirt and the other up the back, deliciously roughened fingers spread between my shoulder blades. It’s like we’re outside the river of time, tucked into a safe eddy while history goes on without us, and it’s impossible to say which of us is more responsible for the wet spot on the front of his shorts.

He lets go of the breast he’s been palming, the nipple tucked between two fingers, and I whimper, disappointed. His handprint feels cool and lonely on my skin.

“Come back.”

“I will.” He reaches over to the far side of his bed, coming up with a square package between his finger and thumb. His hand shakes as I reach for the condom.

“Did you get this from the first aid kit?”

“You saw those, huh?”

“I’m the camp doctor, Lyle. I went through the kit my first day here. Two dozen condoms is twenty-four more than the Red Cross recommends, by the way.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t want to presume everyone was monogamous and prepared. It seemed like a good idea to have options available.”

“Did it seem like a good idea to have options inourtent? Were you feeling pretty sure of me?”

“No.” He looks down, golden eyelashes fanned against copper freckles. “But I was hoping.”

Ah, the way he sayshoping, like it hasn’t been half an hour or a day and a half or two weeks. In his voice, there’s a whole year. There might be forever.

My heart slams hard, once, like it skipped a beat. Skipped a year.

“I’m trying not to rush things, but this condom should go on soon. Being this close to you… there are probably some swimmers escaping. Or so my high school sex ed teacher always said.” A smile hooks one corner of his mouth, which is pinkened from kissing me. He’s so comfortable in his body, so secure in the idea that what’s happening doesn’t have to be perfect. I can’t help but feel easy, too.

“I can put that on.” Beads of moisture break out across my chest at the mental picture.

“Better not,” he says, his hands urging me off his lap. “Maybe next time.”

Nobody shucks their shorts with the natural ease of Lyle McHugh, I discover. He doesn’t pull in his sweet stomach or flex his glorious chest or make a joke to ease the tension, just fists himself and adjusts before tearing open the package. It’s like he was born to be naked, and clothes are a convention he adopts to make other people comfortable.

“Have you by any chance lived in a nudist colony?”

“I wouldn’t say Ilivedthere. It was more like a short-term residency.”

I laugh because it’s delightful, and because of course he did, and because he’s rolled the condom on with two quick movements, which gives me a lingering clench between my legs. “Very nice,” I say, admiring.

---