Page 73 of Take Two

‘I don’t want toast.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want…’ Mae summoned all the bottle she had. Truly, it took every last drop of bravery. ‘I want to not be scared of… wanting you.’

Callie reached up and caressed Mae’s cheek, smiling at her shyly. And Mae knew it was going to happen.

It started softly. Mouths closing over each other, the initial exciting and explosive rush of hormones. The kiss intensified bit by bit. The hand on Mae’s cheek slid back into her hair, cradling her.

Heat spread through Mae’s chest, her stomach, and lower. She made some helpless noise against Callie’s mouth and felt Callie answer with a low sound of her own.

Callie’s hand travelled. Down Mae’s neck, along her shoulder, over the soft cotton of her T-shirt. She moved slowly, telegraphing every shift, leaving space for Mae to pull away.

But Mae didn’t. She leaned into it, amazed at herself, at the fact that her body seemed to know what it wanted more clearly than her brain ever had.

When Callie’s fingers brushed the hem of her top, she hesitated, eyes questioning. Mae nodded, flushed and determined.

They shed layers in a series of slightly clumsy, breathless movements. T-shirts coming off over heads, socks kicked away, jeans tugged down. There were awkward bits—a caught arm, a tangle of fabric—and they laughed through them, which helped.

At one point, Mae caught sight of herself in the wardrobe mirror: hair tussled, standing in her underwear in front of Callie Price. It might have made her bolt if not for the look on Callie’s face. It was not disappointment. Very far from it.

‘You’re staring,’ Mae muttered, crossing her arms instinctively.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ Callie said with a sigh, as though she had no choice but to acquiesce to the fact.

Mae let out a shaky laugh.

They ended up on the bed, covers pushed aside. Callie lay partly over her, propped on one elbow, giving her space to slide out any moment.

So Mae pulled Callie onto her.

The nerves didn’t disappear entirely. They sat in her, buzzing, reminding her that she was new to this, that she had no frame of reference. But the more she let herself feel instead of think, the less they mattered.

Calie moved down her body, and when pleasure came, it wasn’t a tidal wave but a rising swell, one that built and built until she couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but ride it. She clung to Callie, to the sound of her name on Callie’s lips, to the dizzying realisation that they were both here, fully, nowhere else.

Afterwards, they lay tangled, breath slowing, skin damp. The room smelled different now.

Mae stared at the ceiling, Callie’s weight a warm, solid reassurance at her side. For a while, that was enough. They lay there, fingers tracing idle patterns on each other’s arms, the quiet between them easier than Mae had expected.

She’d thought she’d feel exposed, fragile, like a nerve ending. Instead, she felt oddly whole. As if something that had been missing had slotted into place.

It might have stayed like that if Callie hadn’t gone quiet in a different way. Not the contented sort. The thinking sort.

Mae felt the shift immediately. It was the slight stiffness in Callie’s shoulders, the way her gaze slid past Mae to the window, to the strip of dark sky beyond.

‘Whatever it is,’ Mae said, ‘don’t.’

Callie’s mouth twitched. ‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t start worrying aloud and ruin how good I feel.’

‘I need to tell you something,’ she said.

Mae’s stomach tightened. ‘You’re scaring me.’

‘I don’t mean to.’ Callie shifted, propping herself up on one elbow so she could see Mae’s face. ‘It’s just… I can’t keep pretending this is all indefinite. That I’m going to be here forever.’

‘You’re leaving,’ she said, before Callie could.