I take his hand, and the night melts into something I never expected. Something that could only be described as ours. While the party rages on outside, we stay tucked away in the library. He pulls book after book from the shelves, telling me which ones he loved, which ones he hates, and which ones he’ll never forget.
Somewhere between the second shelf and his favorite paperback, I realize I’m not listening to the titles anymore. I’m listening to him. The cadence of his voice. The way he talks about every book so tenderly.
When our shoulders brush, neither of us moves away, and I fight the urge to drop my head on his shoulder just to keep the connection for as long as possible.
“Tiff,” he says quietly before he caresses my cheek and guides me to look at him. “Thank you.”
The library is quiet, the air crackling, and
As if he can hear my thoughts, he turns and reaches for my jaw, drawing my attention to him.
His eyes dart between my eyes and my lips when he says, “Thank you.”
“For?” I ask on a shaky breath. His thumb is brushing across my cheek; his eyes focused on my lips.
“Tonight was… not good,” he says quietly. “I didn’t think anything could fix it. Then you happened.”
My breath catches, and before I can respond, he leans forward. His lips brush against mine, soft at first, as though he’s giving me every chance to pull away.
I don’t pull back. I stay exactly where I am, my heart pounding so fast it feels like it might give me away.
I tilt my head, the move feeling clumsy, but when his lips press firmly against mine, everything narrows to him. I start to move my mouth against his, and I miss the angle, making our noses bump. I pull back an inch, almost certain he realizes how inexperienced I am, but all he does is adjust his angle and kiss me again.
His mouth is warm and steady against mine. He’s not rushing me, and I relax a little, letting myself follow his lead.
My hands hover uselessly for a second before settling against his chest, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest quicken as he deepens the kiss, which makes my stomach flip. Butterflies explode in my chest, wild and relentless, and for once, I don’t want them to stop. I don’t want this to stop.
When he pulls away, it’s only far enough to look at me.
I open my eyes, my breath uneven, and for a second I’m terrified he’ll regret it.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he smiles, and says softly, “You okay?”
I nod, because for the first time in a long while, I really am.
“Do you want to find somewhere a little more private?” he murmurs.
The way he says it should shake me a little. It’s so easy and familiar. He’s obviously asked that question before and this is probably just another hookup at a party for him. He has no idea how new and enormous this moment is to me.
Should I tell him?
I picture myself fumbling through it, or wanting too much, too fast. He’ll realize somewhere down the line that this is my first everything, and I should probably say no and wait to do it with someone that matters…but he looks at me like I matter. Like I’m not a side character for once in my life.
That’s never happened to me before.
Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe I’m thinking too much into it, but I’m tired of waiting to be someone else before I let myself want things.
I want this. I want him, and I want to be someone else for the night. Someone braver, wilder, someone who takes instead of always being taken from, someone worthy of the hunger in his eyes instead of the disappointment in my father's.
For once in my life, I'm not overthinking. Not planning three steps ahead. Not worrying about consequences or tomorrow or what anyone will think.
For once, I'm just feeling.
“Yes.” My voice is shaky, but certain.
I’m going to be the main character for once in my life. Screw what anyone else thinks.