Chapter Twenty-One: That Was Quite the Kiss

When we break apart, we're both out of breath and the lead singer is glaring at us because we're kind of stealing his spotlight.

Ben mouths "sorry" and the singer flips him off and goes back to singing to the very young girls who are crowding the front of the stage. I didn't get carded to get in here, and I doubt they would've been admitted if they'd bothered checking IDs.

Ben speaks into my ear. "I'd like to get out of here."

"Okay."

"I can't, though. Not until the concert's over."

I nod because I understand. This is work, and I've just thrown a wrench in it. We both have. But my lips are still tingling and my hands are kind of numb, and I'm one big nerve all over. I want to kiss him again, badly, but that seems unwise.

"Will you stay?" Ben asks.

"Yes."

"Good."

He takes my hand and kisses it, then twines our fingers together and we turn back to the stage, our hands locked, our bodies touching along the side, a promise of more things to come, later, when the concert's over.

I let the music wash over me, that base-note feeling deep in my soul. I steal glances at Ben, who's sometimes stealing glances at me, too. I feel happy, like a buoy on the water on a sunny day, but there's a dark cloud on the horizon because: Ben. Ben!

I should ask a million questions. I should leave this place though the music is good, that pop-y, singer/songwriter mix I've always loved. The lights are crisscrossing above the band on the stage, purple and blue, and their energy is infectious. They should blow up, I hope they do, but what the hell am I doing here? He said we couldn't be together, he said that an hour ago, and yet, he didn't pull back when our mouths met. Instead, he deepened the kiss, all tongue, and soft lips until I felt weak in the knees, weak in the heart.

I don't do that, though. Instead, I keep looking at him as the music plays, and he's looking at me too. The night is soft, fuzzy, from the drinks, and the kiss and the feeling of his hand in mine. I haven't felt this woozy in years. I've never felt anything like this at all.

So I'm not going to run, I'm going to see what happens next.

###

When the concert's over, encores sung, and hands clapped until numb, Ben tells me he wants to get out of here but he needs ten minutes. He says this against my ear, his lips touching my flesh.

I shiver and nod and wonder what he needs to do. I watch him, feeling hot and sweaty as he talks to someone who must be the bar's manager and gets handed a wad of cash. He counts it out quickly, then divides it up and pays the band, pocketing something for himself. It all happens so quickly, with fist bumps and back slaps, that it looks like a drug transaction. He finishes up and gets handed a drink. He takes it, finishes that too, then comes back to me.

"I thought you had a two-drink limit?" I say, tilting my head to the side.

He checks his watch, then angles it toward me. It's 12:02 AM. "It's a new day."

"Ah."

"You disapprove?"

I circle his wrist just above his watch with my thumb and index finger. They don't make it around, but almost. "Depends."

He gives me a lopsided grin. "On?"

"Why you had it? For courage?"

"Maybe."

"Hmmm."

He takes my hand off his wrist, tracing the flesh between my thumb and forefinger with his thumb. "Is that a good answer or a bad one?"

"We'll see."

"You want to get out of here?"

I nod and he tugs on my hand, leading me out of the building to the sidewalk. I take one breath of the cooler night, enjoying the fresh air on my face, and then Be's pressing me up against the building, his mouth on mine, his hands on my collarbones, the naked flesh not covered by my dress.

I kiss him back with everything I've been holding in since I met him. All the want, all the need, all the missed chances and disappointments. It feels like we might be saying goodbye with this kiss, like we know it's the only chance we'll have, but I don't care. My body's on fire, a wet heat between my legs, and I can't help from pressing against him, wanting nothing between us, not even air.

I love his tongue and his taste and the way his hands are holding my face. I love the way he whispers my name against my lips, Chloe, like he's asking me a question, not stating a fact.

"Chloe."

"Yes?" I say, breathless. I look up at him, his eyes so close to mine it's hard to focus. His nose isn't quite straight. It bends right at the end.

"Give me your phone?"

"What? Why?"

He leans back and holds out his hand. I fumble in my bag and pull it out, resting it gently in his hand. He leans toward it, concentrating, and taps, taps, taps.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm creating a contact. For me."

"Oh."

My heart thrills. All of this time, and I've never had his number. Even after I knew how to get in touch with him... A little warning bell sounds in my mind.

It sounds like Kit, but I shoo her away.

"There," he says, handing it back to me.

I look at the contact he's created. Ben Mystery Man Hamilton, and his digits.

I laugh. "Mystery man, hunh?"

"I thought it fitting."

I smile and start to send him a message.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Texting a mystery man."

He stops me. "I have a better idea."

"Oh?"

"Let's go to my place."

I slip my phone into my purse. "Okay."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Ben. I'm sure."

He smiles and it's a flash of white against the night, and now we're kissing again, all tongues and wet mouths and his hands roaming down my sides. If we keep this up much longer, we're going to be having sex on a street corner.

"Ben," I say into his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe we should take this inside?"

"Mmmhmmm." He kisses me again then pulls away. "Too public?"

"I mean, probably?"

He laughs and takes my hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it. Then he starts to walk and I follow him, our hands linked together, our shoulders touching. The night is dark, and the air feels fresh like rain might be coming. I feel fresh too, like a brand-new person in a way that doesn't entirely make sense, but I'm all about going with it tonight. Going for it.

A few blocks later, Ben stops in front of a building that doesn't look too different than mine. A newer build, stairs out front, a glass entrance door.

"This is me."

"Ah."

"You want to come up?"

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"Just checking."

"That drink starting to wear off?"

"What?" He laughs. "Oh, maybe, yeah. You?"

"I'm sober enough."

"I have wine."

"I don't need wine."

"What do you need?"

"Take me inside and I'll show you."

He grins, and then we run up the stairs together, laughing. His apartment's on the third floor, like mine, but I keep thinking about that old song, about living on the second floor. I don't know what's going through my brain. Not much. Just feelings. Just right now, the key in the lock, the smell of Ben's apartment, like him, only gentler, the hardwood floors, the light walls, the instruments hanging on the wall above the couch.

"Do you want a drink?" Ben asks.

"I want ... something."

He smiles at me, slow and wonderful. "Oh, yeah?"

I loop my arms around his neck and pull him to me and there's nothing to say after that. We let our bodies talk for us, our clothes falling to the floor in what seems like minutes, but I know it's longer because by the time he slips the straps of my dress off my shoulders I want to scream for it.

I almost do scream when Ben's mouth moves to my breast, taking it into his mouth, using his tongue on my nipple. Things speed up after that. We leave a trail of clothes across the floor as we stumble toward the bedroom. And then we're standing by his bed, both of us naked, and it's amazing how his hands feel, how comfortable I am, how very, very wet.

Ben leads me to the bed—made like a grownup, unlike my tangled mess—and we fall down together, laughing, happy, then serious, exploring. His mouth is everywhere, on my breasts, my neck, my stomach, between my legs, and I arch up to meet him.

I want this, I want all of him, my brain is confused by sensation, by how natural this feels, how right, how it's like we've done it before but it's all new, too.

We say all the things we need to, the words of consent, a brief discussion about birth control, and it's not awkward, just part of what's leading us to this moment—his quiet eyes above me in the dark as he penetrates me slowly, moving in and out in a rhythm that brings us closer and closer and closer until there's only us, one body moving in unison, our arms locked around each other until there's nowhere left to go but fall apart.

###

Later, under the covers, Ben makes a little fort for us. He's tracing small circles in my back, slow, slow, slow and it feels like his fingers are fire on my skin. That's what we felt like together—fire. Combustible, but maybe also dangerous.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask.

"That I'm glad we did this."

I smile. "You don't mind that I asked that?"

"No, why would I?"

"The last guy did."

His mouth turns down. "Ugh, do not tell me about him."

"Jealous?"

"Obviously. Plus, I met him."

"Wait, wait, wait. I did not mean Jack. I didn't sleep with him."

He leans forward and kisses me. "Good."

"What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"A very attractive girl who I'm sure most guys want to sleep with."

"Oh, ha."

"You thought I'd say something else?"

I kiss him for an answer. "No, that's the perfect thing to say."

"Mama didn't raise no dummy."

I laugh but he frowns. "What is it?"

"I forgot to check in with my mom tonight. I'm sure it's fine."

"Is she still in the hospital?"

"No, she's home."

"That's good."

He winces. "Palliative care."

"Oh, Ben. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." He kisses me on the forehead. "It's a long time coming. I know it's what she wants and she still has time. But let's not worry about that right now, okay?"

I tighten my arms around him. "We can, though. If you need to."

"I appreciate that. But it's the middle of the night and there's nothing I can do about it right now." He pulls me closer. "I can, however, do something about what's right in front of me."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Such as?"

"What's one of those movie titles you're always perverting? Downward Doggie Style was it?"

I crinkle my nose. "No, thank you."

"I wasn't being serious."

"That's good, because if you were then I'd have to rethink this whole thing."

I kiss him to show I'm joking too, there's no rethinking going on on my side of things, no sir, but something falls out of the ether that is my brain.

"You know the only reason we ever ended up meeting was because my vibrator shipment went missing."

He pulls back, laughing. "What?"

"It's true. I was about to have to place a very embarrassing call to Amazon customer service—"

"You can't even call them, you have to text a bot."

"Even worse. Anyway, it was missing and I was lonely and Kit had been bugging me."

He nudges my nose with his. "To date Jack."

"Well, yes, but let's not that little detail get in our way, right?"

"The little detail you were supposed to be on a date with tonight?"

"Hey, now. Hey. You should be happy about that."

"How?"

I kiss his lips briefly. "Seems like every time he doesn't show up, there you are."

"Lucky me."

He brings his mouth to mine and his lips are soft and firm and wet, his mouth warm and slippery and it's hard not to keep my brain from slipping into the language of all of the rom-coms I read.

How it's never felt this right (it hasn't).

How it's never felt this good (that either).

How I never want it to stop (who would?).

How his hands are everything and everywhere.

My brain is on overload, too much happening in one day to process, so I do my best to quiet it, and give in, give in, give in.