Page 79 of You, with a View

Theo’s chin dips, his eyelashes sweeping down as he closes his eyes, sighing. He leans into my touch, and I press myself closer, rubbing down his scalp, to the back of his neck where his silent tension lives.

“What do they think of all this?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, distracted.

“This road trip, what we’re doing...” He trails off expectantly, eyes opening.

I don’t know what to say, but Theo doesn’t press, just waits. I can’t admit it all; that would mean exposing myself completely. I’m ready to share my body, pieces of my thoughts and heart, but I can’t give it all yet. I’m not sure he’ll want it.

“Thomas and Sadie know everything, but my parents don’t. My dad doesn’t know about Paul. At least, I don’t think he does. I haven’t said anything about what I found. I was worried about how he’d react to it all, but I also wanted...” I swallow hard, fixing my eyes on the hollowed triangle at the base of Theo’s throat, the faint freckles sprinkled over his skin. “I wanted to know more about Gram and Paul before I talked to him. And selfishly, I want to know her secrets before anyone else does. That was our thing, you know?”

“Yeah,” Theo says quietly.

“I’m not ready to let it go. Because if I let it go, then I let...”Her go. I don’t say it. I can’t. It makes her death too real. I’ll never hear her voice whispering the four words we exchanged nearly asoften as our most important three.Tell me a secretandI love you. Two different things that meant the same.

I wish I could tell her about Theo. What a wild secret he is. I trace the curve of his collarbone with my finger, watching goosebumps rise on his skin. What would she think of us? Is it too strange that we’re tied by her and Paul’s interrupted love, or would she think it was something like fate?

“What did you tell your parents?” Theo murmurs, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“That this is a photography trip. Not a lie, exactly, but it makes me feel like shit.”

“And they support you?”

“Completely. My dad would cry happy tears if I made a living from photography instead of—”Staring at the walls of my childhood bedroom for the past four months. Drifting from job to job I didn’t give a shit about before that.

God. That’s really what I’ve been doing.

“Instead of your corporate slog,” he finishes for me wryly.

“Right.” I can’t hear more of my own lies out of his mouth and don’t want to think about who I am back home. I smooth my palms over his chest, moving them up to circle around his neck. “Anyway, they’re fine. And we’re getting off track.”

His thumb brushes my cheek. “I don’t mind talking about it. We have time.”

“Not much,” I say. Four full days. Five, including our drive home. “I’m done talking for now.”

A smile curves his mouth, and I burrow my fingers into his hair, pulling him down to me. Over his shoulder, I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror. I watch the brush of his mouth against my cheek, the fluttering of his eyes as they close when he touches myskin. I watch, breath held, as his hand slides up to my neck, then my jaw so he can bring me back to him.

The kiss starts out tender, so soft it nearly hurts. He doesn’t give me his tongue right away. It’s like he’s gauging whether we’re ready to step into this different moment.

I part my lips against his, whisper, “Please,” so he knows I needthis—sinking into the physical connection that arcs between us. When his hand curves around my cheek and he lets out a quiet, pained sound, triumph squeezes my chest. It’s a thrill to crack Theo open, even temporarily.

He tightens his arm around my waist and lifts me, walking me out of the bathroom with my legs dangling.

I laugh, wrapping my legs around his waist just before he stumbles to sit on the bed. Suddenly we’re right back to where we started before that phone call interrupted us: my knees bracket his hips and we’re grinding against each other, kissing in long, drugging waves that pause only when we have to catch our breath. But even panting against each other’s mouths, our eyes locked while Theo’s hands shape and grip my thighs, my ass, my waist—even that feels like fucking.

“Why’d you put your shirt back on?” I grab the hem so I can get it off him.

“Dunno, but I’m not letting go of your ass, so find a different way,” he says against my throat.

The material stretches between my hands. “I’m gonna rip it off.”

His teeth scrape my jaw. “It’s my favorite shirt.”

“Then let go. I’m trying to get you naked, Spencer. Cooperation will get you inside me sooner.”

I’m unhanded instantly, and he helps me divest him of his shirt, then takes care of mine. I get stuck inside the material of mybralette when he tries to peel it off me, and he laughs, eyes crinkling. I’ve never heard his happiness so unrestrained. I tuck it away to remember later. He leans in for a kiss while my hands are over my head, the stretchy material binding me at the elbows.

“Get me out of this,” I say without heat.

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