Page 76 of Safety Net
She smiled, relieved at not having to expound.
"It's not in the best shape," I warned, straightening to my full height. I kept my hands on her waist as I talked. "I wasn't planning on showing you so…early."
"Oh." Her shoulders sagged. "Do you not want to show me? You don't have to?—"
"No, no," I said quickly. "I want to show you, trust me. I just want you to want me to show you."
"Lincoln, I asked." She laughed and rested her hands on my chest.
"I know, I'm just trying to be sure," I said. "Trying to let you know that I want to go at your pace. Room reveals are a big thing, you know."
"Are you trying to talk me out of it?"
I shook my head and pressed my forehead against hers. "If you're sure and willing to give me two minutes to clean up, then let's do it."
"You got it."
"Four minutes," I corrected and shook my head. "No, maybe five."
She laughed, that light, musical, beautiful laugh that I will always strive to hear. "How about you take all the time you need and call me when you're done."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CELESTE
Iran my hands under cold water in the kitchen, an attempt to ground myself amid mouth-drying panic.
I'd fumbled through sex once in my life. During my first year at Mendell, I decided I wanted to experience what everyone else did. I wanted to experience the act people deemed life-altering. Did I have a desire to be intimate? No. But I figured maybe it'd come during the moment. The urge, the longing, the lust, the world-shattering orgasm would help me finally understand.
But a post-sex epiphany wasn't anywhere in sight with the guy I'd been with. He was a violinist (almost as anxious as I). We had a handful of classes together, so we easily bonded over music and assignments. When the time came (a small window one weekend when his roommate went back home for the holidays), we had an awkward exchange I'd since pushed into the farthest corner of my mind. There had been no earth-shattering realization. I was plunged further into confusion over how people truly bonded when sleeping together.
Now, I knew the reason: I needed a connection before the physicality factored into the equation.
It felt silly to rejoice at this tiny realization, and yet, I couldn't help but smile to myself. I was getting closer to the woman I wanted to become and figuring out all the things underneath anxiety's hard surface. To be anxious for so long was to look at myself through fog. I'd been a blurry, amorphous being.
I shut off the tap when the stairs creaked under Lincoln's footsteps. He stopped in the entryway of the kitchen with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His voice was gentle when he said, "So, what are we thinking? Give me more time to prepare the room?"
Another out. I smiled. "I'm sure it looks great."
I pushed away from the sink and went to him. He wasted no time, taking my hand and pulling me in for a long kiss.
"Let's go up," he whispered, his eyes barely open.
I nodded and followed him upstairs. I hadn't been on the second floor of the house in ages. There were new paintings in the hallway and a collection of framed photos of the guys placed on an end table. I spotted Naomi and the guys in the middle. The picture showed them in the living room, with a board game on the table and a few girls from the hockey team present. Everyone squeezed on the old couch, and you could practically smell the heater and hot chocolate that'd warmed the air that night. I smiled, remembering Naomi had asked me to take the photo before I planned an escape.
"If I knew that would be the last night I talked to you for months," Lincoln said after he noticed I lingered to look at the photo. "I would have tried even harder to shut up and listen to whatever you had to say."
"I had nothing to say."
"You don't believe someone can be shallow," he said. "And I don't believe it's possible for someone not to have something to say."
"Nothing interesting," I corrected.
"Half the shit I say isn't interesting," he countered.
I smiled; my gaze still locked on the photo. "The plan wasn't to ghost you by the way…"
"No?" he teased.
