A Risk Worth Taking

by Jessica Joyce

“I’m not kidding when I say this was the best weekend of my life.”

I think I would fall in love with him if we had the time. It’s scary to know that and still walk away from it.

My life feels significantly fuller than it did in Portland. More importantly, it feels like mine.

But most of all, I thought about Connor. I’ve replayed that weekend so many times that the mental tape is worn from use. I can still hear his voice in my ear whispering how good it was. Can still feel his keen attention while I talked, can feel him moving in me, gripping my hips hard, biting at my neck. I can see that mischievous smile and those honey eyes, immortalized in my memory and also in the Polaroids we took, which are lovingly tucked into an old romance book. I miss him in a way I never, ever missed Ben.

“I can tell, Mr. Trigger Finger. My text went through half a second ago.” “You and your number inflation issues, Claireful. I waited a respectable three.”

There’s no time to wonder if touching him after so long apart, when who knows what we even are to each other anymore, is appropriate. I’m in his arms two seconds later.

“Did you get the address wrong?” “Nope,” he says, his smile growing mischievous, though it’s edged in anxiety. I blink at him. “This is an apartment building.” He looks up, appraising it as he scratches at his cheek, before turning back to me. “Yep.”

His shoulders pull up into a bashful shrug. “You told me to call when I was in the neighborhood. Well, as of last week, I’m in this neighborhood. Uh, permanently, though.”

“I meant what I said before, that me being here doesn’t mean you owe me anything. Not even a drink or food or whatever, and certainly not more than that. But—” “I need you to shut up.” I cover his mouth. His eyes widen and then crinkle, his lips curling against my palm. “I’ve spent the last six months texting you pictures of random men, wanting it to be you.”

Even now, I sometimes get caught up in the risk and reward of the big decisions I make, like moving here. But the small ones matter, too. When you collect them in your hand over time, they grow just as massive. Connor and I are a testament to that.

His mouth on mine is the period at the end of that sentence, but it also feels the beginning of some sort of promise.

“I like it better like this.” “Of course you do. I’m more naked this way,” I reply breathlessly. “You could be nakeder, though.” “I don’t think that’s a word.” His brows pull together in mock reproach, though it’s undermined by the hungry curve of his mouth. “We’ll consult the dictionary later, Claire.”

We don’t make it to the bedroom. I don’t even know if he has one, or if this is a studio, or if there are any walls other than the one he’s got me pinned against.

He laughs recalling his first call with Theo, how he was so nervous that he called him Mr. Spencer and Theo replied sharply, “Jesus, no. That’s my dad” and he was sure he’d fucked it up.

“Now it’s your adventure, too,” I say quietly. His smile echoes my tone. “Yeah.” “I’m really good at sharing,” I promise.