“Are you drunk?” I ask suddenly, leaning closer to him—so close I can see a fleck of gold in one of his eyes.
“Probably,” he says. “A little.” He smiles at me in an easy, relaxed way, and I feel myself drawn to him, smiling to match his.
“I think I might be,” I say.
And then he kisses me. I’ve only been kissed once before, at summer camp when I was fifteen. This kiss is nothing like that one—a kiss I now know, with certainty, didn’t count. Dean’s tongue rubs against my lips, begging permission, and so I open them and let him in, the feel of it new and wonderful. He moves his hand from my neck down my arm and then takes hold of my hand, intertwining our fingers. He tugs me over to the bed, never breaking contact. I sit down with a thunk, the bed lower than I expected it to be, and start to giggle, the tension and energy between us too much. Dean pulls away to place a light kiss on the top of my nose.
“You’re cute.”
He gently pushes me back so I’m lying on the bed, and then lies over me, his body covering mine, touching mine in all the right places. His hands roam through my hair and down the side of my waist to touch the bare skin between my jeans and top. He pulls his lips from mine and begins to press light kisses down my neck, and I tighten my grasp on his shirt. His smell is intoxicating, aftershave mixed faintly with tobacco smoke, and something about it feels so grown up. He smells like a man somehow, not like some boy from high school, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, entwined together on the bed. It could be hours, days, years. I’m in a daze, my only thoughts on the feel of him.
“You should stay over,” he says, breathing huskily into my ear. His voice is a rough whisper and as he speaks, his lips brush the soft skin of my earlobe.
“What about my friends?” I ask, pulling away slightly.
“They’ll be fine.” He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “They can stay over too, on the couch. Or they can go home. Whatever.”
“I should just check,” I say, pulling out of his grasp to find my phone. I have no idea what time it is. How long have we been in his room? I press the button to light up the screen, and see it’s already after midnight. I have a bunch of texts.
HANNAH
Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!
DANIELLE
Are you still a virgin?
AVA
have you seeen Deany’s wieney?
HANNAH
Ava is dancing on the coffee table. We might need to take her home soon
AVA
DANIELLE
Ava is singing show tunes! We’re taking her home. It’s for her own good. Stay here and get laid
HANNAH
Do you want to come with us?
AVA
Keely god liuck u luve yo!
“I think they might have left,” I say. I know I should be upset they ditched me, but a part of me is glad I have an excuse to stay. I type a group message back.
I’m going to stay here. See you guys tomorrow
As soon as the message sends I feel the impact of what the words mean, my stomach flipping uneasily. I’m staying the night. In a boy’s bed.
“Good,” he says. He flips off the light on his bedside table and then he pulls me back down, a smile in his kiss. His lips brush my cheek, then my chin, then down my neck, giving me shivers. He pulls away and then brings his shirt up over his head, revealing a toned chest. I reach a hand up to his shoulder and then brush my fingertips softly down his bare arm, reveling in the feeling of his warm skin.
“Your turn,” he says, his voice raspy. He holds on to the bottom of my top, and then slowly pulls the fabric up over my head. I don’t stop him, but I suck in a deep breath when he leans back to look at me, and I’m thankful the room is dark.
I’m in Danielle’s bra—a black lacy one from Victoria’s Secret, and it’s a little too big for me. She noticed my old sports bra when we were getting ready earlier and insisted I borrow one of hers, a “real bra,” just in case. Now I’m glad I did.
“You’re so hot,” he says.
“Really?” I ask before realizing it’s the wrong thing to say.
“Damn right,” he says, pulling me toward him. He settles down into the mattress and I settle onto him. We stay like that for a while longer, though it’s hard to judge how long. I feel like we’re separate from time—like the world is going on around us, but we aren’t a part of it. We’re in our own galaxy, just lips and warm breath and soft hands. I feel like I’m honey dripping slowly from a spoon.
And then he pulls his face from mine and whispers the words that snap me back into focus.
“Should I get a condom?”
“What?” I whisper back, though I heard him perfectly. I don’t know what else to say. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and says it again, his voice scratchy from lack of use.
“Should I get a condom?”
Yes. Isn’t that the obvious answer? Isn’t this what I was hoping would happen when I came to his house, when I went alone to his room? I think of Danielle’s warning from earlier in the night, an uneasy feeling churning in my stomach. If you tell him you’re a virgin, it could only go two ways: he’ll be weirded out and lose interest, or he’ll take your virginity and never speak to you again. I just doubt he wants to teach you how to have sex.
It’s a catch-22. I don’t want to be a virgin anymore, but I don’t want to scare Dean away by letting him take my virginity. What if he freaks out at my inexperience? Or maybe worse—what if he never talks to me again afterward, because he’s gotten what he wanted? I wish there was some way to just get it over with, some way to have already had sex. I don’t want Dean to have to teach me. I want to already know what I’m doing. I want this not to be a BIG DEAL.