Page 79 of The Paradise Problem

West sends one hand up my side, over my shoulder and higher, where he cups the side of my neck with his big, warm palm. His eyes fall closed, and he leans in, pressing his mouth to mine.

I’ve kissed guys. A lot of guys. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s great. But mostly it’s fine. Mostly it feels good but doesn’t hit me like a spear to the chest and a slap to the lady parts. But this kiss? It’s chaste but has me melting. It’s soft, no tongue, just the lingering press of his mouth to mine followed by the easy parting, a pull of my bottom lip between his. Slow, deliberate kisses. Chaste, because we’re in front of everyone, but still so intentional, so claiming, so thorough I feel the sweet exploration in my fingertips and my spine, I feel it in my chest and my belly and between my legs. But most of all, I feel it in my brain, a firework flash, a dopamine flood, the sealing of a happy memory firmly into place.

We pull apart and stare at each other.

“That was nice,” I say.

“Nice?” he repeats, feigning offense. “Looks like I have my work cut out for me.”

“I may invade your side of the bed tonight.”

He gusts out a laugh. “For once?”

“Listen, wise guy, tonight I’m warning you.”

“I’ll brace myself.” His grin widens, and we stop moving as the song comes to an end. West leads me off the dance floor to an empty cocktail table. “Want a drink?”

“Would Janet Weston frown at a dirty martini?”

“Please,” he says. “Janet Weston drinks dirty martinis for breakfast.” He kisses me one more time. “Be right back.”

I watch him go and wish the jacket of his tux didn’t cover his ass, because watching West Weston walk away from me is my new favorite art installation.

“Hey, little sis.”

I turn, startled, to find Alex standing, swirling his cocktail, right next to me.

“Hey… big bro.”

“Enjoying the party?”

“It’s amazing.” I struggle to find something more to say, coming in with the brilliant follow-up, “It’s all been amazing.”

He shrugs, lifting his highball glass to gesture to the splendor around us. “Yeah, but come on. I’m sure you’re used to this kind of thing.”

“Yes, totally. Very used to fancy parties.”

“You were the same year as Jake in school, right?” He lifts his glass to his lips, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.

“That’s right. That’s how I met West.”

“Funny—I’ve only heard his guy friends call him West. Girlfriends called him Liam.”

My smile drips with sugar. “I guess the wife gets to call him both.”

“True, true. So, you’re—what? Twenty-five?”

“That’s right.”

“And medical school at…?”

I scrape my brain for what West told me in a rush of information on the plane. Alex turns to look at me and the pressure to answer rises. Oh, duh. Of course. “Stanford” bursts suspiciously out of me.

He snaps with his free hand. “That’s right,” he says. “Aquarius?”

I turn to look at him. That’s random. “Yeah. January 28. How did you know?”

He shrugs, laughing. “Blaire went through an astrology phase. I thought it was bullshit but sometimes it seems spot-on. I absorbed more than I thought.”

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