I wrap my body around his. He cradles his arms under me, supporting me as I pull my legs around his hips. Our lips never once break contact, our kiss only getting deeper, more heated. I reach between us and free him from his pants.
When he pushes inside of me, it’s a fullness that heals something empty inside of me. I cry out against his mouth. He moans my name, and with that first burst of pleasure, I explode into a million tiny feathers.
16
CHRISTMAS DAY
Dove.Now.
I jerk awake. My heart is pounding. The small of my back is slick, sticking to the sheets. My panties are soaked, too, the fabric clinging to me. It takes me a second to reorient; the walls are different. That’s when I remember: I’m not in my own bed. I’m in Ophelia’s bed. The whole room is warm and cozy, the radiator working double-time. The blankets are twisted up, but there’s no Ophelia. Instead, when I roll over, I come face to face with Spud curled up in a ball on the pillow.
“Morning, cuddle bud,” I tell him.
He opens his mouth in a droopy-tongue smile. He farts.
I groan. “Gross.”
Okay, well. Guess I’m up.
I check my phone. A coupleMerry Christmasesin the family group chat. A second notification from the Seekers Club app.
The Seekers Club:
Happy holidays. If you’d like to spend some time with non-biological family, you’re welcome here. Our home is your home. Doors open at 7.
I can’t help it—I get a little choked at that.It does feel good to be back home.
The wooden floors are cold under my feet. My muscles ache from running around the city all night and I have delicious bruises on my knees fromthat momentwith Dorian in his bookstore. I leave Ophelia’s bedroom and I’m greeted with the smell of coffee.
A chilled breeze swoops through the room. The window is cracked open and Ophelia is sitting on the fire escape. It’s snowed overnight, and she’s sitting in a small pile of snow, jacket swallowing her, coffee in hand.
The coffee pot is still brewing—bless Ophelia. I make myself a mug, then pull on a sweater and don my pigeon beanie. I lift the window and Ophelia slides her legs up so I can take my spot sitting across from her.
“Merry Christmas,” I tell her.
She tilts her mug towards me. “Merry fucking Christmas.”
Her eyes look puffy and tired. We clink mugs. It’s freezing out here, the cold biting my cheeks and eating at my fingers, but the coffee warms my hands and throat, sliding through my chest and stomach.
For a minute, we nurse our hangovers and savor the liquid gold caffeine.
“You know what’s annoying?” she says.
“Tell me.”
“Here I am, thinking, aw, what a sweet guy. He’s gone through all this work to give me a scavenger hunt to solve on my birthday because he knows I love puzzles, right? And then—no, just kidding. He just wanted me out of his hair forfive hours so he could make out with some woman in a tiger suit.”
I sigh. “What is it about the tiger suit?”
“I would’ve worn a tiger suit. I would’ve worn a whole furry costume if that’s what gets him off.”
“I know, babe. You fell in love with the wrong person. That’s not your fault.”
“No?”
“City magic. Remember?”
Ophelia sighs. “Is this our new tradition? Every year, one of us gets our heart broken. We’ll just keep going back and forth, over and over, until we give up and create a lesbian commune?”
