Page 49 of Stranded

At last—at long last—he looks like he might be falling asleep, so I nudge him. I can barely bring myself to disturb him, but I have to.

“Mm?”

“Shower,” I murmur.

Ronan gives me a sleepy, adorable chuckle. “How responsible,” he murmurs.

I laugh breathlessly, running my hand through his hair to pet it back into place. “Hey, I can’t turn it off forever. Now, come on. Before you go to sleep.”

Ronan groans in protest, but I know what to do. I slide to the edge of the bed and bend over to pick him up. He’s lighter than I thought, and easy to cradle in my arms.

“Don’t worry,” I murmur, walking carefully toward the bedroom door. “I’ll make sure you get there.”

He just hums against my chest and nuzzles me.

Can he hear what that does to my pulse? Feel what it does to my heart?

There’s no way I can even begin to worry about what happens next, or after that, or forever. Ronan was right. When tomorrow comes, we’ll figure it out.

For tonight? I have everything I want.

Chapter

Eighteen

RONAN

I can’t stop thinkingabout that night we shared… and imagining what’s still to come. I think about it constantly—and so does my hand, several times a day, quite vigorously.

Who could blame me when it was so goddamn perfect?

I’ve never come so hard and fast that I saw stars. I’ve never had to be carried to the shower afterward. I’ve certainly never been set down gently on my feet, scrubbed all over, towelled dry, and carried right back to bed.

Just this once? Yeah, right.

It’s only a matter of time. The pull between us is too strong. He’s only living one floor below me. When I left for school, the door at the bottom of the stairs was open. Another moment will come where neither of us can stop it… and I have so many daydreams about what will happen next.

“Ronan! Oh my god, you look great! How are you?”

“Gabs!” I beam as the next classmate comes in the room, scrambling to my feet for a hug. “You made it back! Iamgreat. Oh my god, look, it’s Ophelia…!”

Every time someone comes through the door, the rest of us cheer as we rush over to greet each other. I’ve known myclassmates for three years now, and it’s exciting to see who’s made it back for this final, toughest year.

The first class of the year always feels like a party... at least, until Professor Meyer arrives. Right on cue, the door opens again.

“Good morning, class,” Professor Meyer says as she strides in. We greet her much more calmly, hastily settling down at our desks.

My ex-roommates aren’t here yet. I can dream, right?

As always, our professor is dressed to the nines—today, in fuchsia pumps, a bright yellow asymmetric jacket with an angled hem, and a single, fuchsia, enamel hoop in one ear. I flip my notebook open to scribble that down.

It’s always worth studying Marsha Meyer’s outfits. She’s spent over forty years in the industry, and she’s been teaching for… I don’t know how long. Basically, she knows everyone and everything there is to know.

Professor Meyer heads up to the lectern and sets her briefcase on the floor, which is the signal that the lesson has begun. “Well…”

The door opens again.

Breanna, Derek, and Shane float inside without even looking at our teacher, much less anyone else. The rest of us have all sat in a row on one side of the semi-circle… but they all sit together and leave a gap of several desks.

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