Kerry’s voice is timid. “Time,” she says softly.
We both stand. Esben simultaneously kicks his chair over and flips the table on its side, and I choke back a sob as we rush to each other. Esben moves like lightning, and his body crashes against mine as he wraps his arms about my waist and lifts my feet off the ground as though we have waited an eternity for this, as though this is a reunion that couldn’t be delayed any longer. I throw my arms around his neck, embracing him more tightly than I’ve hugged anyone. In fact, it’s been ages since I’ve had human contact this close, and the feel of him is almost too much. I cling to Esben with a blind, irrational trust, operating solely on instinct. Keeping me against him, he eases my feet onto the ground, and I knot my fingers together to make sure our hold doesn’t break. He is shaking, maybe even more than I am, his breathing accelerated and uneven, and I bury my face against his chest. I could hide here forever. Or maybe it wouldn’t be hiding. Maybe it would be living. Maybe . . . maybe . . .
I can’t. I can’t go there.
But my hands involuntarily move over his shoulders until I am tucking my arms between us, pressing my palms against his chest. I see what my touch looks like against him, how my hands sculpt to the shape of him, how I gather the fabric of his shirt and pull him in closer. His head dips down, and I respond by raising mine until his cheek is pressed against the side of my face, his embrace never faltering. I like the roughness of his stubble, the sound of his trembling breath, and the security of his grip on me. And even more, I like the heat of his mouth and the soft way he moves his lips when they brush against my cheek.
Because I am not myself, I don’t have the sense to stop when I turn my mouth to his. His lips are poised as though waiting for me, as though he’d known what I would do. We move seamlessly into a kiss. It’s not slow; it’s not gentle. It is a kiss filled with unexplainable need, a kiss seeking salvation and healing and surrender and . . .
God, I can’t think. I can’t do anything but submerge myself in the taste of him. His hands go to the side of my face while his lips move against mine, and his tongue continues to send a flood of heat through me. I cannot get enough of this kiss, my starvation making me crazy and compelling me to slide my hands to the back of his head to ensure he does not stop.
Because if he stops kissing me, this will be over. Everything will be over. I will return to a life I am not equipped for.
That’s all that I can process, all that I can understand right now.
So Esben needs to keep kissing me.
His thumbs move over my cheeks, then under my eyes, and I feel him wipe away tears. One of his hands brushes back my hair, and he softens the kiss. His lips begin to move more slowly, more passionately, more precisely. He can’t let this end either; I can taste that in him. I don’t know how long we are entrenched in each other like this, but it isn’t long enough.
It’s only when someone breaks the silence with a loud whistle and the large circle of people around us erupts in cheering and clapping, with a few lascivious noises thrown in, that I am harshly jerked back into reality.
Sharply, I push away from Esben and gasp for air. What have I done? Oh God, what have I done?
This is insanity. He doesn’t want to let go, but I take three steps back and watch as his face registers as much confusion as mine likely does.
Just enough for him to notice, I shake my head. No, this never should have happened. I take another step back, and then another. Esben shakes his head now, asking me not to leave. Begging me.
But I do. Because that’s what people do: they leave. When things are good, when things are bad, people leave.
But this time, I leave first.
CHAPTER 6
CURIOSITY DIDN’T KILL THE CAT
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to go to Social Psych class on Monday. I didn’t leave my room for the rest of the weekend after the . . . incident. The ridiculous, stupid, inexcusable incident. Clearly some sort of temporary insanity took over my brain, and I’m terrified that other students may have witnessed my coming undone, so I walk to class with the hood of my sweater pulled up, big sunglasses covering nearly half my face, a patterned scarf wrapped around my neck and bustling up over my chin. It occurs to me that I may be drawing attention to myself with this silly outfit, but I feel more protected this way. Nothing out of the ordinary happens on my walk, though.
My cell rings just as I near the spot where Esben picked up my ice cubes, and I answer distractedly. “Hi . . .”
“Hiya!” Steffi says. “Where’ve you been, girl? You didn’t take my calls or reply to my texts at all yesterday! Whatcha been doin’? Cozied up with some campus hottie?” she asks all too hopefully.
I trip over my own feet and nearly lose hold of the phone. “Wh . . . what? No! God, no. I just . . . uh . . . well, so much studying to do. I was at the, um, the place with the books . . .”
“The library?” she prompts.
“Oh. Yes, that.” I stare at the concrete where my coffee had splattered. “All the books . . .”
“Allison, I told you not to get drunk in the morning. It’s uncouth.”
“What?” I snap my head up. “I’m not drunk!”
“Then why are you being all spazzy? And I can hardly hear you.”
I push the scarf from my mouth. “I’m not spazzy! I’m very focused on school. That’s all. This is an important year, and I have to make sure my grades are perfect, and the library has so many resources, and it’s quiet, and I met a study group, and after that I found a comfy armchair by a window with a great view, and then I checked out a really old Shakespeare edition.” This is a series of ridiculous lies that I can’t seem to stop myself from telling. “Have you read Shakespeare? I haven’t much—”
Steffi breaks through my babbling. “Holy hell, you are so spazzy.”
She’s right. “It’s just a Monday thing, I guess.”
“This is not a Monday thing. Something is going on. Spill.”
“Nothing!” I say too loudly. “Gotta go! I’ll call you later!”
Good God. I tell Steffi everything, not that I usually have tons of crazy stories to share. But this? No. I simply cannot tell her. The best approach is to pretend it never happened. There is the looming issue of having to face Esben in the next few minutes, but I will simply pretend that there is no Esben. Easy.
It turns out that I didn’t need to worry. I get to the lecture hall and hunker down in my seat, but Esben is not here yet, and he does not come in late. A wave of relief should sweep over me, but I’ve been anticipating this moment for a day and a half, and now I’ll have to go through this again on Wednesday. In no way am I disappointed that he’s not here today, of course. Not in the least.
On Tuesday night, Steffi video calls me while I’m up late, typing up notes from the day.
As always, she looks impeccable; even the loose bun with stray blond tendrils falling out is perfect. Her tight pink tank top shows off her long neck and full cleavage. If I didn’t adore her so completely, I would be riddled with envy. As it is, seeing her face on my screen always makes me happy, and I smile at her. “What’s up? How are you?”
It’s then that I notice she’s leaning back in her chair, arms folded, with an undeniable smirk on her face.