Page 94 of Road Trip to Forever
“Why didyou get the pizza tattoo?” I ask Patrick. I toss a caramel popcorn kernel into the air and catch it in my mouth.
It’s late and we’re sprawled out on the grass in front of the castle, waiting for the fireworks show to begin. I glanced over his shoulder at dinner and saw the next half hour written in bold with capital letters on his phone. Being here is clearly important to him, the perfect end to the perfect day, and I’m not going to argue.
I want to be here too.
He looks indecent propped up on his elbow, his hair mussed and messy from wearing a hat all day and his white T-shirt making his skin look tan from hours outside. My body is still buzzing, itching to get his hands back on me. He knows it too, continuing to touch me but only with limited contact and brief grazes. He’s teasing me and I want to hate it, but I don’t.
I love the build of something new, of something we’ve yet to share. It’s there, close within reach, and I know it’s only a matter of time before it’s ours.
“What do you mean?” Patrick answers. His long legs stretch out in front of him, right ankle crossed over his left, and he glances at me from under the light of a dozen streetlamps.
I lean forward and lift his sleeve. My thumb traces the outline on his arm. “The slice of pizza. It was a stupid idea, and the most spontaneous decision you’ve ever made in your life. Why did you go along with it?”
“Dunno,” he says around a yawn. We’ve walked close to forty-thousand steps today, reaching every corner of the theme park in the thirteen hours we’ve been here, and I know he’s spent. “Because you suggested it.”
“You could have done anything. Like a dragon.”
“A dragon tattoo? That’s just absurd. I’m not cool enough to pull that off.”
“Okay, fine. Not a dragon, but something better than a slice of freaking pizza.”
“You like pizza,” he says, and the three worlds hold so much weight. “And I like you. Seems like pretty simple math to me.”
Time slows as understanding dawns. “It’s not about the pizza,” I say.
“No, Lola,” Patrick says gently. “It was never about the pizza. You could’ve thrown out any idea and I would’ve been glad to get it inked on my body. Everything has always been about you, and nothing has ever been accidental.”
I let out a breath, the weight of decades of fears lifting off my shoulders. This man is never going to leave me. I knew that then, when I met him for the first time and he tossed a paper airplane across our side yards and into my room. It had a smiley face on it and his messy handwriting scribbling outthanks for being my friend.
I know that now, years later as he sits outside in the temperature cresting over ninety degrees even with the sun down because we’re doing something I’ve always wanted to do. No matter what might have happened to me in the past, no matter who I might have lost or how much my heart ached, there won’t be another day of my life where Patrick isn’t by my side.
“I want to be with you,” I say. The surrounding lights dim and music begins to play, an orchestra with harps and violins. I scoot closer to Patrick, and he sits up.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
“It means I want to do this for real. Not as a vacation thing. Not as a two-week thing. A real relationship with real feelings. The messy ones. The happy ones. Good days, bad days, and every day in between. I’m scared. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being scared, but I want to be scared with you.”
“Lola.” Patrick tips his head and rubs his nose against mine. “Everything with you has always been real. I want your messy parts. The ugly parts. I want all of you, sweetheart. Do you want me too?”
“Yes,” I whisper, having never been so sure of anything in my life.
It’s there, under a million fireworks in the night sky, where Patrick presses his lips to the corner of my mouth, then right on my lips, finally kissing me once and for all.
Hollywood-level, I think, and the whole world can see that I’m his.
TWENTY-SIX
LOLA
I’ve never hada kiss like this.
It’s soft. Searching and experimental. Finding what the other person likes and cataloging it away to try again later in a place without an audience. A place where I’ll be able to hear Patrick’s every reaction and every breath. Every glide of fabric between our bodies and every beat of his heart.
It feels like we’ve been waiting for this for days. Hours and hours of torture while we teeter on the precipice of something remarkable. Looking and watching. Not touching but itching to, unsure of how to go forward and afraid to make the wrong move.
Now though, we both know. A confirmation behind the teeth sinking into my bottom lip. The sound of approval from the back of his throat and the moan from deep within mine. The hands running up my arms and holding me steady, a metaphor for how Patrick has held me steady for years.
It’s the easiest, most seamless kiss of my life. Our first time, and we know exactly which way to turn our bodies, which angle to tilt our heads to avoid knocking teeth. It’s like we’ve done this a hundred times already. A thousand times, familiarity in our movements and one step ahead, anticipating what the other wants before they ask for it.
