Page 13 of A Mountain Man Walks into a Library

Chapter 7

Samuel

Ibarely sleep. I liethere, body pressed as innocently to Remy’s as possible, considering the fact that we just kissed. But he doesn’t say anything either, doesn’t follow up the kiss with another. For hours, it’s just me and the spring peepers.

When morning finally comes, it’s my turn to wake alone. Not having to share, I side onto my back and take up the whole twin bed. The morning sun filters in through Remy’s gauzy curtains, falling warm over my body, and I worry.

I don’t know if we’ll talk about it. In fact, I’m ninety percent sure Remy didn’t actually mean to kiss me. Not like that, anyway. It was an accident, an awkward collision. Still, it set my body on fire. I’m a fistful of firecrackers trapped inside a bottle. And I don’t want to pressure him—that’s the last thing I want—especially with how nervy he is, how on-edge he’s been about this entire weekend.

But I want him. And I think he might want me too.

I allow myself a single, low groan. The best thing to do would be to leave today. Let him have his last day alone with his family, and if he wants, we can talk about it next week. I can make him something extra impressive to nibble on, and pick out the perfect quote that accurately captures my feelings.

(Maybe Raymond Carver’s,Woke up this morning with a terrific urge to lie in bed all day and read. Is that one sexy enough? I fear I’ve been too subtle, so the thought of Remy imagining me lounging, concubine-like, in a bed all day, my body suggestively draped in books, well. There are worse things.)

Outside of the bedroom, I hear lots of rustling. And then something like the front door opening and Remy’s voice terse around the words, “I told you, I’m fine.” And then, “Have fun. See you later,” and the sound of the door shutting. I lie still for a moment, listening. When movement returns, I recognize it as the sound of Remy starting coffee in the kitchen.

I dress and slip out of the bedroom.

I find Remy at the counter, retrieving two mugs from the cupboard, and I come up to stand beside him. Not too close. Giving him space.

He glances up at me with a soft smile. “Good morning,” he says.

I nod. “Your parents?”

“Went on morning waterfall hike.”

I nod again. Remy seems surprisingly calm, considering how nervous he was last night. But I’m still all firecrackers inside, and I can’t go the rest of the day without dealing with this.

“So,” I say carefully, “about last night and that kiss—”

And I don’t get to finish because Remy rounds on me, screws his fist into my shirt, and drags me in for a deep, hard kiss.

I gasp into it, his mouth firm against mine, and warm. Remy Lacross is kissing me. And not the tender, tentative kiss from the fire last night. This one is determined and assured, and already I know that it’s not going to end here in the kitchen. Remy knows what he wants, and what he wants isme.

I cup his jaw in both hands and kiss him back.

In my experience, sex is alwaysfun. All through college, I’d meet someone I wanted to know better, and we’d have a few drinks, and I’d tell them stories, and they’d laugh. We’d go back to their place or mine, and fall into bed together, still laughing. It was always a good time.

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