Lost in You

could go shopping.” I say this with no intention of moving. I’m comfortable. My head is resting on his chest as he plays with my hair. I picked him up at work and we came back to my hotel. When he suggested we go to bed, I admit that I froze. I’m walking a fine line between right and wrong and one slip up and I’m in deep. I have to be careful. When I said we could sit on the couch, he whispered that he’d keep his hands to himself. Something I wanted to tell him wasn’t necessary, but knew it was.
    Now the sun is shining through the large picture window of my hotel, warming the room. I could stay here all day, locked in his arms. We slept, but not very much. Once I got over the shock of him actually being here, I couldn’t keep my lips off of him. He held true to his word though and his hands didn’t roam, even if I wanted them to.
    Ryan sits up on his elbow, effectively pushing my back onto the bed. His hand trails down the curve of my face. His fingers ghost over my lips. His eyes roam over my face, before his lips touch mine briefly.
    I reach for him instinctively when he pulls away, but he shakes his head. He’s toying with me and it makes me wonder how he learned to act like this or if this is just natural.
    “Would you like to meet my mom?”
    I move away slightly, staring at him with shock. I know I heard him correctly, but for some reason I’m having a bit of trouble comprehending what exactly he just said.
    “Say what?”
    “You heard me.” He pulls me back into his arms, nestling against my neck. His lips press against my skin ever so lightly, sending chills down my arms.
    “You want me to meet your mom?”
    He nods against my neck.
    “Does she want to meet me?”
    “Yes,” he whispers against my skin.
    This time I sit up, breaking the connection between us. I can’t take him seriously when all I want to do his rip off his clothes. I sit cross-legged in front of him. His hand immediately finds mine. He, too, needs to touch me. It’s like we need each other to breathe and that’s something I haven’t felt for a very long time.
    “What’s going on, Ryan?”
    He sits back up on his elbow. “We talked yesterday before I went to work. I told her that you’re important to me.”
    “Does she know you’re here?”
    “Yes, she does. I guess she’s helping me in a way. She doesn’t approve of me sneaking around, but she’s not going to tell my dad.”
    “That’s a good thing, right?”
    Ryan chuckles. “Very good.”
    “Where am I supposed to meet her?”
    “Church,” he says as he looks at the bedside clock. “That gives you two hours to do whatever girls do before we have to leave.”
    I punch him lightly with my free hand.
    “How long does it take you to get ready?”
    “I can be ready in forty-five minutes. Why?”
    “Because I want to kiss you some more.”
    “You do?”
    “Come here, let me show you.”
    I fall into Ryan’s arms. His hands don’t leave my hair, my neck, or my face. They never roam past my shoulders. This PG relationship is not what I had in mind when I thought about having a boyfriend, but I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever I can get with him.
    Pulling away from him is torture. It’s like pulling two magnets away from each other. The pull is there and sometimes you aren’t strong enough to keep them from reattaching. That’s how I feel. He makes me want to be better, to write more, to smile at every little moment that happens to me, whether it’s a good thing or not.
    I slip on a dress, one more appropriate for church, and stare at myself in the mirror. I’m twenty-two years old and in love with a boy. I mouth the words over and over again, I love him . I watch in fascination, as my face breaks out into the biggest grin I’ve seen in a long time. Nothing can even come close to what I’m feeling for Ryan and he’s about to introduce me to his mom. If he had told me this when we first met, I’d call bullshit.
    Coming out of the bathroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s changed into slacks and a dress shirt. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we are an old couple following a daily routine. I like the idea of growing old with him.
    He stands, taking the few steps that separate us. He pulls my hand into his. He’s happy – it’s written all over his face.
    “I have a beautiful girlfriend.”
    I shy away at him calling me beautiful. He doesn’t realize how much of a compliment that is. How much that word means to me.