Page 73 of The Idiot

“She’s on midnights again, so not till morning.”

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully, resting his chin on my shoulder.

Has he always been this comfortable with personal space? My efforts to try keeping the cruise from my mind have only accomplished making them more vivid and everything prior seems like unreliable memories now. How long is it going to take for me to stop reacting to him?

Hope is a cruel thing. Combined with longing, it has me slowly shifting my hips backward, curious, desperate.

Something solid pokes my ass cheek. When Jesse doesn’t retreat, my hands still on my workbench.

He’s hard.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“No,” he says innocently. “I’m just cold, and you’re always so warm.”

Arms wrap around my waist. It feels like this is the first time I’ve exhaled in three days. Cold, my ass. I’ve never been more pleased to hear one of his white lies.

“Liar,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

“I am! I swear. Here. Feel my hands.”

His fingers make quick work, sliding under the hem of my sweatshirt. The next thing I know, they’re slipping inside the waist of my jeans, underneath the band of my underwear.

“Shit!” I hiss. He is cold.

“Told you,” he purrs smugly, nuzzling his nose against my neck.

As I adapt to the invasion of the chill, his fingertips massage my sensitive flesh. And I swear those were lips that just brushed my jugular.

“What about ‘what happens on the cruise stays on the cruise?’”

“I haven’t told anyone,” he says with a hint of defense.

“You know what I mean.”

“You’re the one who said that, not me. Why? Are you going to Seattle again or something?”

Isaid it? Okay, I guess I did, but he agreed. And is that jealousy I hear?

When his head draws back and his hand retreats, I think I have my answer. I capture it, locking mine over his on my belly.

“No. I haven’t even thought about Seattle.”

“Oh…” The optimism in that one syllable has butterflies dancing in my chest. They flutter in a whirlwind when he closes the distance again and starts tracing little circles on my stomach. “So, if your mom’s working… we’re all alone for a while, huh?”

I couldn’t say who moved first when I turned around, but it was a joint effort as soon as our lips met. We seemed to even be on the same page that we needed a bed, scrambling from the shed to the house and into my room in a flurry.

I barely have my underwear kicked off my ankles when he tackles me onto my mattress. Auggie’s distressed groan and the clip of his nails are insignificant background noises as I feel the heat of Jesse’s body cover me.

“Longest three days of my life,” he gasps between kisses, clutching my hips and grinding against me.

It’s a stark reminder that we’re no longer on the ship. We’re home. In myroom. In mybed. His clothes, in a pile onmyfloor. This isn’t a sex ship—it’s our lives, and he chose this.

On the ship, it felt like I was holding my breath, as though each touch of his was just a dream.This?Here? Himstillwantingusin the room I grew up in, a room he’s been in hundreds of times—this feels profound.

I don’t want to just scratch an itch. I want to celebrate what it means, give him all of me, so he knows he has it, even if I don’t dare say the words yet.

“Wait,” I blurt, stilling his hips.

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