Nine
Colin
As Fish and Ally reach their harmonized bridge, I turn to look at Amy next to me, eager to see whatever adorable facial expression has overtaken her now, but to my surprise, Amy’s no longer there. Confused, I look around the ballroom, surprised Amy would take off in the middle of Fish and Ally’s cute song without at least poking my arm first—and, by chance, I catch a flash of Amy’s purple gown as she blasts through a set of French doors on the far side of the large room.
Without thinking about it, I chase after her, worried something’s wrong. But when I make it through the double doors and into the cool night air on the expansive patio, there’s nobody out here—which makes perfect sense, since every guest at the wedding is presently inside, enjoying Fish and Ally’s performance. I turn a corner. No Amy. Retrace my steps and turn the opposite corner, and there she is, slumped over a railing, sobbing her eyes out. What the hell?
I bound over to Amy and touch her shoulder. “Amy? What happened?”
She looks up, tears streaming down her cheeks, and my heart squeezes at the sight of her, the same way it did when I chased her down, all those years ago, when she’d decided to run away to “Genovia.”
I feel overcome by the impulse to hug her, to try to take her pain away, the same way I did back then. I want to take her into my arms and tell her whatever happened, I’ll make it right. But I stop myself this time. We’re not kids anymore—and every touch between us nowadays, especially those initiated by me, seems to cause a current of electricity to course between us. Electricity that could easily send the wrong message to Amy. Plus, I think there’s a high chance, if I take her into my arms now, I won’t be able to stop myself from doing the thing I’ve been dying to do all night long. Last night, too. Namely, press my lips against hers and then drag her upstairs and scratch a whole lot of “nevers” off her list.
“Amy,” I repeat. “Tell me what happened.”
Finally, she straightens up and wipes her cheeks. “Nothing happened. Not like you mean. I’m drunk and felt emotional watching Fish and Alessandra singing about being smitten, after watching Dax sing to Violet about her giving him “fireflies,” after watching Logan cry at the sight of Kennedy at the ceremony.” Another tear falls down her cheek, replacing the one she just wiped away. “It’s hard watching all these happy couples, knowing the odds are low I’ll ever get to find true love for myself.”
“What are you talking about? Amy, you’re twenty-three! You’ve got plenty of time!”
Amy’s green eyes blaze. “But nobody even looked at me in high school! And then, I was too shy and lacking in confidence to put myself out there in college—so, I settled for the first boy who was nice to me. After that, when I was finally ready to let loose and let my freak flag fly during the tour, nobody even flirted with me for nine whole months!” She throws up her hands. “So, don’t tell me I have plenty of time. At this rate, I’ll be ninety-three before anyone even asks me on a date!” She wipes her tears again. “What’s wrong with me? Tell me the truth. Am I a six on a good day, like Nate said?”
My heart is breaking at the look of pure heartbreak on Amy’s beautiful face. “No! I swear on everything I care about in this world you’re a stone-cold perfect ten!”
Amy doesn’t look convinced. “Then why do guys like Nate and Luke hit on me, but nobody else? It’s never anyone I’m interested in. Will I ever feel smitten with someone, who feels the same way about me? Will I ever feel fireflies with someone, who feels them for me? That’s what I want! That’s what I deserve.”
“Of course, you do.”
“I want someone who loves me so much, he feels compelled to write a love song about me, like Dax did about Violet! Maybe not an actual song, if he’s not a musician, but I want someone who would sing me a love song, if he could!”
“And you’ll get that. Of course, you will. You’re gorgeous, funny, sweet. Don’t listen to that Nate fucker. He—”
“I never had a single orgasm with Perry, my boyfriend in college!” she shouts, out of nowhere. “Not once!”
I look around the darkened patio, and when I see, to my relief, we’re still alone in this secluded corner, I steer Amy even farther back.
“Shh. Keep it down, Drunk Amy,” I caution. “You don’t want anyone to overhear you saying that.”
Drunk Amy scoffs. “Everyone’s inside, watching Fish and Ally declare their undying love for each other. Nobody will hear me.”
“Better safe than sorry, sweetheart.” I square my body to hers and take a giant step forward. I’m intending to shelter Amy from anyone who might unexpectedly turn that corner behind my back, but the minute I position myself, my dick begins thickening. Apparently, my penis thinks I’m getting ready to lean in and kiss this girl, the way I’ve been dying to do all night, and it’s voting yes, yes, yes, with extreme enthusiasm.
I take a deep breath and tell my tingling dick to calm the fuck down. But it’s no use. A boner is thickening in my pants, whether I like it or not. Shit. I should take a step back to send my hardening dick a stern message. I should remind my dick Amy is off-limits for some very good reasons.
But I don’t.
Indeed, I do the opposite of what my brain is telling me to do and inch even closer to Amy, like she’s a magnet, and my dick is made of steel. When I advance on her, yet again, Amy exhales, tilts her flushed, tear-streaked face up toward mine, and nonverbally invites me to kiss her. Or hell, maybe that’s wishful thinking.
Somehow, I resist leaning down and doing the deed. But I’m not a saint, as my next words emphatically prove. “Is your college boyfriend the only guy you’ve ever slept with?” I whisper, even though I know the answer from Caleb—and also that it’s very, very wrong of me to steer our conversation in this direction.
Amy nods. “I’ve made out with other guys. But Perry is the only one I’ve had sex with.”
I take a deep breath. Tell myself not to say anything further. And then do it, anyway. “You never had an orgasm, while making out with those other guys?”
Amy shakes her head. “Not even close.”
“Have you given yourself orgasms?”
This time, she nods. “But not as easily as my friends do it, from what they’ve said. I really do think there’s something wrong with me, Colin. When Perry went down on me, I felt nothing. Actually, that’s not true. I was grossed out. I told him to please stop.”
Jesus Christ. Does she know she’s waving a slab of raw, bloody meat in front of a hungry lion right now? Once again, I command my legs to step back. To put an end to the encouragement my body is surely sending to hers. But my legs don’t listen. In fact, they once again do the opposite: they take another step forward.
“He never got better at it?” I whisper, my heart thudding noisily in my ears. “There are videos out there, you know. Tutorials. He could have gotten better with practice.”
Amy shakes her head. “If he ever got better at it, then it was with someone else, after me. While we were together, he never did it again to me, which was fine with me. It was totally gross. Like rubbing deli meat down there.”