After cleaning up, I came back and cuddled with her until it was about time for everyone to come back.
Then she went home.
Bert was right, not that I’d ever tell him. Going down on my girlfriend was definitely the best first sexual experience.
I couldn’t wait to do it again.
Eleven
Train Going Nowhere
Audrey
“Can you recommend something from the wine list?”
While the Napa Valley Wine Train rattled down the rails at only a leisurely four miles per hour, I still lurched toward the table I was serving, but I kept the fake, bright smile on my face as if I were just fine.
I’d pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail and wore a uniform of a crisp white shirt and black pants. I liked feeling polished, so that was on the plus side. Another boon to the job was the table crumber—the bent metal tool I kept in my pocket to scoop breadcrumbs off the table. Maybe I was weird, but I’d always liked those things.
“Let me have the sommelier come and discuss our selections with you. Anything else right now?”
They shook their heads, and I left with my head held high, trying to maintain my balance.
Carly laughed as I scooted past her in the aisle and whispered in my ear. “This would be a lot easier for you if you liked wine, you know.”
I rolled my eyes.
My lack of wine knowledge probably hurt my tips, but I had a captive audience so I didn’t do too badly.
At least not during these first weeks on the job. Weeks of evenings I’d spent setting up for the dinner service, serving it on a moving set of vintage train cars, then returning home and passing out from being tired.
Also, it had been weeks of sneaking kisses with my boyfriend. Of touching his body as much as I could. Of whispered promises against each other’s skin. Of pushing whatever contact I could, because he left for Columbia in just a few short weeks.
But we’d had to sneak around. Except for the one lucky time no one was at Tate’s house, we’d spent most of our touching in the front seat of the Mobile Living Room. Otherwise, we’d kept our hands to ourselves, talking as we usually did. Only we had an undercurrent of sex that was now brought to the surface. Actually, upon reflection, I think it’d always been there.
Tate texted me earlier today that his family was going out tomorrow night to some event and did I want to come over?
Hell yes, I wanted to come over. I didn’t have to work tomorrow night, and apparently neither did he.
I arrived at the sommelier’s station where Allen Chen had his twinky ass to me, checking the bottle inventory. “Table six needs you.”
He turned around and gave me a flirty wink that didn’t mean anything. Allen was more likely to hit on Tate. “I got ya, honey. I’ll go see what they’d like.” He sashayed down the moving train to help the diners pick a wine.
Continuing to the kitchen train, I put in the orders for table four and returned to the water station to get the pitchers. As I juggled the full water containers against the sway of the train, I did my best to not spill. When Wren mentioned this job, I hadn’t fully realized the implications of serving fancy food and drinks on a moving train. The only thing worse than this would be to serve milkshakes while on roller skates. But I did my best.
The Napa Valley Wine Train was world-renowned for its incredibly elegant dining. The silverware was real silver, polished and precise. The dinner screamed “chef-fy.” And the view—
Well, it was home.
Here’s a secret. Don’t go on a scenic wine train excursion at night in winter. Because there’s no view in the dark. You’re welcome.
But on a lovely July evening like tonight, the late sun shone on the green rows of vines and bright mustard growing in between the rows. The vintage cars trundled down the tracks along the different viticulture districts. Rutherford. Yountville. And so on.
The beauty didn’t change the fact that the only train I got to ride on went nowhere.
Carly sidled up to me once I returned the pitcher to its place and checked on the rolls. “Going out with Tate tonight?”
“No, he has to work. But we’re getting together this weekend.”
Tomorrow night, I told myself. Tomorrow night, Tate and I would finally do it.
I texted him.
Audrey: There’s so much I want to do to you. You have no idea. I have a list
Tate: Is it an Anti-Bucket List?
Audrey: Even better. A secret list
And I hummed the rest of my shift.
When I saw him the following evening, I attacked. In so many words.
Once I confirmed we were alone, I shut the door behind us and fused my mouth to his.
Then I climbed him like a tree. Like he was the Empire State Building and I was King Kong.
At first, he gave back as good as I gave and more, but then I got frantic. Because if this was the only time I had with him, I was going to make the most of it. We had to move. We couldn’t stay still.
He pulled back, giving me a blue-eyed smirk. “Whoa. Slow down. We have all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere, baby. I just want to be with you.”
But I wasn’t listening. I was kissing. I slid down his body and started pulling his shirt up and then tugging at the fly of his pants as we shuffled to his bedroom. “I don’t have all the time in the world. I don’t want to wait.”
“Patience.”
“No,” I said. “Im-patience.”
“Audrey, I want you so much, but I want to know every inch of your body, and I don’t want to skip any steps.”
What I wanted to say was, “But I want you nowww.”
Instead, I looked at the ground, keeping a sigh from escaping. I wasn’t being very adult. And if I was having sex, I needed to be an adult.
His eyes sought out mine. “What’s this about, Audrey? Because I’m as horny—or probably hornier—than you are, but I want this to be special.” He smiled, a glorious full smile. “Because it’s you. I want it to be special with you. I don’t want to go fast and get it over with. And I’m not sure I’m ready.”
He didn’t say, “I’m not sure you’re ready either,” but I heard it in his tone.
I sighed for real. He was right.
Worse, my plan wasn’t fair to him in the slightest.
I still hadn’t told him I wasn’t going to New York. Every time I wanted to bring it up, it didn’t feel like the right moment. But the longer I waited, the more difficult it became to bring it up.
Because I was falling for him. Or in truth, I’d fallen a long time ago.
And the physical distance we’d have would be painful. I didn’t know if it would be more painful to ask for long-distance or if it would be better to just break it off.
And I didn’t want to ask.
For now, we ended up making out and feeling each other up. He kissed me, and it felt different than our last time in his bed. That time felt like we needed to break through some barrier just to say we passed it. Tonight, we didn’t have that pressure. We spent our time together exploring new territory. Instead of zipping past on an airplane overhead to get to another city, we traversed the terrain of each other.