by Dahlia Adler
“You told them,” says Connor, gently extricating his arm from my grasp, hurt and regret flashing across his face.
I just nod.
“Boys, why don’t we go check on Pete,” Nancy suggests.
Connor winces. “No, wait. Please.” He turns to Tyler. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. I’m sorry I said it. It’s just…I know you guys have had a hard year, and I was afraid to do something to make it worse. I don’t know how to….” His face reddens. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I just know I like hanging out with you guys, and I’m crazy about your sister, okay?”
My stomach flips like mad at the words, but I force a neutral expression on my face as I glance from Tyler to Nancy. Of course, that’s when Max says, “Gross. Aren’t you her teacher?”
Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up. I don’t blame her. I have not handled this well in the slightest over the past few weeks.
“Sort of,” says Connor, his face darkening even further. “It’s complicated.”
Of all people, Tyler comes to the rescue. “He’s not like Mrs. Yang,” says Ty. “He’s like Rita. The one who helps you with the scissors.”
“I think I’ve just been demoted,” Connor rumbles under his breath.
“Shut up and go with it.”
Ty looks back at Connor, cocking his head. “So, you really like my sister? Are you, like, her boyfriend now?”
“Tyler!” I admonish him on instinct, but the truth is, I’m kind of curious myself.
Connor shrugs. “You have to ask her that, man. I’m just here because I heard you guys need help with turkey.”
“That we do,” says Nancy with a smile, snapping out of the little daze she’d been in, watching all the bizarre events playing out. “Max, honey, move over. I think maybe we’ll let Connor handle the stuffing.”
I watch as Nancy arranges all the testosterone-bearers in the room, giving them peeling, chopping, and microwaving tasks, and it strikes me with a pang in my heart that there’s still a place in this house for family.
• • •
Dinner is sad. And sweet. And underseasoned. And full of reminiscing about the past and talking about the future. Connor takes a ton of gentle ribbing for being a Canadian on Thanksgiving, and responds by pedantically teaching us all about the “real” story of the first Thanksgiving. Everyone makes fun of him for ruining it, me loudest of all, but sitting there with my hand clasped in his, hearing everyone around the table laughing, I know he’s saved this holiday for us.
When we’re all stuffed full of apple pie with ice cream, and Max is practically asleep at the table, and Nancy’s leg is growing stiff, and Tyler’s getting antsy to chat with his friends, Connor and I announce that we’ll take care of cleanup, and we send everyone on their way.
“Alone at last,” I say with a smile as he wraps me in a warm hug. “So, you do okay?”
“You tell me.” He drops a kiss into my hair. “I invaded your family Thanksgiving.”
“It was nice to have some foreign blood,” I assure him. “But I have to admit, I still kind of can’t believe you’re here.”
He smiles against my forehead. “I can’t really either. But there really isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.” Dropping one more kiss, he pulls away and takes a platter in each hand, starting to clear off the table. I do the same, following him into the kitchen.
“I have to ask,” I say, watching him put the dishes down on the counter. “What made you change your mind?”
“I don’t know,” he says, but he seems to be concentrating extra hard on covering the leftover sweet potato pie with Saran wrap.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” He smiles ruefully, puts the pie in the fridge, and turns, leaning back against the counter. The sleeves of his gray sweater are pushed up to reveal extremely nice forearms, which feels like a dirty distraction tactic. “I never wanted to walk out on you that night, Elizabeth. I didn’t even know I was going to. I got up to go to the bathroom and I tripped on one of Max’s cars and I just…I don’t know. It freaked me out.”
He walks over to where I’m standing and takes the platters from my hands, putting them on the counter. “It still freaks me out, thinking about it, sometimes,” he admits hoarsely. “But not getting any more pissed-off texts from you, or homemade mac ’n cheese, or fashion tips is so much scarier. Crisse, just the fact that you ask about my family. No one asks that. No one declares ‘daddy issues’ like it’s her right to crawl into my brain, but there you are. Just thinking about losing you for good was so much scarier than anything else.
“And I do like your brothers. A lot. I’m glad to spend time with them, to have them around. And I know they don’t need or want another dad-like-person. I just don’t want to fail at whatever I’m supposed to be to them, the way my dad did with me.”
I reach for his hand, run my thumb over his knuckles before intertwining our fingers. “You’ve already done infinitely more for them, and for me, than your asshole father ever did for you, Connor. You could fuck everything up from here on out and still put your dad to shame. You know that, right?”
He doesn’t answer, but he does kiss me.
“It was last night,” he murmurs against my lips. “When you said ‘we like each other.’ That’s what did it. It was just simple and right and equal and I thought ‘I would have to be a fucking idiot to let go of a girl who makes me excited to get up in the morning and who feels perfect in my arms falling asleep.’ Happy now?”
“Very,” I say our mouths find each other again, but it feels like the understatement of the century. My body feels suffused in warmth from his words, and it’s only growing hotter as the kiss grows deeper. His hands slide up the back of my dress, toying with the zipper, as mine encircle his neck.
“Are you kissing? Ew.”
We jump apart to see Max standing in the doorway to the kitchen, in his pajamas, looking rumpled and sleepy. “What’s up, buddy?” I ask sheepishly, smoothing my dress as Connor runs a hand through his hair.
“Can I have water?”
I pour him some and get him back to bed while Connor continues to clear the table. It takes a good half hour to get everything in the refrigerator, dishwasher, or garbage, and I don’t even bother dealing with the tablecloth or the recycling; it can wait.
The end of this conversation, and whatever comes afterward, can’t. Not anymore.
Connor’s been in my bedroom in my apartment at Radleigh, but bringing him up to my bedroom at my parents’ house feels a thousand times more intimate. I watch, closing the door behind me, as he does a slow walk around the room, taking in old spelling ribbons, pictures of me and the girls I called friends a million years ago, and shelves spilling over with books.
“Very different from your room upstate,” he observes.
“Very different life upstate.”
He does one last scan of a collage frame before taking a seat on my bed. “Why?”
“I wish I knew¸” I admit, exhaling sharply. I’m still leaning back against the door, not ready yet to join him on the bed. “I just found high school easier, I guess. It was comfortable. Home.”
“So why didn’t you stay here for college?”
I snort. “That was the last thing I wanted. I was valedictorian, Connor. I was gonna go places. I was gonna go to Cornell and kick some ass and then go to Harvard fucking Law.”
“But?”
“But I went to visit Cornell and all the prospectives started talking about the suicide gorge and I freaked the fuck out and had a panic attack in front of my entire tour group. When I got home, I deleted my Cornell application and applied to Radleigh instead. Same weather; less pressure. My friends thought I was pathetic and couldn’t ditch me fast enough, but I got a scholarship that pays three-quarters of my tuition—a scholarship I can’t believe I’m maintaining, though you get lots of thanks for that this semester—and voila.”
“That’s it?” He furrows his brow.
“That’s it,” I say, lifting my chin defiantly. “Still think I’m hot, knowing I’m just some chick who couldn’t hack her original plans?”
“If you’d clung to your original plans, you’d still be in the position you are now,” he points out. “You’d just have your brothers at Cornell instead of Radleigh.”
I snort. “Guess I got lucky, then.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, rising.
“I know.”
“If you’re trying to turn me off, it’s not going to work. I’m just gonna warn you of that right now.”
My lips curve up a little at that. “I’m not trying to turn you off. I’m trying to be clear about who I am before we make a decision that could affect your career.”
“I know who you are.” His voice is husky as he closes the distance between us and cups my face in his palms. “You are smart, and you are strong, and you are brave. And you take great care of your brothers, and you rise to challenges like no one I’ve ever seen. So you can beat yourself up about choices you made when you were in high school, or you can see what I see, which is a woman who’s strong enough to do anything she puts her mind to.”
“You overestimate me,” I say quietly. “I let myself be selfish until now, and all day, but as much as I want this, I can’t let you throw your job away over me. I promise you, Connor—I’m not worth it.”
“I think I estimate you just fine, and you’re plenty worth it, but I’m not throwing away my job. I hope not, anyway.” He hesitates before saying anything else, then pulls me slowly to the bed, where we lie down facing each other, close but not touching. “There’s only one month left to the semester. I know it’s still not exactly the height of ethics, but…as long as we’re not actually sleeping together…” He takes a deep breath. “I can wait a month if I know we’ll be together at the end of it.” A hint of pink rises into his cheeks. “Be together, I mean. Not…I’m not trying to put a date on when we have sex or anything. Tabarnac,” he mutters. “I’m really not saying any of this right.”
I can’t help laughing at the sight of him all flustered. “I get it,” I assure him. “I can do a month.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He looks so earnest as he asks, and I cup his jaw in my hand, trace my thumb along the curve of his lower lip. “I trust you’ll still love me in a month.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Well, that’s presumptuous. I don’t recall using the L-word.”
I roll my eyes. “You just drove five hours to come spend Thanksgiving with me and two tween boys, but sure, whatever. Will you still like me in a month?”
He smirks as he reaches up to tuck a wave of hair behind my ear, gently caressing my cheek as he does. “Yes, Lizzie, I’ll still love you in a month.”
Even though I was the one who put the word in his mouth, hearing it emerge in his voice jars something in me, makes my heart explode against my ribs and then put itself back together, fuller, stronger. I grab hold of his shirt collar and smash my mouth fiercely against his, devouring him, swallowing his words so deeply I can feel them imprinting themselves on my insides.
Fuck waiting.
My fingers fly over his buttons while his tangle in my hair, releasing me only to let me slide his shirt down his arms and off. “What happened to ‘I can do a month’?” he pants as I slide his undershirt up and toss it onto the floor.
“Declaration of love trumps all,” I inform him, sliding my hands over the hard planes of his chest, the pale expanse of his stomach. Trevor might’ve had a tan and a six-pack, but I can’t imagine anything sexier than the man in front of me now. I press my lips to his neck and suck gently, and his responsive moan is so hot, I do it again, and again, and again until I’ve dotted his throat with little suction marks. “At least while we’re here, far, far away from Radleigh.”
“Is that so?” he utters as I reposition for better access to the other side.
“Mmhmm,” I murmur against his skin before giving him a gentle nip. “It’s in the rules.”
There’s no argument from his side; he gives in completely, kissing and touching every inch he can, desperately trying to get my clingy dress away from my body. Finally, I roll off of him until I’m standing on my bedroom floor, and I see his expression change from puzzlement to disappointment.
“Okay,” he says as he tries to control his breathing. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“About what?”
“That we should stop,” he says, gesturing to the space I’ve created between us.
I can’t help it; I snort with laughter. “You idiot. I got up to take off my dress, because you suck at it.”
“Oh, thank God,” he mutters so quietly I’m not even sure I was supposed to hear it. “So this is love, huh?” he says in a louder voice of mock wonder as I reach behind my back and unzip. “I always wondered. It’s less…sweet than I imagined.”
“Smartass,” I mutter, and he laughs. At least until my dress drops to the floor.
Then his laughter abruptly cuts out and he murmurs, “Sacrement.”
“What?” I ask in a panic, instantly dropping to a crouch to grab my dress and use it to shield my body.
“Drop the dress, Elizabeth,” Connor practically growls. Instinctively, I do. “Come over here.” Again, I do. I’m not typically the obedient type, but my libido’s calling the shots right now and its response to Connor’s molten glare is too strong to override.
He runs a hand slowly up the back of my thigh, cups my ass through my striped cotton underwear—not what I would’ve packed if I’d known to expect company—slides it back down. “I was absolutely positive I’d built up your body in my head,” he says hoarsely, his eyes raking my body up and down. “I didn’t even think it was possible for a real person to look like this.” He shakes his head as he strokes me again.
“Oh.” I don’t even know what else to say. Compliments—still not my forte.
This time, he slides between my thighs on the downstroke, so slowly I think it’s meant to torture me into insanity. “You’re drenched,” he observes with a groan.
“I can’t imagine how I got that way,” I reply, shuddering lightly with each pass of his thumb.
He keeps up the brutally slow pace, and I can feel his eyes on me as he does it, though mine are closed. “I can’t believe you get this wet for me.” He dips a finger inside the edge of the lining and caresses me slowly, so slowly. “You’re so hot it’s fucking maddening. You realize I’m just an older history nerd, right?”
I look down at him, propped up on the bed, his lean body, his slightly too-long hair falling in his those midnight eyes, and a smile curls my lips. “A sexy older history nerd,” I correct him. “Doesn’t hurt that I happen to know you know how to use that tongue. Think you’re the only one who regularly rubs one out thinking of that night by the parking lot?”
Now Connor’s lips curve upward to match mine, as if we’re partners in crime, and he slips in a second finger. “We should probably create some newer material.”
He’s massaging my clit now; a pathetic “uh huh” of agreement is all I can muster.
“Come here,” he murmurs, reclaiming his fingers.
“I’m already here,” I reply petulantly. “Put them back.”
He laughs lowly. “No, Elizabeth. Come.” He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucks them clean. If I wasn’t dripping before, I certainly am now. “Here.”
Mother of God, I am going to explode before he even touches me. I take a step toward him, but stop when I see the amusement twisting his lips. “What?”
“Maybe lose the underwear before you mount me,” he suggests helpfully.
“Who’s the smartass now?” I grumble, shoving my panties to the floor. I unhook my bra and slip it off too, and greatly enjoy the way all traces of smugness disappear from him face when I do.
“Tabarnac de câlisse,” he swears under his breath, looking me up and down.
God, I love Canada.
; “This better?” I ask sweetly.
“Get over here,” he growls, grabbing my wrist and pulling me on top of him. We share a long, hungry kiss, breaking off only when his fingers find my nipples and I cry out.
Immediately, I cover my mouth. “Shit,” I whisper through my fingers. “We have to be quieter.”
“That’s not really your greatest skill,” says Connor with a smile, earning him a whack on the arm. He glances around the room. “How about the air conditioner? Window units are pretty loud.”
“It’s freezing outside!”
“I promise to keep you warm.”
The husky way he says the words sends shivers down my entire body. I decide not to share that irony. “You better.” I climb off and scurry to the AC. “And lose the pants,” I call back over my shoulder.
I’m pleased to see he’s complied by the time I return, and I climb back into bed. “Now,” I say as I straddle his boxer-clad hips. “I believe you were about to get me to make some noise.”
“That I am.” He strokes my legs up from my knees, then cups my ass to nudge me closer. And closer. And then I’m straddling his shoulders, and he’s holding me in place with big, strong hands, and—
“Oh, fuck!” The first stroke of Connor’s tongue is firmer than I expect, and by the time it hits my insanely sensitized clit, I know I’m about five seconds away from an orgasm. I try to maintain some semblance of control, keep my hips at a slow roll, but Connor’s not having it. His hands tightly grip my ass, pushing my hips forward in time with the thrusting of his tongue. I give up any attempt at restraint and simply brace myself on the wall behind his head while I ride his hungry mouth like a woman possessed. I fall over the edge all too soon, crying out while I try to gain purchase on the unyielding surface, Connor greedily imbibing every last drop until the last shudder goes through me and I collapse into his arms.
“Câlisse, you are delicious,” he murmurs, brushing a hand idly over the top of my head. “I will never get sick of that.”