Goodbye Yellow Brick Road ✔︎

35 | A Sort of Homecoming

|photo by Erik Odiin from Unsplash |

The landing gear grinds into place and I press my shoulders against the back of the seat, trying to create space for my anticipation. Conner is down there, waiting for me.

We file out of the plane: me, dwarfed in the shuffle without my high heels. I spot Conner before he finds me, so I get to watch his expression change from apprehension to a smile so wide. So genuine. And then I'm in his arms, cradled in a hug I don't return because I'm a little stunned. This isn't the scene I imagined—the scene that made me change out of the sexy dress I borrowed from Megan.

This feels like coming home.

"Do you have more luggage?" he asks, leaving a kiss on top of my head before he takes my bag.

I shake my head. He shifts my backpack onto his shoulder and drapes his arm across my shoulders. "Taxi?"

"My aunt always sends the car service. The driver knows me, so..."

"To Ground Transportation," he says, steering us toward the glowing green sign.

He steps on the narrow escalator first and positions himself on the step below mine so he can look in my eyes. It would be a great moment for a welcome back kiss but it's not going to happen. Conner's worried. "Are you okay?"

I nod. And I really am. More so by the minute. This anti-seduction thing he's got going on is exactly what I needed. It's proof that Megan is wrong, that my connection to Conner isn't just about sex. There will be no getting this boy out of my system.

"Do you need food?" he asks and I shake my head. "Are you airsick?"

"No, Conner. I'm good."

He gives me the half-smile and his shoulders drop a little. I steal a kiss before we reach the bottom. It's brief but communicative: I want him more right now than I ever have. He gets the message. I can tell by the way he blows out a half-breath, half-whistle as he turns and walks onto steady ground.

Emily's usual driver finds us. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care that I'm not alone. Conner and I sit close in the back seat of the car and he pokes at the hole in my jeans. The back of his index finger rests against my thigh for maybe thirty seconds. And yeah, that's all it takes.

"My dog, Monty," I say, explaining the rip and maybe, trying to distract myself. "We play this game: I run, he chases. Sometimes he gets a little carried away."

Conner smiles and I slide my hand over his. Intermittent patterns of light and dark move across our laps as we ride through the city in silence. When the driver turns onto Fifth Avenue, Conner squeezes my hand—like he's reminding me he's still there. Like I could possibly forget. Can't he feel the heat radiating from my body?

I lean close and whisper, "My aunt is out for a while. Come upstairs with me?"

He nods and a passing street light shows me the color in his cheeks. And I know I made the right choice.

* * *

I shush Conner and he collapses back into my bed, smiling. God, that smile.

My aunt's end of the hallway is pitch black. If there was a light on in her bedroom I'd be able to see it in the cracks around her door. I twist the handle, ease my own door closed and wait. The apartment is silent and still.

I whisper, "No, no Antonio."

When I squat down to let him nuzzle his tiny nose in my palm, Conner's scent wafts around me. I lift his shirt over my nose and breathe.