And then, finally, he leans in and kisses me. His mouth is hot and he tastes a lot like cherry and a little like whiskey. It’s slow and unhurried, my fingers in his hair, and for once I let myself enjoy it without wondering who’s watching or if the right people are watching or if this is happening because of our ulterior motives or if, for some reason, Silas just wanted to kiss me.
He doesn’t let me go when we pull apart, still standing by the railing of the huge balcony, off to one side but still visible from everywhere.
I want to stay here forever. I want to drink a bottle of whiskey. I want to get high and go swimming. I want to run back to the waterfall and tame it, grab the stars out of the sky, fight the wind.
I want to kiss Silas again, to shove him down on one of these couches and climb on top of him. I want to strip him and feel his skin on mine.
“Thanks,” Silas says, and it pulls me back. I realize I’ve still got a hand on his chest, lightly dragging my knuckles up and down his sternum.
“You seemed like you wanted it more than I did,” I say.
And then, because I can never leave a nice moment alone: “Any sign of them?”
Silas glances around. Something shifts in the air between us and I curse myself, my anxiety, this need I have for everyone around me to be unwilling to get close.
“Thought I saw them a few minutes ago,” he says, nodding down at the pool. “Maybe they’ll be back.”
“Yeah,” I say, and nod, and swallow hard, and don’t quite look at Silas. “Probably.”