I come from his cock alone, moaning his name before he slams into me one last time, throbbing as he comes, collapsing on top of me and breathing into my neck.
“That wasn’t pretend, Zo,” he whispers, and I close my eyes.
Because he’s not wrong.
TWENTY-THREE
STATE OF GRACE
-ZANDER-
We order shitty pizza to be delivered to the bed-and-breakfast (I run downstairs to grab it in a pair of sweats, and the owner winks at me as I do), and we eat in the big bed, despite Zoe’s protest.
“We can’t eat in bed, Zander,” she said.
“We actually can,” I said. “We’re full-blown adults, Zoe.” I smiled at her, and I saw it there—the way she was fighting the tipping of her own lips.
“But it’s . . . That’s not normal.”
“Told you. We’re not living safe and by the book this week.” My eyes traveled to where the white sheet was pooling at her waist, giving me a glimpse of the bare skin of her hip beneath my tee.
I decided at that moment, I needed that forever. That look she was giving me, half annoyed, half turned on, I needed to figure out how to keep it.
But I thought it was a win when she rolled her eyes and grabbed a slice.
And now we’re recovering from round two, my fingers running through her hair as her head lays on my chest, my other hand holding hers.
My eyes are on the clock, waiting for it to change.
For midnight.
Because every midnight is a new day I get to start with Zoe, a new day I get to work toward convincing her she’s meant to be mine.
In the silence, the time change is loud, and the feel of her hand in mine as I squeeze it once, twice, three times is already becoming a comfort.
“Hmm,” she murmurs like I’ve already trained her that when I do that, it means something.
Fuck, I like that.
I also like the way her hum vibrates against my chest, the intimacy of being with her like this, no matter how simple.
“It’s midnight,” I whisper, continuing to move her hair from her face. She washed it at some point after pizza but before round two, her straight hair washing out with it and leaving her with those wild curls I love. “Can I ask you a question?”
“What is this?” she asks, moving and looking up at me. “What’s this midnight question thing?”
“I want to start every single day on this trip learning something about you. I want to know all of your midnight secrets.”
She stares, leaning into me, and I wonder if she’ll figure it out at this moment: what I’m doing. What I’ve been doing.
“Okay. Fine,” she says.
“What?”
“I said fine. Ask your question.”
I thought she’d argue.
I thought, at the least, she’d have a question of her own.
But instead, I just move and ask mine.
“What kind of house do you want?”
“What kind of house?” She looks at me so very confused, and shit, it’s adorable.
I fucking love this woman.
I just need her to realize it once and for all.
“Yeah. A house? A condo? A giant mansion?” She smiles and shakes her head.
“Is there any rhyme or reason to these questions?” I shake my head in the negative.
I will never tell her that this entire trip, from the questions to the stops to the random shit we’re doing, is all based on things her ten-year-old self put into a box.
I won’t tell her I’m trying to make all her fairy-tale ideas come to life so we can live in the real world together.
“Not at all.”
“You’re weird, you know that?”
“You like it, though,” I say with a smile, like we’re kids teasing each other.
But still, I don’t expect her reply.
“Yeah, I guess I do, don’t I?”
A fucking step in the right direction, I tell myself, trying to fight the smile.
“A house,” she says eventually. “Not a big one, but big enough so everyone has some room to breathe. But not too much, you know? I want us to bump into each other a lot. I don’t want my kids getting into too much trouble.”
“Mmm,” I say, my fingers playing with her hair, stopping in tangled curls I love so fucking much and giving her the time she needs to expand.
“My house was too big growing up.” Her voice is low and far off. “My parents wanted to give me whatever I wanted, but it was too big for three people. I could hide and not see them for days if I wanted.”
“But my house?”
“Your house was tight, but perfect. You couldn’t get away with too much shit there. You also couldn’t stew on your emotions and avoid Luna if you were mad at her. Your mom would catch wind and make you guys talk it out. I liked that.”
“That she made us talk it out? Or that we had each other?”
“All of it, I guess. I know my mom was done after me, but I always wished I had a sibling. A brother or a sister to yell at and fight with.”
“I get that,” I say, because I do. I agree, even. “The house was annoying when you wanted to be sneaky, but I never felt alone.”
“Yeah,” she says in a whisper, and I know that means she felt alone sometimes.
I wonder if she still does—feel alone when she’s off in the city, living the life she crafted to make other people proud.
Never again, I tell myself. Never again will she feel lonely.
TWENTY-FOUR
LONG LIVE
-ZOE-
We get back on the road the next morning, and it feels bittersweet.
In that little town, it felt like we were living in a sweet little bubble, as if we could act on everything I once thought was so far out of reach.
And now that we’re leaving, the doubt and confusion are creeping back in.
I want to go back.
I want to go back and live in that simple bubble.
And I’m scared to death by how much I want that.
It’s as I’m staring out the window, letting that feeling take over, when his hand reaches over and grabs mine.
One, two, three.
It’s quickly becoming a comfort to me—grounding, in a way.
Isn’t it funny how a simple gesture can mean so much in just three days?
“We’ll go back sometime,” he says under his breath, and I smile.
But I don’t ask how he knew what I was thinking.
It’s just Zander.
It’s just us.
We’ve made it to South Carolina when he notices them.
It’s my own mistake, really. I pull down the visor to check my face for food after we get back in the car after a junk food stop, and there they are.
“What are those?” he asks, tipping his chin to the visor where two pieces of paper are pinned.
“Nothing,” I say, slamming the visor shut without even checking my face.
“It was something,” Zee says, leaning over and flipping the visor down again. I move my hand to it, trying to stop him.
“Zander—”