Chapter 9: Good Morning, Girlfriend
The first thing Luna became aware of was the ache.
Not a bad ache. A good one. A deep, bone-level soreness that radiated from her cunt outward, licking up her spine and settling into her thighs like a memory made physical. She was draped over something warm and solid, her cheek pressed to a broad chest, her legs tangled with longer ones, and her pink hair was everywhere—stuck to her lips, tangled in her eyelashes, fanned across his skin like a spill of candy-colored silk.
She didn't open her eyes. Didn't want to. The room was quiet, save for the low hum of an air conditioner and the steady thump of his heart under her ear. His hand rested on her lower back, heavy and warm, fingers curled possessively around her hip.
She shifted.
His cock was hard against her thigh.
Luna smiled into his chest. Morning wood. The most honest thing about a man—no charm, no lines, no carefully rehearsed seduction. Just biology and want and the fact that he'd woken up with her naked body pressed against his and his dick had decided to salute the occasion.
She tilted her head up. Leo was still asleep. His jaw was slack, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, and he looked younger like this. Softer. The sharp edges of the pilot and the charmer were smoothed away, leaving something vulnerable underneath.
She watched him for a long moment. Let herself look.
Then she slid down his body.
Slow. Careful. She didn't want to wake him yet—or maybe she did. Maybe that was the whole point. Her lips traced the line of his ribs, the ladder of muscle in his stomach, the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the sheet pooled at his waist.
He stirred. A small sound in his throat. She ignored it.
Her hand found his cock under the covers. Hot and hard and thick, already leaking at the tip. She wrapped her fingers around the base and pulled him free.
He was gorgeous. Not just big—though he was, thick and long and heavy in her hand—but the way he arched toward her when she touched him, the way his breath hitched in his sleep, the way his hips twitched like his body knew what was coming even if his brain hadn't caught up.
She licked the head. Just once. Slow and wet.
"Luna—"
His voice was wrecked. Half-asleep and already desperate.
She didn't answer. Just took him in her mouth.
He groaned. His hand found her hair, fisted it, and she hummed around his cock in approval. She bobbed her head, took him deeper, let him hit the back of her throat and stayed there until she had to pull back for air.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, Luna, what—"
She pulled off him with a wet pop. Stroked him hard and fast.
"Good morning."
"You—" He blinked down at her. His eyes were glassy, his hair a disaster, his mouth open like he couldn't quite form words. "You're—"
"Shh."
She took him back in her mouth. No more teasing. She swallowed him down and set a rhythm—fast and messy, spit dripping down her chin, hand working the base where her mouth couldn't reach.
Leo's hips bucked. She pressed a hand to his stomach and pinned him to the mattress.
"Luna, I'm—"
She doubled down. Hollowed her cheeks. Used her tongue along the underside in the way that made his thighs shake.
He came with a groan that sounded like her name. She swallowed it all—hot and thick and salty—and kept going until he twitched with oversensitivity and pushed at her head.
She crawled up his body.
His hands found her immediately. Curled around her waist. Pulled her up until they were face to face and he could kiss her, morning breath and all. He didn't seem to care. He kissed her like she was water and he'd been wandering the desert for years.
"You taste like me," he said against her mouth.
"Complaining?"
"Never."
She settled against his chest. Sighed. His hand traced lazy patterns on her back.
"How long have you been awake?"
"Dunno. A while."
"You should have woken me."
"I did."
He laughed. Low and rough and warm. "That's not what I meant."
"It's exactly what I meant."
He kissed the top of her head. They lay there for a while, tangled in sheets and silence. The sun was climbing higher, sneaking through the blinds and painting gold lines across the wall. Somewhere outside, a car door slammed. A dog barked. The world was waking up and Luna didn't want to move.
"I should go," she said.
"You don't have to."
"I have class."
"You told me you'd stay."
"I did stay." She poked his chest. "It's morning now."
"Good catch."
"Sharp as ever."
He shifted. Rolled onto his side so they were face to face. His hand found her cheek, thumb brushing her cheekbone.
"Stay for breakfast."
"Leo—"
"Pancakes."
She stared at him.
"I make good pancakes," he said. "The secret is buttermilk."
"You're bribing me with breakfast."
"Is it working?"
She was already nodding.
His kitchen was nothing like hers. Her mother's kitchen was warm and lived-in, cluttered with wine glasses and cookbooks and the little ceramic rooster her father had bought on a whim. Leo's was sparse. Functional. A single mug. A single pan. A jar of instant coffee that made her want to cry.
"Instant?" she said. "You fly million-dollar aircraft and you drink instant coffee?"
"It's efficient."
"It's an insult."
He poured two mugs anyway. She drowned hers in milk and sugar and tried not to think about how domestic this was. Him at the stove. Her on the counter. Both of them still smelling like sex.
He was naked. Hadn't bothered with clothes. Just stood there flipping pancakes like flour and eggs and cock were a natural combination. She had pulled on one of his T-shirts—Air Force blue, faded, soft—and her thong, and nothing else.
"Nice shirt," he said.
"It's mine now."
"Ambitious."
"I'm full of surprises."
The pancakes were good. Really good. She ate three and a half, drowned in syrup, and watched him watch her do it. There was something about the way he looked at her now. Less hunger. More wonder. Like she was a thing he couldn't believe he got to keep.
"You're going to make me fat," she said, mouth full of bacon.
"Good."
"Excuse me?"
"I like you fed." He shrugged. "I like the idea of taking care of you."
"Anyone ever tell you that's weird?"
"Everyone who's ever wanted to change it."
She set her fork down. Something shifted in her chest. Warm and frightening and the size of a small sun.
"You're really doing this," she said.
"Eating breakfast?"
"Being—" She gestured between them. "This."
"Was there a different option?"
"I don't know." She looked at her plate. "I just assumed—"
"Assumed what?"
"That this was—" She stopped. Started again. "That you'd get bored. That I was just—"
"A good time?"
She didn't answer.
"Luna." He reached across the table and took her hand. His fingers were warm, sticky with syrup. "I told you last night. I'm not going anywhere."
"People say things."
"I'm not people."
She laughed. It came out shaky.
"Eat your pancakes," she said. "I need a shower."
Leo's bathroom was nicer than the rest of his apartment. Deep blue tile. Chrome fixtures. A shower with actual water pressure—the kind that made her want to cry with relief. She stepped under the spray and let it wash away the sweat and the sex and the dried come on her thighs.
The water was hot. Nearly scalding. The steam curled around her, thick and intimate, and she closed her eyes and let her mind drift.
What are we?
The question circled like a shark. She tried to push it away, but it kept coming back. Kept circling. Kept showing its teeth.
He'd said she was his. She'd said it back. But what did that mean? Labels were easy in the moment—whispered against skin, breathed into mouths. But in the daylight, with pancakes and instant coffee and her underwear on his floor, the words felt heavier. Riskier.
She'd been here before. Ethan had called her his girlfriend too. Had held her hand in public and introduced her to his friends and told her she was special. And then he'd found someone newer. Someone who hadn't already been caught.
The bathroom door opened.
Leo stepped in. Naked. Unbothered. He didn't say anything—just walked into the shower behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
His chest was warm against her back. His cock stirred against her ass.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"You okay?"
"Fine."
He pressed his lips to her shoulder. "Liar."
She spun around. The water hit her back now. His face was close—so close she could see the tiny flecks of brown in his eyes, the faint scar on his chin, the way his mouth curved when he looked at her.
"I'm not lying."
"You're tense." His hands found her hips. "You were fine at breakfast. What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Luna."
She hated him. She loved him. She didn't know how she'd gotten so tangled up in someone so quickly.
"What are we?" The words came out fast. Too fast. Desperate. "I need to know. I can't—I can't do the thing where I guess. Where I wait for you to decide. I've done that. I won't do it again."
He didn't hesitate.
"You're my girlfriend."
Just like that. As simple as breathing. As easy as flipping pancakes.
"You mean it?"
"I don't say things I don't mean."
"People say a lot of things."
"Not me." He cupped her face. Water dripped down his forearms and pooled between them. "I want you. Not for a night. Not for a week. I want to wake up next to you. I want to take you to dinner and fight over the check and make you breakfast every morning until you get sick of pancakes."
"You'll get sick of me first."
"Try me."
She kissed him.
It was fierce. Hungry. Her hands flew to his hair, his shoulders, his back. He lifted her—easy, like she weighed nothing—and her legs wrapped around his waist.
"I want to be your girlfriend," she said against his mouth.
"I know."
"Cocky."
"Honest."
He turned her. Pressed her back against the cold tile. The contrast made her gasp—cold wall, hot water, hotter man.
His cock was hard again. Pressing into her belly. She reached between them and guided him to her entrance.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Shut up and fuck me."
He laughed. Then he pushed inside.
She was still sore from the night before. Still stretched. But it felt good. Right. The drag of him against her walls made her whimper, and he kissed her quiet.
"Okay?"
"More than okay."
He moved slowly.
Not like last night. No brutal rhythm, no punishing pace. Just slow, deep strokes that made her feel every inch. His forehead pressed to hers. His breath mixing with hers.
"Mine," he said.
"Yours."
"Say it again."
"Yours."
"Fuck—Luna—"
"I'm yours, Leo."
He buried his face in her neck. Bit her shoulder. She could feel him trembling. Feel the effort it took to hold back.
"Don't," she said. "Don't hold back. I want all of it."
He didn't argue.
His hips snapped. The bathroom filled with the sound of skin on skin, water on tile, her breath and his groans and the wet slap of their bodies.
"Harder—"
He gave her harder.
"I'm close—"
"Then come."
"I want you to—"
"Come with me."
She did.
It ripped through her like lightning. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she screamed and came, clenching around him, dragging him over the edge with her.
He came with a shout. Held her so tight she couldn't breathe. Rutted into her until he was empty.
They sank to the shower floor.
The water kept falling. Steady. Warm. Like nothing had happened at all.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Ask me that one more time."
"You okay?"
She laughed. Wet and breathless and absolutely gone for him.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay."
She toweled herself dry with a towel that smelled like him. He had another towel—probably clean, probably for her—but she didn't care. She wrapped her hair in one and wandered into his bedroom to find her phone.
The screen lit up with notifications.
Mia: WHERE ARE YOU
Mia: I swear to god if you got murdered
Mia: Answer me
Jules: she's not dead. she's with the pilot.
Mia: HOW DO YOU KNOW
Jules: because she was posting thirst traps on private story at 2am
Mia: SHE WAS WHAT
Luna groaned.
Her fingers flew across the screen.
Luna: I'm alive. I'm fine. I'll explain later.
Mia: You'd better.
Jules: U up?
Luna: I hate you both.
Jules: Love you too. Details.
Luna: No.
Mia: DETAILS
Luna: No.
Jules: we'll get them eventually.
Luna: Try me.
She tossed the phone onto the bed. Leo appeared in the doorway, damp and disheveled and grinning.
"Everything okay?"
"My friends are nosy."
"Same."
He crossed the room. Dropped onto the bed beside her. Pulled her against his side.
"I should go," she said.
"Skip class."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm graduating. Because I have a paper due. Because my parents think I'm at Mia's and if I don't show up to class someone's going to notice."
"Your parents worry about you?"
"Helicopter parents. The worst kind. Mom's a doctor, Dad's your boss. They track my phone."
"Seriously?"
"The military does excellent surveillance."
He laughed. Kissed her forehead.
"Okay," he said. "But you're coming back."
"Am I?"
"That's not a question."
She looked at him. At his messy hair and his soft eyes and the way he held her like she was something precious.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm coming back."
He drove her to campus.
The truck smelled like her—pink hair products and the particular sweetness of her skin—and she watched Leo pretend not to notice. His hand rested on her thigh the whole way, thumb tracing lazy circles through the fabric of her leggings.
"I'll pick you up after," he said.
"You don't have to."
"I know."
"I have stuff to do."
"I know."
"Leo—"
"I'll be in the parking lot at noon."
She couldn't argue. Not when he looked at her like that.
He pulled up to the curb and leaned over. Kissed her slow. Thorough. The kind of kiss that made her forget her own name.
"Go learn things," he said.
"Go fly planes."
"I will."
One more kiss. Then she opened the door and stepped out.
The air was crisp. The campus was crowded. She could feel people looking at her—the pink hair, the too-big hoodie she'd borrowed from him, the flush on her cheeks that wasn't going away. She was sure she had sex hair, that she smelled like him, that everyone could see exactly what she'd spent her morning doing.
Let them look.
She was halfway across the quad when her phone buzzed.
Leo: I miss you already. That's embarrassing, right?
She smiled.
Luna: Very embarrassing.
Leo: What are you doing?
Luna: Walking to class.
Leo: Send me a picture.
Luna: Of what?
Leo: Of you.
She stopped.
Rolled her eyes. Snapped a selfie—messy hair, borrowed shirt, cheeks still pink.
Sent it.
Leo: You're beautiful.
Luna: You're biased.
Leo: I'm honest.
Luna: Same thing.
Leo: Never.
She pressed her lips together. Looked up at the sky and tried to remember how to breathe.
Luna: I'll see you at noon.
Leo: I'll be there.
She tucked her phone in her pocket and kept walking.
She made it three steps into the lecture hall before Mia's hand shot up from the back row, waving like a distress beacon.
Luna pretended not to see it. Kept walking. Scanned the rows of seats for anyone she vaguely knew—someone neutral, someone who wouldn't ask questions. The auditorium was half-full, students hunched over laptops, the low murmur of pre-class chatter filling the space.
"Leah."
Mia's voice cut through everything. Not loud, exactly. Just sharp. Just the kind of voice that had been trained on three younger siblings and a deaf grandmother.
Luna turned.
Mia was standing now. Arms crossed. Dark eyes narrowed. Next to her, Jules was already sliding her bag off the seat she'd saved—two seats, actually, one on each side—and patting the empty chair between them with the patience of someone who'd been waiting a very long time.
"Sit," Jules said.
"I'm not a dog."
"Sit anyway."
Luna sat.
The chair was hard plastic. Cold against her thighs. She was suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that she hadn't changed her underwear. The same lace thong from last night—washed in Leo's shower, yes, but still. Still the same. Still carrying the faint ghost of everything that had happened.
Mia leaned in. Sniffed. Actually sniffed, like a bloodhound.
"You smell like him."
"I smell like soap."
"You smell like a man." Mia's eyes narrowed further. "And not just any man. You smell like a man who—"
"Mia."
"—who spent the whole night doing filthy things to your—"
"Jesus Christ." Luna dropped her bag on the floor. "Can we not do this here?"
"No."
"I second that," Jules said. She hadn't looked up from her phone, but her fingers had stopped moving. "We've been waiting for two hours. You don't get to be shy now."
Luna looked around. The students nearest them were absorbed in their own conversations. A guy in a backwards cap was scrolling TikTok. Two girls in matching sorority hoodies were whispering about something that had nothing to do with her.
"Fine," she said. "But if anyone hears—"
"We know."
Her phone buzzed.
Leo: Settled in?
She flipped the phone face-down on her desk.
Mia saw it. Of course she saw it.
"Was that him?"
"No."
"Liar."
"It was my mom."
"Your mom texts with heart emojis and asks if you've eaten. That was not your mom."
Luna sighed. There was no winning. There was only surrender, and Mia and Jules had been her best friends since freshman orientation. They'd seen her through Ethan. They'd held her hair back when she drank too much and cried too hard. They deserved this.
"Okay," she said. "Okay."
Mia's face lit up. Jules finally looked up from her phone.
"Start from the beginning," Mia said.
"The beginning?"
"The first date. Two nights ago. The one you lied about."
"I didn't lie."
"You said it was 'nothing.' You said he was 'just some guy.'"
"He was just some guy."
"And now?"
Luna hesitated. The word felt too big for her mouth. Too bright. Too fragile.
"My boyfriend," she said.
Mia's jaw dropped.
Jules made a sound—low and surprised, almost a laugh.
"You're serious."
"I'm serious."
"You—Leah Hartley, the girl who hasn't dated anyone since Ethan, the girl who wears hoodies to the beach, the girl who—"
"I get it."
"—just told me she has a boyfriend?"
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
Luna took a breath.
"Leo Maddox."
"Wait." Jules sat up straight. "Maddox? Like—"
"Air Force pilot."
"Like your dad's Air Force pilot?"
"The same."
"Luna."
"I know."
"You're dating a guy who works for your father?"
"He doesn't work for my father. He's stationed on his base. There's a difference."
"There's no difference."
"There's a tiny difference."
"Your dad is going to kill you."
"Which is why he's not going to find out." Luna looked between them—Mia's wide eyes, Jules's calculating squint. "Neither of you can tell anyone. Not a word. Not even jokingly. My parents think I spent last night at Mia's."
Mia blinked. "You told them you were at my house?"
"I told them I was studying with you and crashed."
"You lied to your parents."
"I omitted."
"About a boy."
"About a man."
Mia and Jules exchanged a look.
"Okay," Jules said slowly. "We'll keep the secret. But—" She held up a finger. "You have to tell us everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything."
Luna looked around again. The auditorium was filling up. Professor Chen would be there in five minutes, and he always started on time, and she would not—could not—be caught whispering about her sex life while he lectured on post-colonial literature.
"After class," she said.
"Now."
"The professor—"
"Lecture doesn't start for five minutes. Talk."
Luna groaned. But she talked.
The first date. The bar. The creep who slid onto the stool beside her and wouldn't take the hint. The way Leo had appeared—tall and calm and absolutely certain—and asked if she was okay. The conversation that followed, three hours long, covering everything from her streaming channel to his training to the fact that they both hated mushrooms.
"Wait," Mia interrupted. "You talked for three hours?"
"Until the bar closed."
"And then?"
"And then he drove me to his place."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Boring."
"It wasn't boring."
"You didn't kiss?"
"We kissed."
Mia's eyebrows shot up.
"For a while. And then I..."
Jules made a small, approving sound.
"That's romantic," she said.
"It was pathetic."
"Same thing."
Luna continued. The second date. Last night. He'd taken her to the Italian place—the one on Fifth with the worn leather booths and the candlelight. They'd eaten risotto and gnocchi and talked about everything. His job. Her parents. What it felt like to fly.
"And then?" Mia pressed.
"And then he ordered a second bottle of wine."
"Scandalous."
"That's not the scandalous part."
Mia leaned in. So did Jules. Luna felt her face heat.
"We were in a booth," she said. "A corner booth. And he kept looking at me like—like he was trying to memorize me. And then he reached under the table."
She stopped.
"Under the table?" Mia repeated.
"Under the table."
"And?"
"And his hand found my knee."
"Okay."
"Then my thigh."
"Okay."
"Then—" Luna swallowed. "Then he found my, um. You know."
"Your what?"
"My underwear."
Mia's mouth fell open.
"He touched you in the restaurant?"
"Yes."
"While you were eating?"
"I wasn't eating."
"But you were at the table."
"Yes."
"In public."
"Yes."
"Holy shit."
"There's more."
"More?"
"He ordered the check while his thumb—"
"Stop." Mia held up a hand. "I need a moment."
Jules was laughing. Quietly, but definitely laughing.
"Did you come?" she asked.
Luna didn't answer.
"You did."
"I didn't—"
"You did. You have that look."
"What look?"
"The look you get when you're remembering something dirty."
"I do not have a look."
"You absolutely have a look."
Luna buried her face in her hands.
"Then what?" Mia demanded.
"Then we left."
"And?"
"And we got to the parking lot. And I—"
She stopped again.
"You what?"
"I pushed him against the truck."
Mia's eyes went wide.
"And?"
"And I took his cock in my mouth."
Silence.
Then Jules whooped. Loud enough that the guy in the backwards cap looked up from his phone.
"Leah Hartley," she said.
"Don't."
"You gave him head in a parking lot."
"It was a nice parking lot."
"That's not the point."
"There's a lot of more points to this story."
"Continue."
Luna continued.
She told them everything. His apartment. The couch. The way he'd bent her over the arm and fucked her until her legs shook. The way he'd said you're mine with his hand fisted in her hair. The way she'd said it back.
By the time she got to the morning, Mia had her hands pressed to her cheeks like she was watching a soap opera.
"You swallowed?"
"Mia."
"What? It's a valid question."
"Yes."
"Oh my god."
"And then he made me pancakes."
"He made you pancakes?"
"With buttermilk."
"He's a keeper."
"I know."
"Wait." Jules's eyes narrowed. "Back up. You said you had the talk. What talk?"
"The 'what are we' talk."
"And?"
"And he said he wanted me to be his girlfriend."
"And you said?"
"And I said yes."
Mia grabbed her arm.
"You're a couple."
"Yes."
"You're officially a couple."
"Yes."
"With a man who makes you scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear."
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"I didn't—"
"Leah."
"Okay, yes. I screamed. Happy?"
"Very."
The professor appeared at the front of the lecture hall. Professor Chen. Short, round, perpetually tired. He set his briefcase on the podium and began the familiar shuffle of papers.
"You have two minutes," Jules whispered. "Tell us more about him."
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
Luna thought for a moment.
"He's twenty-two. Same as us. He went to the Academy—top of his class. He flies F-22s."
"F-22s?" Mia's eyebrows shot up. "That's a fighter jet."
"I know."
"That's hot."
"That's terrifying."
"Same thing."
Luna laughed despite herself.
"He's from Colorado. Only child. His parents are divorced—his mom's a teacher, his dad's a contractor. He doesn't talk to his dad much."
"Why not?"
"They don't get along. I don't know the details. He said it's complicated."
"And his mom?"
"He calls her every Sunday."
"That's sweet."
"He has a scar on his ribs from when he crashed a bike when he was twelve. And another on his shoulder from a training accident."
"He showed you his scars?"
"He took off his shirt."
"Right. Of course."
Luna felt her face heat again. But she didn't stop.
"He's patient. He listens. He asked about my streaming channel—not the numbers, but the community. He wanted to know why I started. He remembered things I told him weeks ago, stuff I barely remembered saying."
Jules was watching her carefully now.
"You really like him."
"I really do."
"Like, really like him."
"Yes."
"And he really likes you."
"He says he does."
"He says? You don't believe him?"
"I believe him. It's just—" She paused. "I've believed people before."
Mia reached over and squeezed her hand.
"Dr. Chen's about to start," she said. "But we're not done with this conversation."
"You just said—"
"I know what I said."
The professor cleared his throat. The room went quiet.
Luna's phone buzzed.
Leo: You okay? You went quiet.
She glanced at the screen. Smiled despite herself.
Luna: In class. Professor started.
Leo: So I should stop texting you?
Luna: I didn't say that.
Leo: Good. Because I have a question.
Luna: What?
Leo: What are you doing for lunch?
Luna: Eating.
Leo: With me?
Luna: I thought you were picking me up at noon.
Leo: I am. But I wanted to make sure you still wanted me to.
Luna: I still want you to.
Leo: Good. Because I'm already in the parking lot.
Luna: Leo.
Leo: What?
Luna: It's 10:45.
Leo: I know.
Luna: Class doesn't end until noon.
Leo: I know.
Luna: So why are you here?
Leo: I told you. I miss you already.
She stared at the phone. Her heart did something complicated—a flutter, a skip, a full-on somersault.
Luna: You're ridiculous.
Leo: You love it.
Luna: I'm going to ignore you now.
Leo: You're smiling though. I can tell.
She was. She definitely was.
Luna: Shut up.
Leo: Never.
She tucked the phone under her thigh and tried to focus on the professor. Post-colonial literature. The rhetoric of empire. Something about Heart of Darkness being problematic—which, fair, but also, technically, everything was problematic if you thought about it long enough.
But her mind kept drifting. To the parking lot. To the truck. To the way Leo had looked at her this morning, like she was something worth waking up to.
Mia passed her a note.
He's here, isn't he?
Luna wrote back.
How did you know?
You have that look again.
What look?
The one you get when you're thinking about a boy.
I don't have a look.
You have several.
Professor Chen droned on. Joseph Conrad's ambivalence toward the colonial project... Luna's pen moved mechanically across the page. She wasn't taking notes. She was drawing hearts. Tiny, stupid, embarrassing hearts in the margins of her notebook.
She crossed them out immediately.
Then drew another one.
Jules caught her eye. Raised an eyebrow. Luna flipped her off beneath the desk.
The lecture ended at 11:47. Professor Chen, mercifully, let them out early. Luna grabbed her bag and shoved her notebook inside before anyone could see the evidence.
"Lunch?" Mia asked.
"Can't."
"Can't?"
"I have plans."
"Plans with the pilot."
"Plans with my boyfriend."
Mia grinned.
"Say it again."
"What?"
"'My boyfriend.'"
"Shut up."
"Say it."
"He's waiting for me."
"Say it."
"You're insufferable."
"Say it."
"We're going to be late."
"Say it or I'll call your mother."
Luna stopped.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
She sighed. Deep and long and theatrical.
"My boyfriend," she said. "Is waiting for me."
Mia clapped her hands together. Jules laughed out loud.
"Go," Jules said. "Before she makes you say it in calligraphy."
Luna hugged them both. Quick. Fierce.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For not freaking out. For not judging. For—" She gestured vaguely. "For being my friends."
"We're always your friends," Mia said. "Even when you're an idiot."
"Especially when you're an idiot," Jules added.
Luna rolled her eyes. But she was smiling.
She walked out of the lecture hall and into the bright October day. The campus was alive with students—bikes and backpacks and conversations floating on the air. She made her way toward the parking lot, her heart beating faster with every step.
Leo's truck was exactly where she expected it. Parked at the far end, away from the cluster of more sensible cars. He was leaning against the driver's side door, arms crossed, watching her walk toward him.
His face broke into a grin when he saw her.
"You're early," she said.
"I told you. I missed you."
"You saw me two hours ago."
"That's a long time."
She stopped in front of him. He uncrossed his arms and pulled her in. Kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips.
"How was class?"
"Fine."
"Just fine?"
"I drew hearts in my notebook."
He laughed. Low and warm and absolutely delighted.
"You drew hearts?"
"I didn't mean to."
"That's the best kind."
She punched his arm. He caught her hand and held it.
"Come on," he said. "I know a place."
"What kind of place?"
"The kind that has food."
"And?"
"And a parking lot with a very nice view."
She raised an eyebrow.
"That so?"
"Best view in town."
He opened the passenger door. She climbed in. The seat was still warm from the sun, and the truck smelled like him—cedar and soap and something underneath that was just Leo.
He got in beside her. Started the engine. Reached over and took her hand.
"Your friends know?" he asked.
"That you're my boyfriend? Yes."
"Good."
"Why is that good?"
"Because I want them to know." He pulled out of the lot. "I want everyone to know."
She squeezed his hand.
"Careful," she said. "My dad's on base today."
"Your dad?"
"Commander Hartley."
Leo's eyebrows went up.
"That Hartley?"
"That Hartley."
"Your dad is the base commander?"
"I thought you knew that."
"I knew your dad was military. I didn't know he was the military."
"What's the difference?"
"Rank. Authority. The ability to have me court-martialed."
"He wouldn't."
"He could."
"Leo."
"Relax." He grinned. "I'm a pilot. I'm used to dangerous situations."
"This is worse than combat."
"Much worse."
She laughed. He lifted her hand to his mouth. Kissed her knuckles.
"We don't have to tell him right away," he said.
"How right away?"
"Whenever you're ready."
"What if I'm never ready?"
"Then we'll have a very long engagement."
She stared at him.
"Engagement?"
His ears turned pink.
"I didn't mean—I meant, like, a long—" He groaned. "I'm bad at this."
"You're doing fine."
"I just meant I'm in this. For however long you'll have me."
She leaned over. Kissed his jaw.
"Forever," she said.
He glanced at her. Surprise in his eyes. Pleasure. A little bit of fear, too. The good kind.
"Forever's a long time," he said.
"I know."
"You sure?"
"Leo."
"I'm just asking."
"I'm sure."
He pulled into a parking spot. Killed the engine. Turned to look at her.
"I'm sure too," he said.
And he kissed her. Slow and deep and completely unhurried. Like they had all the time in the world.
The restaurant turned out to be a tiny hole-in-the-wall diner on the edge of town. Burgers and milkshakes and a jukebox that only played songs from the seventies. The parking lot behind it overlooked a field of wildflowers—and beyond that, the mountains, already dusted with early snow.
They ate in a booth. His knee pressed against hers. He told her about a training flight he'd had that morning—something about emergency procedures, engine failure simulations, the way his hands remembered the controls even when his mind was elsewhere.
"Elsewhere?" she asked.
"You."
"Me?"
"I kept thinking about your mouth."
She choked on her water.
"Sorry," he said. He didn't look sorry. "I'm supposed to be focused. And I was. And then I'd remember the way you looked last night, and—"
"Stop."
"—the way you sound when you—"
"Leo."
"What?"
She looked around. The diner was empty except for the old man behind the counter and a couple in the corner booth who were too engrossed in each other to notice anything.
"Later," she said.
"Later?"
"When we're alone."
His eyes darkened. Just a little. Just enough.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
They finished their burgers. Split a chocolate milkshake with two straws. He paid despite her protests. Then he drove her back to campus and parked in the same spot from earlier.
"I have a paper due tomorrow," she said.
"I know."
"I should work on it."
"You should."
She didn't move. Neither did he.
"I'm not going to be able to focus," she said.
"Why not?"
"Because you're sitting right there. And I know what you taste like."
His breath caught.
"Luna—"
"And what you look like when you come."
"This is a school parking lot."
"I know."
"Anyone could see."
"I know."
"Get in the back seat."
She climbed between the seats. He followed. The back of the truck was cramped—not much room, just enough. He pulled off her leggings. She pulled off his jeans. This time there was no teasing, no slow build. They were both too hungry. He fucked her from behind, one hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds, the other holding her hips steady. It was fast and rough and desperate, and when she came she bit down on his palm hard enough to leave marks.
"This is insane," he said after. "We're insane."
"Totally."
"I'm supposed to be a professional."
"You are."
"I just fucked my girlfriend in a parking lot."
"Like I said. Professional."
He laughed. She climbed back into the front seat and tried to fix her hair. She could still feel him dripping down her thighs.
"Paper," she said.
"Paper."
"I actually have to write it."
"I know."
They sat in the front seat. He drove her to the library. One more kiss. Then another one.
"Pick you up at six?"
"Six is good."
He watched her walk inside. She felt his eyes on her the whole way.