Page 57 of Past Present Future

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16

NEIL

ON THE TRAIN to Boston, I listen to the Smiths, her favorite band. I once teased her that they were too melancholy, but today they sound defiantly full of life. Every song is joy and sunshine, optimism and blue skies.

Maybe it’s the long winter, but I’ve been fighting with my alarms in New York, snoozing them for much longer than I usually do. When I finally peel myself out of bed, I’m groggy during my classes, a strange kind of brain fog preventing me from raising my hand. If I’m able to focus, it’s only during psych, which is raising questions I’m not sure how to answer.

Being here will silence all those questions. For two days, I get to focus only on her.

I could take in the buildings and the scenery and the splendor of a new city. But right now, all I see is Rowan waiting for me at the station, eyes lit up and mouth curved into my favorite smile. The entire trip to Emerson, I place my hand on her knee and then on her thigh. Every so often, she glances down, runs a thumb along my knuckles. I can tell exactly what she’s thinking, because I’m thinking the same thing.

As soon as we get to her dorm, I drop my bags and reach for her, hands in her hair as I push her back against the door. Just like I told her I’d do in those texts on that night that now seems like it happened ages ago. Her mouth meets mine, frantic and sweet and perfect.

“Missed you,” she says, breathless, tugging my hips to hers. God, she feels good.

“Missed you more.” I drag down her hoodie zipper. “Am I ever getting this hoodie back?”

“Nope. It’s mine now.”

Seeing her in it would have been enough to send my heart into overdrive if it weren’t already halfway there. I never thought I was someone who’d feel such a primal surge of desire over a girl wearing my clothing, but I suppose I’m learning new things about myself all the time.

It’s enough to make me wonder what she might look like in one of my button-ups.

And nothing else.

“You know what, I prefer it on you,” I say, pulling her closer by the drawstrings.

But then I get a flash of us back in my dorm at NYU, and over winter break in her room, and just as she reaches for my belt, I pause.

“Wait, wait, wait.” It takes all my willpower to put some space between us. Strength I did not, until this moment, know I possessed. “I want to talk first.”

Her face is beautifully flushed. “Okay.”

My body needs a few extra moments to respond, and then I follow her over to her bed, sitting down next to her. Her side of the room is similar to mine—photos of her friends, Seattle, the two of us—while her roommate’s is covered with various penguin paraphernalia.

This doesn’t have to be scary. It shouldn’t be scary, not with her. I think back to that conversation with Skyler, knowing this talk is probably long overdue.

“I’ve been realizing,” I start, “that I may still have some insecurities about this.”

Her brow furrows. “About us?”

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