Page 53 of The Order of Disorder
“It really is.”
We clink. Down them. I cough. He winces. I toss my empty cup over my shoulder, and he laughs. By morning, the hangar will be trashed, but the newest set of prospects will clean it up.
Wyatt plants his hands on my shoulders. “What now?” he asks. “Dance?”
I laugh. “What does this look like to you? Prom?”
He surveys the chaos—shouting, broken glass, the start of a fight. “Nope,” he says, eyes returning to mine. “Definitely not.”
But I step in closer anyway, wrap my arms around his back, and lean in like we’re slow dancing. “Did you go to prom?” I ask.
“I did.”
I blink. It's hard to picture him younger. Softer. “Did you have a date?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He chuckles. “Jennifer Miller. Senior year. She was my girlfriend. Why?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Just trying to picture you in a tuxedo.”
He tips his head back, laughing. “It was a sight. Corsage and all.”
I tilt my head. “I’d like to see you in a tux.”
“I’d like to see you in a prom dress,” he shoots back.
“Don’t deflect. Did you sleep with Jennifer Miller on prom night?”
“Max,” he says, mock-offended. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“C’mon! Did you?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
“I just…want to.” I want to understand him as a sexual being. But I don’t say that. Instead, I break eye contact and rest my cheek against his chest, let it pass for something safer.
“We should find a place to sit,” he says after a beat.
“Your knees okay?” I ask sweetly. “Need a break, grandpa?”
“Oh,” he groans, laughing. “Wow. Not cool, Max. I should throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and walk you out of here.”
“Please,” I say, grinning up at him. My chest brushes his.
He looks younger like this. Not in years, but in…weight. Like someone peeled the years off his shoulders, just for a second.
“Hey,” I say. “I think you’re having fun.”
“I’m regretting everything,” he deadpans.
“Liar.”
“I’ll forget all of this tomorrow.”
“You’ll remember every second,” I say, tipping my head. “Because I’m unforgettable.”
