Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

close to me. Oh, God. The feel of her skin against mine set me on fire.
    “You’re not what?” I asked.
    She buried her face against my neck. “I’ve never done this,” she whispered.
    I took a deep breath.
    I’d suspected. She’d been a virgin when we met, of course, and if she’d had any lovers since, she’d kept them secret. Letting out my breath, I said, “We don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready.”
    My body so disagreed with what I had just said. I would be in a lot of pain if we stopped now, but pain was something I knew intimately anyway.
    She whispered, “Are you sure?”
    “Yes,” I said. I looked her in the eyes. And her eyes were frightened, there was no question. “Alex… I love you. I’ll go where you lead me. I won’t ask for more.”
    A tear ran down her face, and she said, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
    I gave her a half smile and said, “You’ve got that backwards, Alex. I’m the one who… who is undeserving.”
    “Don’t ever say that,” she said.
    “Why not? It’s the truth.”
    She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Dylan Paris. About this, you are so wrong. We were made for each other.”
    I leaned close and kissed her forehead, and she curled up next to me. Before long, she’d fallen asleep, curled up against my left side, her head resting on my chest.
    After she’d fallen asleep, I lay there a few more minutes. A tear ran down my own face. One, then another. I took a deep shuddering breath, knowing that somehow life had given me another chance. Somehow she had given me another chance. This time I couldn’t blow it. Awkwardly, with my cast hand, I pulled a blanket over us, and soon fell asleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    We call him Weed (Alex)
    When the alarm went off on Saturday morning, I groaned and rolled over, rubbing my palm across Dylan’s bare chest, feeling the bunched muscles. I slowly opened my eyes, just in time to see him reach out with his right hand, which was still bound in a heavy cast, and hit the alarm clock with it. The clock went flying and then cut off.
    I lay my face down on his chest. I could hear his heart beating, and his breathing had already gone from the slow, deep breath of sleep to normal respiration. I closed my eyes and murmured, “Let’s skip running this morning.”
    He was wide awake, the bastard. I’d never known someone who just popped their eyes open in the morning, bright and chirpy.
    “Can’t do it, babe. I’ve got a not-so-sexy former Marine breathing down my neck. If I don’t run, he’ll find out about it somehow.”
    I chuckled. He’d spoken often of Jerry Weinstein, his physical therapist. Usually in disparaging terms. I could tell Dylan really liked the guy.
    “You can stay and sleep if you want, hon. I’ll be back soon.”
    “No,” I said. “I’m coming.”
    I rolled out of his bed, checked to make sure the huge T-shirt of his I was wearing covered everything, then stepped out of the bedroom and into the apartment he shared with two graduate students. A quick run down the hall and back, and I’d brushed my teeth and changed.
    By the time I got back to the room, he’d changed into his grey Army tee and shorts. It would be chilly out this morning, but we’d warm up soon enough. Still, I wasn’t crazy enough to go out in November cold in shorts. I wore pink sweats I’d picked up a couple weeks earlier.
    It had been two weeks since the night he went to the hospital. Two weeks since we’d slept in each other’s arms for the first time as adults.
    To be perfectly honest: they were the two happiest weeks I’d ever had in my life, at least since that trip to Israel, junior year of high school.
    Much to Kelly’s disgust, Dylan and I had spent almost every waking moment together, and I’d slept here in his apartment on the weekend. Three mornings a week we still went running. Now, after eight weeks, he wasn’t kidding around any more. No more three-block runs: instead, we went down Broadway to 110 th , cut across to Central Park West, then ran the entire length of the park and back. It was about seven miles, and I was in better shape than I’d ever been in my life.
    I probably wouldn’t go much further, but I had the feeling that he was just getting started. He’d been talking for the last week about possibly competing in a marathon.
    As we tiptoed to the door, trying not to awaken his mysterious roommates, who I had as yet to actually meet, I could see that his right leg was