His hand slips between my legs, stroking the inside of my thigh and up, up. “Would this… be okay?”
“Yes. Yes.” What I really mean is please.
It took me long enough to figure it out for myself, so I give him some guidance. It turns out, he is an excellent listener. He whispers my name into my ear, slowly undoing me, and then I’m at the edge and falling, falling.…
I’m still recovering when the power suddenly returns and the house flashes to life, every light in my room blinking on at once.
He does have freckles everywhere.
I absolutely love it.
We’ve spent so much of tonight in the dark that I can’t help laughing, and he joins in, squinting at the bright lights. “Shhh,” I say, but it’s no use.
“Too bright,” he groans. “There’s plenty of natural light coming in from outside.”
And he’s right, so I peel myself out of bed to turn everything off and then wait a minute to make sure my parents aren’t moving around downstairs. When I’m confident they’re still safely ensconced in scotch comas, I crawl back to him.
He reaches for me, but I place a gentle hand on his chest.
“Hold on,” I say. “How far are we going here, exactly? We should talk about… whatever it is that we’re doing. Or not doing.” Anxiously, I tug at my bangs. “Because I’m kind of on board with all of it, but I know you haven’t, you know. Had sex.”
The weight of it hovers between us. Neil pushes into a sitting position, the sheets pooled around our ankles. This isn’t like with Spencer, where, because I’d already done it with Luke, I figured, why not. I want this, with Neil. I want to talk about it, and I want him to feel comfortable talking about it with me. The idea of being with him in that way makes me dizzy with desire. I want more than this one night, but I can’t think about the future right now.
“Trust me,” he says, his hand settling on my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “there is literally nothing I want more than you. Not even valedictorian.”
“I don’t know if having sex is better than being valedictorian. And I’m also not sure that’s the correct usage of ‘literally.’ You should know that.”
“With you, it might be.” Worry flickers across his face. “I have to be honest. I’m a little nervous. That I’ll, like, mess up or something, or make it horrible for you. And then you’ll never want to do this again, which would be devastating, given how much I like you.”
His nerves endear him to me even more. I like that he doesn’t immediately become this smooth, overconfident guy.
“I’m nervous too,” I admit. “Excited, but nervous, and that’s normal. That’s why we’ll talk to each other. We’ve always been good at that, right?” I say, and he nods. “The first time with someone is usually imperfect. That’s part of what makes it fun: figuring out together how to make it good.”
“It’s not going to be romance-novel perfect,” he says, but he’s not admonishing me.
“No. Not the first time, and probably not the second or third either. Maybe not ever, honestly, but it’ll be ours. And… that might be better.”
His thumb draws circles on my hip. “Are you sure you want this too? We haven’t—I mean, we’ve known each other awhile, but we only just kissed tonight, and…” A rambly Neil McNair is almost too adorable.
It’s an easy decision. “I’m sure.”
“And hey, you still have a condom in your backpack.”
I groan. “Oh my God. I was so mortified.”
“Chekhov’s condom,” he says, and then I’m laughing along with him.
“I do, in fact, have some that haven’t been sitting in Kirby’s locker for God knows how long.”
It takes only a moment to slip out of bed and grab them, a moment to shed our underwear. Another few moments to help him put one on before realizing it’s inside out. Into the trash it goes, and then we try again.
Once we get it right, it doesn’t last extremely long, because we’re tired or because it’s his first time or some combination of both. Every so often, he checks in with me, asking if it’s still good, if I’m still good. And yes. Yes. We try our best to be quiet, but we can’t stop whispering to each other. We’ve only just become friends, real friends, and there’s so much we want to say.
He finishes first, and then his fingers drift down between us and he gets me there for the second time tonight. Another thing I’ve learned: Neil McNair is exceedingly generous.
Then we’re quiet, quieter than my sleeping, darkened house. It’s a peaceful, appreciative kind of quiet. I burrow close to him, resting my cheek against his heartbeat while he plays with my hair.
“Earth-shattering,” he says.
“What just happened? Agreed.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Well, yes, but I meant you.”
ROWAN
good morning
this is a friendly reminder that you have one (1) minute and counting before I wake you up
5:31 a.m.
WHEN I WAKE up, I’m immediately hit with that panicky feeling you get on weekends sometimes when you’re convinced you’re late for school.
Only I’m not late, I no longer have school, and Neil McNair is in my bed.
He’s on his side next to me, one arm thrown across the pillow, the other around my waist. The early morning sunlight slants across his face, turning his hair fiery. He is beautiful. The sky is a clear cobalt canvas, yesterday’s storm forgotten.
It finally feels like summer.
As though sensing I’m awake, he pulls me closer, presses a kiss to the back of my neck. The reality drips back in. Neil and I had sex last night. Well—an hour ago, technically this morning. And it was good.
“Did that really happen?” I say aloud.
“Yes, unless you and I both had the same intensely erotic dream.”
“I prefer the reality.” I snuggle closer. “Was it okay for you? Do you feel different?”
“We’ll have to do it a few more times to know for sure,” he says with that wonderful smirk of his. “Yes. It was incredible. I’m not sure if I feel different, exactly. Mostly, I think I’m just happy. And… it wasn’t terrible for you?”
I answer by pressing myself into him, dropping kisses down his jaw, onto his neck. “You make me really, really happy too. I hope you know that.”
He holds me tighter. “I love you, Rowan Roth,” he says. “I can’t believe that’s a thing I get to say.”
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing it. I whisper it back, into his skin. I run my hand down his freckled arm, then pull on it to peer at his watch. “As horrible as it sounds, we should get up before my parents do.”
He kisses my bare shoulder as I force myself to a sitting position. “Don’t think I don’t expect your book report on my desk by tomorrow just because we had sex.”
“What book?”
“Hmm. The Age of Innocence? Moby Dick? The Turn of the Screw?” He thinks for another moment, that lazy-sly smile appearing again. “Hard Times?”