Page 87 of When We Had Forever
I open my eyes to find him grinning up at me. “A piña colada,” I say tonelessly. “You’re a bastard.”
“And you love it. Now what’d you really get me?”
I study him through slitted lashes. Fine. If he wants to play, we’ll play. “You have to let me put it on you to find out.”
He splays out in the chair like a starfish. “Be my guest.”
I lean down to pluck the chain from its bag. All the while, I wriggle and buck, grinding against him until he stiffens beneath me.
“There we go.” I fasten the clasp, all innocence, and pull back.
His eyelids have dropped to half-mast. “You minx. You know you’re evil, right?”
“No,” I say. “Youare. This whole abstinence thing was your idea.”
“Was it?”
I brace my hands on his shoulders. He’s on the brink of recanting—I can tell by his parted lips and the liquid shimmer in his eyes.
But his self-control proves unconquerable, because he sighs and cups my chin. “I think resisting you might actually be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
For a moment, I consider begging, but a worm of doubt wriggles in the back of my mind. Without his drafting table here to distract him, this week has been every bit as intoxicating as our first. Maybe even more so, since now I don’t have to worry about whether he’s mine or not.
He is, now and forever.
What will happen once we resume our habit of devouring each other on every available surface?
“I can see that.” I climb off, casting a pointed smile at the impressive tent in his shorts. “But you’re right. A deal’s a deal.”
A shadow crosses his face. He brings his hands up to play with the chain. “Yeah. And look—at least I get this fancy consolation prize. Though I’m surprised you remembered.”
“How could I forget?”
“It was forever ago.”
“Ten years isn’tthatlong. Do you like it?”
He holds the necklace out and looks down. When he smiles, the clouded moment passes. “I love it. I’ll treasure it forever.”
For the rest of our vacation, he wears it day and night—in the ocean, in the shower, during a tandem parasail that makes the beach shrink to a ribbon and leaves me wondering whether I detest heights or wish I could grow wings.
He only takes the necklace off once. The night before we leave, we amble down to the beach in our bathing suits at sunset. Michael sits on the sand and draws me down next to him. The ocean sighs and nibbles at our toes. Palm fronds chatter behind us. We say nothing as the sky kaleidoscopes from rose to lavender to indigo.
One by one, the stars unveil themselves. I halfway expect Michael to get up and walk off, but he seems content to watch the evolving majesty of the oncoming night. The silence deepens, rich and wide and welcoming, and I lace my fingers through his. He squeezes.
I don’t know how long we sit like that, watching the stars. Hours, maybe.
“Fuck,” he finally breathes. “Would you look at that? There must be billions of them.”
My heart cracks open and hinges wide, admitting a rush of ocean-filled night and undiluted love for the man beside me. Michael hasn’t cursed in...years, probably, and that alone betrays the depth of what he’s feeling.
“Do you see that one, there?” He points skyward with his free hand, leaving the other folded around mine. Sandy grit abrades our palms, but I don’t care.
I follow his finger. Michael has singled out a purple-hued star, brighter than the rest. “I see.”
“That one’s my favorite.”
I laugh. “You have a favorite? Out of billions?”
