HE WAS GETTING FASTER.
Jab, rock, bend, plant.
His movements had become robot efficient, as rhythmical as hip-hop — perfectly timed, flawlessly executed.
Jab, rock, bend, plant.
Thinking? There were no thoughts. Except one.
Jab, rock, bend, plant.
More of an image than a thought, really.
Jab, rock, bend, plant.
Her face.
Jab, rock, bend, plant.
Today, as soon as he was done with his bundle, he would race home, hit the shower, then drive downtown to Riverview Terraces, where June would be waiting.
Jab, rock, bend, plant.
He wondered where she was at that moment. Driving up I-35 with her dad? Maybe they were already at the condo, unloading their stuff.
Jab, rock, bend, plant.
Was she thinking about him?
June carried the last suitcase from the back of her Dad’s SUV, into the building, up the elevator to the seventeenth floor, down the short hallway to number 170, a completely furnished luxury condo, her home for the next six weeks. Wes would be knocked out by the view, looking out over the river in one direction and downtown in the other.
She plunked the suitcase down in the entryway and flopped down on the long leather sofa.
“June!” Dad was calling from his bedroom. June groaned and got up and went to see what he wanted. He had changed into a suit and was looking in the mirror, tying his tie. “Where’s my carry-on?”
June pointed. She had set it at the foot of his bed.
“Oh. Thanks.” He snugged up the knot in his tie, lifted the bag onto the bed, and opened it. “Cuff links,” he said, digging into one of the many small compartments. June helped him fasten the cuff links. Just like her mother would have.
“Will you be home for dinner?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not, Junie. Business dinner with my new associates. You’ll have to fend for yourself.” He saw something in June’s face. “I imagine you’ll be seeing Wes.”
“Is it okay if he comes over?”
He looked at her for a long time. June felt herself blushing, though she wasn’t sure why.
“I’ll be home by nine,” he said.
“Okay.”
“You start work in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll go shopping for food tomorrow. Tonight you can order in.” He opened his wallet and handed her two twenties. “Pizza, or whatever you want.”
Again, the long, searching look, then he looked at his watch. “I have to go. Call Mom and tell her we’ve arrived safely. And say hello to Wes for me. Tell him I look forward to spending some time with him. Just the three of us, hanging out.”
“Uh, sure, he’d like that.” It was all June could do to keep her face blank.
Wes’s hair was still wet from the shower when he arrived at Riverview Terraces. He felt strangely cavernous, as if his insides were hollow. He hoped he was dressed okay. He’d changed his shirt three times, finally deciding on the plaid cotton shirt he’d worn the first day he met her. Was that okay? Would she notice?
He stepped out of the elevator on the seventeenth floor. June, wearing jeans and a powder blue T-shirt, stood at the end of the thickly carpeted hallway. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her feet were bare. Wes floated toward her. He could not feel his legs. Neither of them spoke.
He was close enough to touch her when she turned and glided into the apartment. He followed her. She led him into a large, high-ceilinged room with tall windows and black leather furniture. They stood in front of the windows, inches between them, and looked out over the river.
Wes’s hand found hers. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. They weren’t looking at each other. Her hand was cool and slightly moist.
“Me neither.” She withdrew her hand, turned toward him, and slipped her arms around his back. He did the same. They held each other loosely, not hugging, the fronts of their bodies barely touching. Wes’s cheek brushed delicately against her temple. His hands were shivering. He felt her shoulder blade beneath his right thumb; the fingers of his left hand grazed the knobs of her spine. If he squeezed her, would she dissolve like a dream?
June was terrified and she didn’t understand why. Who was this boy? What was she doing here, high above the city, alone with him, her breasts separated from his flesh by only three layers of cotton fabric: her bra, her T-shirt, and his plaid flannel? He smelled like deodorant — one of those harsh-smelling brands that boys thought made them smell manly. She wondered what she smelled like. Her shampoo, probably — rosemary — with a whiff of fear sweat and a hint of candy smell from the mint she’d eaten a few minutes earlier. Why was she so jangly?
Wes’s arms tightened, just a little. June made her arms do the same, and as she did so, she became acutely aware of her body. She gasped.
Abruptly, Wes released her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
June nodded, taking a step back. “I just … I don’t know. This all feels so weird.”
“Me too.”
“It’s like you’re not real.”
Wes nodded. “I think I’ve been thinking about seeing you so much that it’s like … like what if none of this was real? Like we’re in a dream or something.”
“Maybe we are.”
“I wonder if it’s your dream or mine.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s mine.”
“Or both of ours. You’re still in Omaha, and we’re both asleep and our dreams got hooked up.”
June felt herself smile, and some of the tension drained from her shoulders. “If it’s a dream, we should be able to look out the window and see the Eiffel Tower.”
They turned back to the window.
“Doesn’t look like Paris,” Wes said.
“Dreams are weird.”
Wes laughed, and at the sound of his laugh, something inside her came unstuck and she laughed too.
“Do you ever eat pizza in your dreams?” she asked.
“I only dream about two things. Pizza and you.”
“In that order?”
“Not always.”
“Because I was going to order a pizza. Are you hungry?”
Wes smiled, a wide, open smile that echoed in her heart.
“Always,” he said.