Noël looked so triumphant straddling me, pinning my wrists over my head with the shape of him outlined by the sky. It was the kind of moment from MTV music videos and Hollywood romances, where the hero and heroine are locked in a setup for a perfect first kiss. I could picture it, my big hands crawling up Noël’s back and pulling him in. I’d rise to meet him halfway. I’d want to taste his kiss so badly that I wouldn’t want to wait. He’d whisper my name, and he’d think I’ve never, and, But I want this, and he’d say, Kiss me, Wyatt, and I would.
