For years, I’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Elle, to finally feel her lips touch mine, to have her body pressed against me, and to have her fingers tug at the ends of my hair. I can easily say, without a doubt, that it’s the best feeling in the world. In fact, it’s more than that, because she’s not pulling away. She’s not pushing against me, telling me to stop, even though, deep down I know we should. However, for the life of me, I can’t bring myself to be the one to suggest we take a step back because I want this. I’ve wanted to kiss her for as long as I can remember. For purely selfish reasons, I wrap my arm tightly around her in hopes of memorizing her and this moment.

Elle’s fingers loosen their grip on my hair, leading me to believe this is over. It’s fine. This will go down as one of the best birthday gifts of my life. I can live with this, burying it deep in my subconscious. Only her hands are now on my waist with one under my shirt. Her fingers are ice cold. They’re a welcome reprieve against my scorched skin. Her other hand is tugging at the button on my jeans. Any moment now she’s going to realize what’s going on and step back, flushed not because we’re making out but because she’s embarrassed by the fact that it’s me she’s kissing, and I don’t want to see her like that.

“Elle.” My strangled and broken voice sounds nothing like me.

“Don’t talk, Ben.”

“We should stop.” Even though I don’t want to, Elle is who I picture my life with, the woman I see bearing my children, raising a family and growing old with. I’ve tried to see others in this role, but to no avail. It’s always Elle.

“No, we shouldn’t.” Her lips are everywhere, while I stand here like a fish out of water looking for oxygen. I close my eyes and picture us together, between my sheets, moving fluidly against one another.

“You’ve had a lot to drink.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“I didn’t say you were, but I want you to think about what you’re doing, what we’re about to do. Because there’s no turning back, Elle.”

“I want this, Ben.”

That’s all I need to know. I bend down and slide my arms under her legs. She reacts instantly, hopping into my hold and wrapping her legs around my waist. Hands are everywhere. Mine are firmly gripping her ass, and hers are cupping my face. Our lips fight for dominance over one another while I navigate toward the couch. There’s nothing like a great make-out session to end the semester and the perfect birthday party.

“Bedroom,” she says, tearing away from my mouth. Her lips press against the stubble on my jaw, until she reaches my ear. I suck in a deep breath when her teeth pull on my lobe, the sharp sting sending minute shock waves through my body. I must be dreaming. None of this can actually be my reality. With my luck, I’m going to wake up in the middle of my living room floor, naked as the day I was born, and suffering from a massive hangover.

Except, I know I didn’t drink very much, especially when I’m around Elle out of fear she’ll overdo it and I need to come to her rescue. We stumble into my wall, causing us both to disengage from each other. I use this time to ask the dreaded question. “Are you sure?”

Her response isn’t verbal, but there’s no way I can misinterpret what her hand means when it's pressing against my crotch. I fumble with my door, kicking it open once the knob turns. As many times as I’ve stumbled through my room, I’ve never tripped, until now. Thankfully, we land on my bed, both of us groaning and readjusting until she’s scrambling away from me. I sit back on my knees, waiting for her to tell me what we’re doing is a mistake, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Elle?”

The only response I receive is the lifting of her shirt. I swallow hard at the sight of her body, one I’ve seen many times in a bikini, but this time everything is different. She reaches behind her, and I know she’s unclasping her bra. That should really be something I do, but maybe she knows I’m nervous and is trying to show me she wants to be with me.

I follow suit and start undressing. Before I know it, we’re both on our knees, facing each other, naked, and my God is she beautiful. Elle pushes her long dark hair over her shoulders, giving my eyes access to every part of her chest. For years, I could only dream about seeing her in the flesh, and now here she is.

“Touch me.” Elle reaches for my hand, pulling me toward her until my hand is firmly cupping her breast. I’m at a loss for words, which I should be. My actions need to be loud and clear where she’s concerned. I move forward. My free hand grips the back of her neck, bringing her closer. Our lips touch, tongues collide, and hands move freely against each other. She’s on top, grinding into me, and then it’s me pressing into her before I can no longer stand not knowing how she feels.

I pull the drawer of my bedside table open. In the process, I knock over an uncapped bottle of water, the contents gushing out onto the floor. Normally, I’d be upset and rush to find a rag to soak up the mess, but there are more pressing issues calling my attention.

Once again, I’m sitting back on my knees and covering my erection. Elle’s eager and pulls me forward until I align with her. The words, asking if she’s sure, are sitting on the tip of my tongue, but they never have a chance to be said.

---

My arm is dead. Each time I try to wiggle my fingers, they tingle, and I beg the painful sensation to stop. I look at the beautiful woman holding my arm in place and can’t believe we’re waking up next to each other. I’m afraid to roll onto my side out of fear I’ll wake Elle. As much as I love her, she’s a grouch in the morning. No man needs to deal with Elle James without a cup of coffee.

Long gone are my blankets, kicked off the bed in the middle of our night fueled with passion. Her hair covers her back, possibly providing very little warmth. I lift my head to assess the situation I’m in. I’m still naked, and another glance at Elle shows me she’s the same. Man, how’d I get so lucky?

After last night, everything has changed for us. The thought brings a smile to my face. Finally, we can be together. No more cat and mouse games. There won’t be any more hidden feelings, especially from me. I know how she feels now.

As much as I want my arm back, I don’t dare pull it out from under her head. Instead, I inch closer and place my arm over her stomach, nestling into her. For as long as I can remember, Elle’s used the same shampoo. She always smells like the sun, beach, and coconut. Even on the rainiest of days, she can walk into a room and change my outlook by the smell of her hair. I close my eyes, content and happy with what’s transpired between us.

My hand rests on her stomach, moving up and down with the rise and fall of her breathing. I’m tempted to wake her up, but I also want her to sleep. She needs it. The demons she’s been dealing with sometimes get the better of her and right now, Elle seems to be at peace. I put her there, finally showing her how I’ve felt and how good we can be together. The thought of us staying in bed all day brings a stupid cheesy smile to my face. Honestly, I can’t imagine spending my day any differently.

I pull myself closer, tucking my hand under her breast. She stirs, mumbles something unintelligible and relaxes against me. Right now, in this moment, it’s my very own slice of heaven, right here, holding the woman I’m in love with, the morning after. I’m not sure my day, week or month could get any better.

Of course, it can. Elle could come with me to New York. It would mean she’d have to take a quarter off because it’s too late to secure an internship, but I’d make it worth her while. I know it’s not right for her to stop her education in favor of my dream, but I’ll ask her anyway. I’ll put the offer out on the table with the promise of late night walks in Central Park, strolls down Fifth Avenue, and shared bags of roasted nuts. We can visit the Statue of Liberty, take the train to Philadelphia or become baseball fans and start going to games. The opportunities to develop our relationship away from the social scene in Los Angeles, are endless. Plus Elle would be closer to Peyton, and with all the wedding planning starting, Elle could be at Peyton’s beckon call. All Elle has to do is say yes.

“Just say yes,” I whisper against her shoulder. “We can make all our dreams come true together.”

Elle stirs, much to my surprise. I honestly expected her to sleep well past noon. She rolls over and into my arms, snuggling into the crook of my neck. I could get used to this. In fact, I think I already am. I mean, who wouldn’t? Elle is the woman of my dreams, and here she is, lying in my arms.

“Hmm.” Elle’s fingers are in my hair, softly weaving in and out.

My leg moves between hers, tangling us together. “Yeah.” I sigh, contently and happily.

Elle’s body goes rigid. She pushes against my chest until her arms are in the fully locked position. “What’re you doing in my bed?”

The smile I’ve had since I woke up slowly starts to fade. Does she not remember last night? “We’re in my bed.”

Her head slowly turns, and her eyes dart back and forth wildly. She sits up quickly, her hand instantly going to her head. “Oh, God.”

Well, yes you did call out to him a few times last night. I fight the urge to say those words. I sit up and reach for her, but she recoils. Her negative response hits me square in the chest. My mouth goes dry, yet I have a serious need to swallow the pooling saliva in my mouth.

“Shit.”

“Elle?” She doesn’t look at me. Instead, she scrambles off the bed and tries to dress quickly. I say her name again, but she shakes her head.

“Nothing happened, right? I mean we’re naked, but it doesn’t mean we slept together. Please tell me we didn’t sleep together.”

I can’t look at her. This can’t be happening. My ears must be deceiving me because she’s asking me to tell her we didn’t have sex when we did. Why is she doing this?

“Ben?” Her voice is full of panic.

I shake my head, almost as if it’s an automatic response. “We kissed,” I tell her. “But I think we must’ve passed out. I don’t really remember.” Except I remember it all. Everything. Every word you said to me. The lie falls easily from my mouth. Her face morphs into something I can only describe as relief. She’s happy nothing happened between us and the realization guts me in the stomach. I turn my attention toward the wall, my bed, my bare legs, anywhere but at her. Blindly, I reach behind me and bring my pillow forward to cover myself up. I can’t bring myself to look at her, mostly out of fear I might start crying. She doesn’t need to see me like this.

“I’m going to go,” she says. All I can do is nod because any words I say will make me sound like I have a vise grip squeezing the life out of my family jewels. I’m not sure how long I sit like this. It’s long after my front room door closes, long after my back starts aching, and well past the point of a broken heart.