“Then find a place to hide and remember it until you start believing me,” I say. “And it’s okay. My parents can wait.”
She exhales. Then, slowly, she shifts her weight and kisses me.
* * *
MARIA
* * *
I’m not sure if I’m kissing Jay because I want to, or because I couldn’t bear to hear him talk any more. Truth is no matter what I say, there is part of me that still doesn’t understand how we’re here—how Jay is the person I’m slowly beginning to trust. Trust scares me.
I know how to care for other people. I know that far too well. It’s hard to let them care for me in return.
We feel like mismatched puzzle pieces—no matter how we kiss, I’m not sure we can ever come close enough.
But we can try. He stands up and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close.
I want to forget my own memories.
His fingers drag down the side of my cheek and a flare of desire wakes in me. It’s bright, so bright that it almost drowns out the core of doubt that won’t let go. The catch of my breath, the slow slide of his mouth against mine—they aren’t enough to replace all my fears, but they’re enough to pretend.
Maybe I’ll forget. Maybe I can hide in our kiss.
Maybe he wants me to forget as much as I do, because our mouths meld. His hands slide down my waist. His fingers hook in the band of my skirt.
“Hey, Em.” His voice is low. I open my eyes. He’s looking at me, his face inches from mine. His irises are brown and gold against a ring of black. He rubs his nose against mine, and as he does, his hand presses into the small of my back.
“Hi, Jay.” My voice is fluttering. My chest beats with an uncertain rhythm. I feel like my lungs are hollow, waiting to be filled by his kiss.
He kisses me again, this time harder. More. My mouth opens, and I taste him—smoke and salt and a hint of sweetness. Just a kiss, but I can feel the tension between us. The desire, caged and held back, the hesitation.
I don’t know if it’s his or mine.
I don’t know what the future will hold. But the wavering beat of my heart is timed to the rhythm of his breath, and it’s scary and comforting all at the same time.
“Did you ever read A Wrinkle in Time?” I ask.
“No.” His face is close to mine. His fingers slide along my waist.
“You haven’t read anything. It was my favorite book in fourth grade. It was the center of my existence, and all because of the tesseract.”
“A four-dimensional cube?” He nods. “I love extra-dimensional geometry.”
“No. That was a jumping-off point. It was used as a sort of five-dimensional wormhole travel.”
Jay pulls away and frowns over my shoulder. “You know, mathematically—”
“Don’t you dare nitpick the math.” I mock-glare at him, and he looks back at me. “This is not about the math. It was fifth-dimensional travel, and you could think the right way and land on the other side of the galaxy. With a tesseract, I could escape anything. In our normal three dimensions, there are walls and doors and the vastness of space between you and your heart’s desire.”
“Ah.” He doesn’t pull me closer—not physically—but he shifts, and it feels like he’s closer. More intimate. More aware.
“In our typical three dimensions, we start out with the basics. You see what someone looks like first. Then you get a name, what they do for a living.” I don’t look at him. “Sex often comes at the point when it’s still safe, when you’ve only swapped funny stories about your childhood, and not any of the real vulnerabilities.”
He exhales against my skin.
“You and I—we’ve tesseracted all the way past our most vulnerable moments,” I say. “We did this all backward—vulnerability first, names last. And now we’re all tangled together and there’s no good way out. I don’t have any real hiding places.”
He exhales. “Then I won’t hide. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I do you.”
“Oh.” His face is smooth beneath my touch—jawbone, chin, lips. I feel heavy and light at the same time. He can’t really mean it. Not the way it sounds. “Oh,” I swallow. “Say those words again.”
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he repeats steadily. “Inside and out. Morning and night. Yesterday and tomorrow, in four dimensions, or five.” He squints. “Which is scientifically silly. Can I just specify every extra rolled-up dimension predicted by string theory?”
“Oh.” It seems a ridiculous thing to say in response to those words, but everything else I feel seems to be caught in my rib cage. “Oh.” I don’t know what to say to any of that. It’s too much. I don’t want it.
And very selfishly, I never want to give any of it up.
“Oh.” My hand is on his face. My thumb is on his lips. He turns and presses a kiss into my palm, and it sears me.
“Well.” My voice sounds foreign and strange to me. “I’m pretty sure I feel the same way.”
Something heated flares in his eyes—a bright blossom of desire. I feel naked. Vulnerable.
He takes hold of my hand—just my hand, but there’s a hunger in the grip of forefinger and thumb around my wrist.
“Come along then,” he says. He leads me to his bedroom, and this time, when he turns to me, there isn’t the slightest hint of uncertainty.
He sits on the bed and pulls me on top of him.
There’s a slight callus on the pads of his left hand, and I have no idea how he got them—writing papers likely wouldn’t do it. I don’t ask.
I take off his shirt, baring a lovely expanse of brown skin, lightly muscled biceps…
I run my fingers down his chest, down the line of his ribcage. Down his abdominal muscles.
“Oh, hell.” His hands tighten on my hips.
I undo the snap of his jeans. I know what he looks like already, but I still feel a sense of electric anticipation as I slide them off.
I can see the bar of his cock through his underwear—heavy and large and waiting for me. It takes me a moment—just a moment—to reach for the elastic band of his boxers.
To slide the blue fabric down his hips. My throat feels dry when I touch him for the first time—that firmness, the hiss of his breath. The look in his eyes.
I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.
I can’t think about that. I lean down and kiss him. Kissing him naked, on a bed, is an entirely different thing than kissing when fully clothed. I want him—every last inch of his skin, every taut curve of his muscle. Every ounce of desire I see reflected in his eyes. My nerves feel on fire. His fingers undo the buttons of my blouse, lifting it over my head.
“You’re beautiful.”
I make a noise.
“No,” he says. “That’s not the right word. ‘Striking’ was what I thought the first time I saw you. There’s something utterly compelling about you. I can’t look away. And that’s what it feels like at a distance.”
“And up close?”
“You’re made of the stuff that binds the universe together.”
“Thanks, Actual Physicist.” I exhale. “Isn’t everyone?”
He shrugs. “Sure. But I only notice it with you.”
He kisses me again, and this kiss is different still. He traces a path down my throat. He leaves little searing kisses on my collarbone. His palm cups my breast, and my nipple responds in a blaze of sensation.
He breathes in as I exhale. We shouldn’t fit so well together. I’m feeling utterly shattered as he unsnaps my bra. Presses his mouth to me. His tongue is warm, and I’m so damned sensitive, and every part of me yearns for him. My hand finds his hip. The joint, then his inner thigh.
He undoes my skirt. My panties are a pale pink, almost translucent.
“Hey, Em.”
I look at him. My hands are feeling just a little shaky.
“Hey, Em,” he says again. “You know me.”
And I do.
I know the way he slides his hands down my h
ips. The way he nudges my legs apart, catching one finger in the material of my panties. I know the way he caresses me, light at first, then leaning down, touching me with tongue and fingers, gentle and sweet and filthy all at once, letting all the feeling, all the desire build in me. I know the way he touches me, fingers dipping inside me with lubrication.
When he lifts his head, his eyes look like molten bronze. “Hey there.”
I can’t think at all when he slides inside me. Not one word, just the feel of him.
“Jay.”
“Maria.” He moves, ever so slightly. He shifts his position. And, oh god, it’s ruining me for anything or anyone else. There’s something utterly adorable about him. Maybe because he isn’t holding anything back.
Maybe because his body fits mine, stretching me. Maybe because he’s looking at me with an expression I understand.
Maybe because I have nowhere to hide, and I don’t know when that happened or what to do about it. It’s almost too sweet, the feel of his hands on my hips.
I can feel my orgasm coming—slowly, surely building with every stroke, taking over me. It washes through me with a shattering force.
“Em.” His forehead touches mine. “Em. Sweetheart.”
I’m not sure what to do with endearments. I kiss him instead. It’s easier when he starts moving again. When he’s so clearly in pursuit of his own pleasure. When he lets out a little groan, his muscles tense and spasm.
The kiss afterward is too much—too much intimacy, too much implied affection. I’m not sure what to do with my feelings, as awkward and ungainly in this room as a baby giraffe struggling to stand.
He comes back to bed after he cleans up. He slips one arm around me.
“Em,” he says.
I turn to look at him. How can I not?
“You know I really like you.”
I nod. “I…” It’s hard to say the words. “I really like you, too.”
“I know I fucked up with you. But—”
I set my hand over his mouth.
“No buts. Not now. Not like this.”
“Right.” He smiles.
I have too many buts inside me. Too many howevers and what ifs. I don’t want them spoken. All love is conditional. Even this.
“No buts,” he says. “I really like you.” His fingers find a little wisp of my hair. He rubs it lightly, as if the texture is an object of fascination.
“I feel like something is wrong,” I say.
“I know.” He whispers this against my skin. “If you’re used to everything being wrong, rightness feels out of place.”
“No.” I sit up. “I mean—when did you put your beans in the oven?”
His eyes widen. He turns to me. “Shit,” he says. “Shit, shit, shit.”
And then he’s jumping up and reaching for his pants, and we’re both laughing.
* * *
JAY
* * *
I haven’t seen Gabriel Lopez in over a month—not since the seminar he gave at LBL, the one I scarcely heard because I’d just discovered Maria was Em.
Now I’m sitting across from him at four in the afternoon in a wooden booth, a pair of celebratory beers in front of us.
“San Jose State,” I say. “That is so freaking awesome!”
And it is. It feels like I’ve spent my last years making friends just in time to say good-bye.
Gabe raises his glass. “Hey, I’m here to stay. It is awesome.”
“So Jutta is moving out here. Does she need a job? Is she looking for industry or academics? And do you need a hand?”
“The latter.” Gabe gives me a smile. “We would love it if you could call one of your magic contacts and see if anyone needs a computational mathematician.”
“Done.” Gabe hasn’t said much about his fiancée, but I’ve heard from Maria, who Skypes her regularly. She seems cool, from what little Maria’s conveyed.
“And I’m near family.” Gabe glances at me. “Not exactly near my parents, which is…probably for the best. But my grandmother is here, and Maria is probably staying in the Bay Area after graduation—”
I frown at him. “What are you talking about?”
He waves a lazy hand in my direction. “Eh, fuck off. I know you don’t like her, but she’s my sister, and I don’t want to hear your crap.”
My beer suddenly feels heavy. I set it down with a thunk. “What do you mean, I don’t like her?”
“Unless you suddenly changed your mind overnight—”
I don’t think before I respond. “I’m dating her.”
Gabe snorts. “Ha!” He swallows beer. “Good one.”
I stare at him in amazement.
He stares back at me, the truth slowly dawning. “Oh. You’re…really not joking.”
I don’t respond. I’m going through my mental calendar. It’s early April now, meaning that it’s been five weeks since I last saw him. Four weeks since Maria and I had dinner and I took her home. I’ve seen Maria literally every day, barring the two I wasn’t in town.
During that month, I’m sure she’s talked to Gabe a dozen times. Exchanged texts with him practically daily. She Skyped his fiancée from my house.
I just assumed that he knew. How could he not? She’s the cornerstone of my day. And she and Gabe are good friends. Not meeting my parents is one thing. How could she not have told him we were together?
“You’re not joking,” Gabe repeats.
I shake my head. “I’m not joking.”
“When did this start?”
Years ago. “Weeks ago,” I say. “Four weeks ago.”
Gabe looks at his beer glass. His upper lip wrinkles, and he frowns at the coaster. “Maria will kick my ass if I go all big brother on you,” he finally says.
“Yeah. Well. She’d have to talk to you about me first.”
He doesn’t seem to register my muttered complaint. He sets his hand on the table—just a little bit too hard. “And Maria can take care of herself. She’s not a little girl anymore. She doesn’t take shit, and—” He blows out a breath, and gives up on pretending not to interfere. “Dammit, Jay. You do not have the best track record.”
“Thanks.” I don’t quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“You work all the fucking time.”
“I’m sure she hasn’t noticed, since she’s remarkably unobservant.”
“And you told me to kick your ass if you ever dated anyone I knew. I know Maria is capable of pushing back on your bullshit, but she’s more vulnerable than she lets on, and—”
“You know what?” I’m not going to listen to this anymore. “We can make a list of all my faults—and trust me, Maria is more than aware of their existence—but how many times have you talked to your sister in the last month?”
“I don’t know. A dozen? Two?”
That’s about what I figured.
“Don’t give me shit about my track record,” I tell him. “If she didn’t tell you, how seriously do you think she’s taking this? Do you really think I have the capacity to hurt her?”
He considers this. “Huh. Probably not.”
“We’re not going to make this weird by having me talk exactly about how much and in what ways I like your sister,” I say. “So let’s talk about what kind of first-year research support you’re getting.”
He exhales. His face darkens. “Fine.”
It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
24
MARIA
“Hey.” It’s cool and dark when I meet Jay outside his office. I can’t see his expression. At first, I don’t think anything is weird when he doesn’t kiss me—I am completely onboard with his “no PDA near the college of chemistry” rule.
“How was your study group?” he asks.
“I know as much as I’m going to know.” I shrug.
Maybe he sees through my nonchalance.
“Of course you do.” He doesn’t take my hand, though, not as we pass through a darkened mass of trees. The nearest light i
s an emergency call box. It tinges his face in an eery blue light. “It’s easy for you, isn’t it?”
Easy isn’t the right word. I frown. “No. That’s not it. Game theory was hard the first time I encountered it. And the second. It’s just that I’ve always been interested in a lot of stuff, so this isn’t really fair. I’m seeing things the tenth time when my classmates are encountering it for the first. It’s not easy. I’m just lucky.”
He snorts.
“It’s like the guy who got a five in AP chemistry,” I say, “and takes Chem 1A anyway. Of course he’s going to get a good grade.”
“Sure,” Jay says.
“Or it’s like Blake. When he was five, he’d build a space station at Cyclone and the engineers would help him calculate the rotational G-forces to determine the appropriate scale.”
“That sounds like ‘it’s easy’ to me.”
He still hasn’t taken my hand. I stop and turn to him. “Is something wrong?”
He exhales slowly. “Look. I don’t want to be weird about this. But I had beers with Gabe today.”
My heart gives a little thump, and a little prickle of anxious energy surges through me.
“And you have a test first thing tomorrow morning, and—”
“It’s okay. We can talk.”
“I don’t know if I should apologize for spilling the beans about us or be pissed that you didn’t tell him we’re together.”
I glance over at him. “Sounds like you’ve already decided.”
“It’s okay,” he mutters, putting his hands in his pockets. “I mean, we haven’t talked about where we are, not really, and it’s not like I can get mad. I just thought…you talk to him all the time. If I was important to you, you would tell him.”
He doesn’t actually need my permission to get mad, and despite his words, I suspect he didn’t wait for it.
“It wasn’t like that.”
He stops walking and turns to me. In the darkness, I can’t see his eyes. I can barely see him. Still, he faces me, and I can feel the intensity of his regard.
I shrink away.