Page 91 of Business or Pleasure

That’s all it takes for me to melt against him, for all of my resolve to crumble. A single word, the same one he spoke in the snowy Midwest that I now know he meant earnestly. Wholeheartedly.

I wrap my arms around him just as he circles my waist, drawing me close, my cheek pressed against his flannel shirt. I don’t want to think about what comes next or what we’ll do when I’m back in Seattle and he’s in LA. I just want to breathe him in.

Fingertips run through my hair. A kiss to the top of my head. “This is real?” I whisper. “Because I’m kind of wrecked for you, too.”

He nods, tilting my chin upward to kiss me. “I want to be with you,” he says, touching his forehead to mine. “Whatever that looks like. However you’ll let me.”

When we move apart, I change my mind. This face isn’t one I’ve seen on The Nocturnals or any of his other shows or movies. I haven’t seen this expression before, his features painted with the gentlest brush, eyes lit by the setting sun—because I think this one is solely for me.

The rest of the night is as normal as normal can get. Finn announces he’ll cook dinner, and I attempt to help him, despite not knowing where anything is. We wind up getting so distracted kissing on the kitchen counter that we burn the tofu and set off the fire alarm. So we decide on takeout burritos with tiny containers of salsa. And in the middle of it all, I sneak away and message Noemie, who seems to break her phone given the sheer number of emojis she texts back. Finn does the same with Krishanu, laughing when he shows me his response: FINALLY!!!

“He could tell I had it bad for you in Reno,” he explains. “I broke down and told him everything once we got to Ohio, when you were out of the room.”

“Did he have any advice?”

“Just to not fuck it up, which I worried I nearly did a couple times. He said it was the happiest he’d seen me in a while.” Finn leans closer. “And it’s true.”

We carry glasses of wine into his backyard, stumbling over cobblestones because we can’t stop touching each other. It really does feel like an oasis out here, peaceful and secluded, the tall hedges providing a considerable amount of privacy. The only sounds are the birds and the hum of the pool. At dusk in December, it’s still sixty degrees out.

“I wrote over Thanksgiving,” I tell him, settling onto a chaise longue next to his, beneath a heat lamp. Bliss.

“You cheated on our book?” he says, mock-offended.

I take a sip of wine. “Just a little. And... it felt great. Like I hadn’t flexed those muscles in a long time, but it was so natural to finally stretch them out.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that it made you happy. Truly.”

We kiss slowly as the moon beams down on us. Tonight, there are no deadlines.

“You’re really beautiful, too,” I tell him, all the compliments I’ve held in beginning to spill out. I haven’t wanted him to take anything the wrong way. “Your eyes, your freckles, the gray in your hair. It’s kind of a crime, how lovely your face is.”

His mouth turns greedy against mine, each brush of his lips a small thank-you. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says into my ear, pulling me onto his chair.

I let out a nervous laugh. “It sort of feels like we’re about to have sex for the first time.”

“We’ve been doing it for a couple months. Pretty successfully, I might add.”

“But this is going to be different.”

And he nods, because I know he understands. Because this time, it’s real.

There are no instructions or how-tos, and there’s something new and strange and thrilling about that. Even if both of us have felt like it was real for a while, this time, there’s no doubt. Not in the way he tugs at my hair or swipes a thumb along my cheek, or the way I clutch at the fabric of his shirt because I can’t get him close enough.

“You’ve been so generous,” he says when we’re still lazily kissing, my body splayed on top of his. “I want to do something for you.” He pulls back for a moment, meets my gaze. “Do you have any fantasies? Something you’ve always wanted in bed but never told anyone?”

“We don’t have to—”

“I know we don’t have to. I want to.” A sly grin. “And I’ve hoped I could fulfill them for you, now that I’ve graduated from the Chandler Cohen Academy of Sex.”

“Valedictorian, no less.” I let this hang between us for a few long seconds, my heart racing. Because yes, I have fantasies, some I’ve vocalized in past relationships and others I’ve held on to, as though saving them for some future perfect guy or maybe just locking them in my imagination forever. With Finn, I could let them all out—that’s how comfortable I’ve become with him.

I decide to start with just one. “Could you... could you spank me?”

The moment I say it, I worry he’ll laugh. Take back the offer. That it’ll instantly turn the night awkward.

Instead his grin turns devious, eyes dark. “There’s nothing in the world I’d like more.”

He helps me out of my jeans before asking how I want to position myself, and I give his knees a shy nod. I want to be in his lap, as close to him as possible. Before we start, he runs inside to grab a pillow, and there’s something about that sweet gesture contrasted with what we’re about to do that sets me on fire. And the fact that we’re outside—surrounded by tall hedges, sure, but still, anyone could hear us.

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