myself I would fall apart.
And yet ⦠I donât have any of those things right now, and Iâm still together. Iâm not falling apart.
I wonder why.
The Brooklyn night around us is so silent, all I can hear is the soft strain of music from one of the brownstones across the street, and suddenly I realize weâre home. Weâre outside Rookhaven.
I stop walking.
I have an insane, almost unstoppable urge to give Joe a hug. Almost. But I canât. It would be too awkward. Joe is about a foot taller than me so it would be like hugging a tree. And we only just met, and heâs my boss (which he insists on reminding me of every chance he gets). And heâs like this big, messy, overgrown wild man, he doesnât exactly seem like the touchy-feely type. And he may not want a hug. Unwanted hugs are the worst. And, and, and I just ⦠I canât. Iâm too scared.
So I drop my gaze, turn, and start walking up our stoop.
But just as I reach the second step, Joe grabs me by the hand, pulls me sharply around to face him, and wraps his arms around me, tight.
A hug. A real hug. The kind of hug you just sink into.
Joe is so much larger than me that his arms totally encircle me. I barely reach his chest. Iâm trapped, held tight, unable to move away, my body pressed tightly against his. I can feel the heat of his body and my heart beating so hard and so loud that he must be able to feel it too.
âOh, Cocoâ¦â murmurs Joe. His voice is low and intense, all traces of that showy jovial charm gone.
This is so surreal. Joe, my hot, smart-ass Irish charmer of a boss, a guy I met yesterday, for Peteâs sake, is standing on my front stoop, holding me.
I can hear the rhythm of his breath, feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. I can smell the soapy cleanness of his clothes and the tiniest hint of something else. Aftershave? Shampoo?
I canât remember ever feeling this close to anyone before.
Then Joe pulls away slightly and looks down, staring into my eyes, his face so serious, more serious than I could ever have imagined him looking at me.
I gulp.
Heâs going to kiss me.
After what feels like an agonizing waitâseconds have never felt so longâJoeâs head moves an inch closer, then another inch, and another. He stops, just a breath away, before our lips finally touch.
Pia once told me that kissing a guy is like kissing every other guy, except when itâs really good, and then itâs like you forget what it was ever like to not kiss him. I totally agree: this is a whole new kind of kissing. Itâs like I always imagined it should be but wasnât, the kind of kissing that makes all your senses tingle, that makes you simultaneously burn and shiver all over.
Eventually we break apart.
âJesus, that was unexpected.â Joe runs his fingers through his hair, slightly flustered.
âIâve never kissed someone who knew how to kiss before,â I say honestly.
Joe laughs, then pulls me in closer, wrapping his arms around me again.
âDo you wantââ My voice is so quiet I can hardly hear it, and I canât quite believe Iâm about to say it, but I canât stop myself. âDo you want to come upstairs?â
âYes.â
Â
CHAPTER 11
Naturally, the girls bust me pretty much immediately the next morning.
I tiptoe into the kitchen, feeling light-headed from the sudden influx of sunshine through the kitchen windows.
I need water. And I need it bad.
Sex is exhausting, am I right?
I expected the kitchen to be empty, but instead I find Angie and Madeleine padding around happily in bare feet, fixing breakfast. Angie is having toast and eggs; Madeleine is making some kind of gross-looking shake with almond milk and chia seeds and spinach.
When I walk in, they both look up. Angie does an overly dramatic comic double-take.
âYou had da sex last night!â shouts Angie.
âI did â¦
And yet ⦠I donât have any of those things right now, and Iâm still together. Iâm not falling apart.
I wonder why.
The Brooklyn night around us is so silent, all I can hear is the soft strain of music from one of the brownstones across the street, and suddenly I realize weâre home. Weâre outside Rookhaven.
I stop walking.
I have an insane, almost unstoppable urge to give Joe a hug. Almost. But I canât. It would be too awkward. Joe is about a foot taller than me so it would be like hugging a tree. And we only just met, and heâs my boss (which he insists on reminding me of every chance he gets). And heâs like this big, messy, overgrown wild man, he doesnât exactly seem like the touchy-feely type. And he may not want a hug. Unwanted hugs are the worst. And, and, and I just ⦠I canât. Iâm too scared.
So I drop my gaze, turn, and start walking up our stoop.
But just as I reach the second step, Joe grabs me by the hand, pulls me sharply around to face him, and wraps his arms around me, tight.
A hug. A real hug. The kind of hug you just sink into.
Joe is so much larger than me that his arms totally encircle me. I barely reach his chest. Iâm trapped, held tight, unable to move away, my body pressed tightly against his. I can feel the heat of his body and my heart beating so hard and so loud that he must be able to feel it too.
âOh, Cocoâ¦â murmurs Joe. His voice is low and intense, all traces of that showy jovial charm gone.
This is so surreal. Joe, my hot, smart-ass Irish charmer of a boss, a guy I met yesterday, for Peteâs sake, is standing on my front stoop, holding me.
I can hear the rhythm of his breath, feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. I can smell the soapy cleanness of his clothes and the tiniest hint of something else. Aftershave? Shampoo?
I canât remember ever feeling this close to anyone before.
Then Joe pulls away slightly and looks down, staring into my eyes, his face so serious, more serious than I could ever have imagined him looking at me.
I gulp.
Heâs going to kiss me.
After what feels like an agonizing waitâseconds have never felt so longâJoeâs head moves an inch closer, then another inch, and another. He stops, just a breath away, before our lips finally touch.
Pia once told me that kissing a guy is like kissing every other guy, except when itâs really good, and then itâs like you forget what it was ever like to not kiss him. I totally agree: this is a whole new kind of kissing. Itâs like I always imagined it should be but wasnât, the kind of kissing that makes all your senses tingle, that makes you simultaneously burn and shiver all over.
Eventually we break apart.
âJesus, that was unexpected.â Joe runs his fingers through his hair, slightly flustered.
âIâve never kissed someone who knew how to kiss before,â I say honestly.
Joe laughs, then pulls me in closer, wrapping his arms around me again.
âDo you wantââ My voice is so quiet I can hardly hear it, and I canât quite believe Iâm about to say it, but I canât stop myself. âDo you want to come upstairs?â
âYes.â
Â
CHAPTER 11
Naturally, the girls bust me pretty much immediately the next morning.
I tiptoe into the kitchen, feeling light-headed from the sudden influx of sunshine through the kitchen windows.
I need water. And I need it bad.
Sex is exhausting, am I right?
I expected the kitchen to be empty, but instead I find Angie and Madeleine padding around happily in bare feet, fixing breakfast. Angie is having toast and eggs; Madeleine is making some kind of gross-looking shake with almond milk and chia seeds and spinach.
When I walk in, they both look up. Angie does an overly dramatic comic double-take.
âYou had da sex last night!â shouts Angie.
âI did â¦
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