star stuff

two

I don't think that I have ever kissed Sagan Cantor-Lam before. But I don't think when he kisses me, period.

His lips press urgently against mine like I am his first breath after almost drowning. When I feel the hard surface against my back, I realize that I am pressed against the wall but I do not care.

When his hands start to roam to places they have never explored before, I melt into his touch, savoring the sensation of his calloused hands. I realize that I like the sensation of the hard planes of his chest pressed against my softer curves through his suit and my blouse.

I kiss him back. Of course I do. He was the object of my dreams for years. It would be a sin to waste the opportunity.

His tongue makes a hot swipe against my lower lip, drawing out a gasp, and giving him the chance he needed to deepen the kiss. His hands snake around my back, sending tendrils of heat coursing through my body.

Everything about this is forbidden, wrong. He is the boss and I am his intern. He is three years older than I am. He is my brother's best friend.

Jasper.

His name is enough to send a bolt of clarity through me, enough to give me the strength to put my palms against his chest and push him off of me.

He clearly did not expect that because he blinks at me in confusion for a moment. With his looks, he probably has not been pushed away often.

"June," he breathes, looking at me as if I am the moon after several cloudy nights. "You have no idea how much I've missed you. How is Jasper and--"

Once again, my brother's name is what jerks me out of my trance. "Jasper is dead," I hiss, and the mask of indifference slips off, replaced by fury. "And it's Juno. You lost the right to call me June when you let me cry at his funeral alone."

Sagan opens his mouth to retort, but he closes it and I can see my words sink in. There's a twinge of guilt and regret, but not much.

He gets to find out about the death the easy way.

Sagan's perfect mask cracks, and I feel almost sorry for him. The pain of knowing that his best friend passed without seeing him one last time is sinking in. Maybe Sagan is remembering the last time they talked, when they fought over Sagan leaving.

"No, Jasper can't be...he wouldn't," Sagan says weakly, putting his face in his hands.

Good I think. You should know a fraction of how I felt.

God, when did I get so fucked up? When did I see somebody else suffering and feel vindication that they were going through the same things as I did?

Since I reached out for a hand to hold in the dark and there was nobody I realize. So in a roundabout way, this is Sagan's fault.

I watch the hard features of the ruthless businessman morph into the frightened features of a boy who has just lost his best friend. I watch as Sagan makes a strangled sound from the back of his throat while shaking his head.

It strikes me how different we are. I was never in denial of Jasper's death. The diagnosis, maybe, but never the death.

So even if I want to help Sagan--which I don't--I couldn't. Empathy is already such a hard emotion for me; empathy for someone who abandoned me is near impossible.

He straightens and then he is the ruthless businessman again, with an expression cold enough to match my own.

"Right." His voice cracks, almost imperceptibly. "I apologize for the lapse in judgment." He strides over to the desk, gesturing as he speaks. "What Emma said was correct. You will be organizing my files, answering my emails and calls, and creating my schedule. If you need to talk to me for whatever reason, my door is right there. Anybody who wants to talk to me will have to go through you. Don't let anybody through that is not scheduled. I'm far too busy for that."