Maybe Dean doesn’t have to know I’m a virgin. I know the basics. I could probably fake it. But what if it hurts? Hannah told me the first time she had sex with Charlie, it hurt so much she cried. They lay on top of a bath towel just in case, and she bled all over it. I can’t imagine the humiliation I’d feel if I bled all over Dean’s sheets. He would have to wash them right away, would have to take them into the living room where Cody might see them, and they’d both laugh and call me disgusting, and that would become my label: the disgusting high school girl who ruined Dean’s sheets. The lying virgin caught red-handed. I’d be an embarrassing blip on Dean’s timeline: a regretful mistake.
“Keely?” He sits up and leans over to his bedside table, rummaging through it in the dark. Then there it is in his hand—a condom, wrapped in a shiny square package. I’ve seen condoms before in health class. They’re passed around in a basket several times a year while everyone giggles and self-consciously grabs a few, like some twisted grown-up version of trick-or-treat. Still, condoms are novel to me. The fact that Dean keeps them in his bedside table, that he uses them enough to have them on hand, feels strange. To Dean, are condoms just as ordinary as hand sanitizer or Advil?
“It’s okay,” I say, though it doesn’t mean anything. I feel like I’m speaking into a tunnel.
“What’s okay?” He reaches down toward his belt, undoing the buckle with deft fingers.
“No, I mean, we don’t have to.”
“You’re cool with no condom?” he asks, flicking it away. He pulls the belt off.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We don’t have to have sex.”
He grins at me, his teeth still visible in the dark room. “Of course we don’t have to.” He kisses me, pulling me back toward him, back into our galaxy. “But we want to.” His hand reaches toward the button of my pants.
I remember with horror that I’m wearing an old pair of underwear, cotton with polar bears I’ve had since middle school. Danielle didn’t offer to let me borrow any “real underwear,” and I didn’t ask because that would have been too weird. I feel clammy, my breath shallow, like I’ve had too much whiskey, even though we stopped drinking ages ago.
“Wait.”
“You okay?” He draws back his hand.
“I think we should wait.”
“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. Sitting up, he pulls away from me. “Oh. Okay.”
“I want to,” I say, stupidly upset I’ve let him down. “I want to. Just not yet.”
“Are you sure? It’s not a big deal.” He kisses me again, as if he knows the magic he holds in his kisses, the spell he casts over me with his lips and tongue. But I’m stuck, my virginity an invisible wall between us. I’ll make a decision later. This isn’t my only chance with Dean. It can’t be.
“Another time, okay?”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” I take his hand in mine and squeeze, the thought hitting me that promising is sort of like making a decision after all.
“You know how I feel about promises.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then sits up and gets out of bed. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I won’t be able to sleep until this goes away.” He motions casually toward his pants, unembarrassed.
“Oh, sure.” I’m trying to sound casual but I can’t breathe.
“See you later, work buddy.” Grabbing a towel out of the hamper, he slings it over his shoulder, whistling as he leaves the room.
When he comes back fifteen minutes later, I pretend to be asleep. It feels easier to lie next to him with my eyes closed than to have to come up with new things to say. I can be cool, confident, and experienced again in the morning. He climbs into bed next to me and curls himself around me, tangling his legs with mine.
I don’t sleep a wink.
TWELVE
IN THE MORNING I’m still lying stiffly beside Dean, who’s snoring softly, little puffs of air tickling my ear. His arm is slung over me, holding me still. I sit up as much as I can, trying to reach for my phone without waking him.
When I get ahold of it, I click it on and check the time: 7:30. I have to get back to Danielle’s soon, before her parents notice I’m missing. Is it too early to wake Dean? I study his face for a minute, thankful for the opportunity to stare at him unnoticed. He looks younger when he sleeps, and less intimidating. He has a dark freckle next to his left eye and a little scar on his forehead I can just barely see through a part in his messy hair.
I’m worried that once he wakes up the easy way things were last night will be gone, that everything between us was only a result of the whiskey. Talking to him now might ruin it. I don’t want him to see the morning crusts in my eyes. What if he tries to kiss me and I have morning breath? Or worse, what if he doesn’t try to kiss me at all?
I have to get out from under his arm.
I shift slightly to the right, trying to wiggle over to the side of the bed as quietly as I can. He moves and the arm tightens, pulling me closer into his chest. I lie still for a minute, enjoying the feel of it. With his body against mine it’s easy to imagine just staying here forever.
But then I think again of my greasy face and the mascara that’s probably smudged under my eyes. No, definitely better to sneak out. I pause for a moment, sinking into him and closing my eyes, trying to remember exactly how it feels to be wrapped up in him, in case it’s the last time. And then I lift his arm just enough to squeeze under and climb out of the bed, trying to gather up my scattered clothes.
As I put my top on, I feel a lot more exposed in the morning light than I did last night. I glance over at the pair of sparkling torture shoes lying by the door. I really don’t want to strap them back on.
To get to Danielle’s, I’ll have to retrace our steps from last night past the rows of frat houses, around the grad housing, and then through downtown. And it’ll be busy. On Sundays in the spring, they block off a bunch of streets for the craft fair, so people can sell handmade candles and mittens and other wholesome things.
I can’t do it.
I sit back on the mattress and text the girls.
Is anyone awake? Can someone come get me?
After waiting a minute with no answer, I scoop up my heels and tiptoe out of Dean’s room, praying no one else is awake in the house. The floor feels even stickier on my bare feet than it did with shoes, but I’m afraid the heels will make too much noise if I put them on.
Finally I get outside and shut the door quietly behind me. The sidewalk in front of me is still empty, and I contemplate just sucking it up and making the walk. Maybe no one will be out after all. But then, down the street in the direction I need to head, a girl comes around the corner. She’s wearing a tight red dress and holding a pair of gold heels in one hand, walking fast with her head down. She passes one of the frat houses on the corner, and a voice rings out from the front porch, amplified by a megaphone.