by Tawna Fenske
“You don’t have to be nervous,” he says. “And we don’t have to do anything at all. We can play checkers if you want.”
“Checkers?”
He tips his head toward the cabinet behind us. “That wasn’t a euphemism. There’s a game board right over there.”
I glance over at the space beneath the TV, and sure enough, there’s an old-school wooden checkers set, along with cribbage and a box of brightly-painted Jenga blocks.
I turn back to Sean and take a shaky breath. “I don’t want to play checkers.”
“What do you want to do, Amber?” His voice is low, but he’s not trying for seduction. He’s genuinely asking, and somehow that makes me less nervous.
“I want to get out of this dress,” I admit. “And you should probably get out of your clothes.”
“I think we can manage that.” Sean leans in, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. He does kiss me, but not the passionate kind. It’s the gentlest brush of his lips against my earlobe before he draws back. “Wait here.”
He turns and strides toward the bathroom. I stand with my fingers interlaced in front of me, wishing I could take off these shoes. Sean returns a second later with a fluffy white robe draped over one arm.
“You take the bathroom,” he says. “There’s another robe in there, and you can shower if you want. Toss out your dress, and I’ll hand it off to the dry-cleaners while you get cleaned up.”
I nod, relieved that he’s suggested it. That he’s not angling to strip naked right away and jump right into the Jacuzzi together. Part of me wants that, but I’m not quite ready.
“Thanks,” I say. “I wouldn’t mind washing the meatball out of my hair.”
He smiles and strokes a thumb from my cheekbone to the edge of my hairline. I lean into him like a cat beginning to purr, but he draws back and holds out the digit. “Marinara,” he says. “And you look beautiful in it.”
My body’s buzzing with weird energy as I retreat to the bathroom. There’s a whirlpool of emotional turmoil swirling in my belly, spinning with a mix of self-consciousness and excitement. My hands are shaking as I close the door behind me.
Kicking off my shoes, I strip off my ruined dress and crank both handles on the shower. Then I unzip my purse. Right on top is the condom Lily slipped me on my way out of the reception.
“Go get him, hot stuff,” she urged with her Cheshire-cat smile.
But it’s not Lily’s advice I need right now. I hit the switch for the fan, then pull out my phone and dial my sister.
“Hey,” she says, answering on the second ring. “Wait, are you calling me while you’re peeing?”
“No, I’m showering.” I stick a hand under the spray, then adjust the taps and step in, keeping the phone to my ear the whole time.
“You know, I’m not sure this is what Apple had in mind when they started making waterproof iPhones,” she says. “Wait, why are you showering at a wedding?”
“You mean that’s not what they meant by bridal shower?” I quip.
I’m trying for casual cool, but Jade must hear something in my voice because her next words come out in big sister mode. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “I mean, the wedding was a little weird, and there was this meatball explosion at the reception, but—”
“Explosion? Are you hurt?”
“No, that’s not why I’m calling.” I hesitate, no longer sure why I am calling. Yes, I am. I turn so the water sluices down my back and lower my voice. “When you first slept with Brandon, did you go in thinking it was a fling, or did you think it was more?”
I love that she doesn’t ask questions. Her answer comes with no hesitation, no judgment. “To be honest, I wasn’t thinking at all,” she says. “I wanted him, I had a hunch he wanted me, so it just sort of happened.”
“Like, you just tumbled into bed together?”
She laughs. “Nah, it wasn’t that seamless. I asked if he wanted to come upstairs with me, and he said yes. Next thing I know, we’re tearing each other’s clothes off and—”
“Okay, TMI, you can stop there.”
“Well, you’re the one who asked,” Jade points out. “And you’re the one calling me from the shower.”
“Good point.” I slick my hands through my hair and a hunk of meatball flops on the floor. Pinkish water swirls around the white-tiled drain at my feet, and I wonder how I went from the bold and sexy vixen at the reception to the girl who blushes at the suggestion of playing checkers.
“I don’t want to screw this up,” I whisper.
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “Like what if Sean has this idea of who I am and what I’m like and maybe what I’d be like in bed, and I mess it all up?”
Jade is quiet a moment, digesting the ridiculous plate of crazycakes I just served up. “Honey, you might be overthinking this.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Do you remember when I lost my virginity?”
“Darrin Ingstrom, your junior year in high school,” she says without batting an eyelash. “I was home for spring break and found you crying in the hay loft. I might have threatened him with a set of Burdizzo castration forceps.”
“You what?” I choke out a laugh, trying to keep my voice down. “You never told me that.”
“Well, you wouldn’t tell me anything except that he broke up with you right after it happened. I had to handle it somehow.”
I sigh and switch the phone to my other ear, then grab a little bar of soap shaped like a daisy. “He asked me to prom,” I begin slowly. “I was just a junior, so it was super-exciting to have this popular senior asking me, you know?”
“Right,” Jade says. “Even I knew of him, and he was four grades younger than me.”
“Anyway, things got carried away in the backseat after prom.”
I can feel Jade’s tension snapping through the phone line. “He didn’t—did he force—?”
“No!” I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “It wasn’t like that. I was totally sober and super-curious about sex. I was willing and eager and probably even started it.”
“So was it—bad?”
“I thought it was fine,” I admit. “Good, even. I mean, I got off, which I guess is kinda rare the first time—”
“Aaaand, we’re back to TMI.”
Her words make me smile, even though my own are making me a bit queasy. I slick the nubby soap down my body, wondering how long I have before Sean thinks I’ve drowned and comes looking for me. “Anyway, I went to visit him the next day,” I say. “Darrin, I mean. I wanted to ask where we stood. If we were boyfriend/girlfriend or if it was just a casual thing.”
“That’s ridiculously mature of you.”
“Right? Anyway, he wasn’t home, so I sat and had tea with his mom while I waited for him to come home from baseball practice.”
“Mrs. Ingstrom? She was the student leadership advisor, right?”
“Exactly, so I already knew her.” I grimace remembering the look on Darrin’s face when he walked in to find his fling sipping Earl Grey with his mom and perusing his sister’s wedding album.
Horror. Sheer, utter horror.
In hindsight, maybe I don’t blame him.
“It was obvious he felt weird having me just show up,” I say. “He was really nice about it and everything, but as soon as we were alone, he explained that he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. That he just wanted to find out what all the fuss was about.”
“Fuss?”
“With me.” I take a shaky breath and force out the words. “‘Flawless Amber.’” I make air quotes under the shower spray, feeling silly. “He wanted to know what it would be like nailing the girl next door. The chick all the girls wanted to be and all the guys wanted to scr—”
“Jesus.”
“Right. That was me, I guess.”
“Oh, Amber.”
I give a hollow little laugh, not sure if I’m l
aughing at myself or that kid. At how ridiculous it all sounds now. “He tried to let me down gently. He was all, ‘you’re an amazing girl, but I’m just not looking for anything serious.’”
“Ugh. Asshole.”
“He thanked me for boning him—”
“Not in those words, I hope.”
“I might be paraphrasing. Even at seventeen, I could read between the lines.”
Jade gives an odd growl on the other end of the line. “Now I’m sorry I didn’t castrate him.”
I sigh, secretly pleased by her overreaction. “At least he was honest. Anyway, I should have learned a lesson there.”
“What, that men are jerks?”
“No. That I have lousy taste in men. And that there’s no way to live up to anyone’s expectations. And—I don’t know.” I hesitate, lowering my voice. “Maybe that guys who get too close to the real me don’t end up liking what they see.”
It hurts to say those words out loud. It hurts even more that my sister doesn’t automatically deny it.
“I don’t even know where to start with that,” she says. “All of it’s bullshit, though.”
“Thanks.” I grimace. “I think?”
“You’re beautiful and smart and funny and amazing,” she says. “And as far as I know, Sean’s not lousy.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Brandon says he’s a good guy,” she says. “And if the best guy I know says that, it means something.”
I nod, filing that information away in my brain as I rinse conditioner out of my hair. “And I guess I’m older now. Wiser. More equipped for casual sex.”
“And that’s what this is?”
I hesitate, not sure how to answer. “It’s what I want it to be,” I say.
My words don’t sound very convincing, and I wonder if I should tell her I’ve never had that before. Casual sex isn’t my thing. Every guy I’ve slept with—and there haven’t been that many—I’ve thought was a serious boyfriend. Someone I thought I knew.
But looking back at Darrin—or hell, at the fact that my last serious boyfriend turned out to be a felon—it’s clear I don’t know what I’m doing.
There’s one thing I do know. “I really want to sleep with Sean,” I murmur. “A lot.”
“Are you looking for my permission?”
I laugh and finish rinsing soap off my torso. “No. But maybe tell me I’m not an idiot?”
“You’re not an idiot. Not for that reason, anyway.”
I giggle and twist off the taps. “Thanks, Jade. This really helped.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I am now.”
Jade’s quiet a moment. “Whatever you do, I support you. And if you want me to come get you, I will.”
“I know,” I murmur. “That’s not what I want.”
I want him.
“Take it slow if you need to,” she says. “There’s no reason to rush into anything.”
“Except that I want to.”
“There’s that.”
I smile and shift the phone to my other ear as I wrap a fluffy white towel around myself. “Thanks, Jade. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Just say the word if I need to bust out that castration tool.”
I hang up the phone. I’m a little less nervous, but I still feel awkward. What kind of dork needs to talk to her sister before a booty call?
But Sean isn’t just a booty call. I know that in my heart, even as I try to convince the rest of me otherwise. I towel off my hair and contemplate pulling on my bra and panties again. They’re sexy black lace with a thin layer of padding in the bra for extra oomph. They’re the lingerie equivalent of gift wrap, but that’s not what I need right now. I want Sean to see beyond the lace and ribbons and smiles and frills.
I want him to see me.
I stuff the underthings in the pocket of the fuzzy robe and pull that on. The terrycloth is deliciously soft against my bare skin, and I imagine Sean’s fingers tugging at the sash around my waist. The thought of him touching me, caressing me, sends a gang of goose bumps marching down my arms. My whole body lights up like a Christmas candle, and I wonder how it’s possible to be this turned on by a guy who’s not even in the room.
I take a deep breath and reach for the doorknob.
“Here goes nothing,” I murmur, and push open the door.
Chapter 12
SEAN
The second I hear the bathroom door, I whip my head up like a dog waiting for his supper bowl.
Realizing I look too damn eager, I force my gaze back to the Sports Illustrated in my lap and feign interest in an article on concussions in the NFL.
But that makes me seem like a total douchebag, and besides, I can’t not look at Amber.
“Holy shit,” is all I can manage as she walks out of the bathroom in a robe that matches the one I’m wearing. But it’s a completely different garment on her, filled with lush curves and creamy skin and a sash I’m aching to tug with my teeth.
Control yourself.
My mouth has gone dry, so it takes me a second to form words. “You look amazing.”
She smiles and tucks her damp hair behind one ear. “Thanks. Sorry, I forgot to toss my dress out. Did I miss the dry cleaning guy?”
“Nope, not yet.” A knock sounds at the door, and I kinda want to ignore it so I can keep staring at her.
But I force myself up off the bed and grab the plastic garment bag that holds my own sauce-spattered suit. “You can throw it in here,” I offer, and Amber complies. Her hand grazes mine as she drops the dress in, and a pleasant electric surge vibrates all the way up my arm. I wonder if she knows how fucking beautiful she is.
The knock sounds again.
“Better get that,” she says.
“Yep.”
I march toward the door with the bag in hand and spend a few minutes conferring with a fretful-looking woman who frowns at Amber’s dress and mumbles something about it being a lost cause.
“It’s a really great dress,” I murmur as I slip her a crisp hundred. “See what you can do.”
I close the door and turn to see Amber perched on the edge of the bed. Her bare legs are crossed, and her damp hair frames her face. I didn’t notice before that she’d scrubbed off all her makeup, but she looks gorgeous without it. Sweet and flushed and maybe a little vulnerable.
“Hey there,” I say softly, adjusting the sash on my own robe.
“Hey yourself.” She swings her legs and gives me a nervous smile. “I was going to arrange myself on the bed like a Playboy model, but I felt like an idiot, so—”
“No,” I murmur, coming to sit beside her on the bed. “You’re not an idiot. And I don’t need you to pose or primp or do anything but be yourself.”
Her face tilts into a smile, but there’s still uncertainty in her eyes. “I’m a little nervous,” she admits.
“You mentioned that.” I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ears. “How about we just talk?”
“Okay.” She smiles, but it’s a little shaky. “How’s your cat?”
I laugh. “He’s great. Cranky and full of attitude.”
“In other words, normal cat.”
“Yep. And don’t worry, I already called and made sure he’s being fed.”
I don’t know why I avoid telling her it’s my mother filling the supper bowl. Am I hiding something, or just weirded out by talking about my mom when I’m sitting half naked with the girl of my dreams?
Amber bites her lip. “Can I see your tattoo?”
The request surprises me, but I don’t question it. I reach up and slip the terrycloth off one shoulder and turn to give her access.
“Oh,” she says, sending ripples of pleasure through me as she traces it with a fingertip. “It’s smaller than I thought it would be.”
“There’s something every guy wants to hear when he’s in bed with a beautiful woman.”
She giggles but doesn’t stop touching me. “Your fiancée had
a matching one?”
“Toast with jelly.” I wonder if this is a weird thing to talk about under the circumstances, but Amber’s the one who brought it up. I’ll cheerfully chat about taxidermy or polio if that’s what will put her at ease. “I thought about doing a cover-up. I even had an artist sketch something up once.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I shrug, enjoying the tickle of her fingertips on my shoulder. “Same reason Greg and Aline left their candles lit, I guess. It’s part of me. Where I came from and what got me to where I am now.”
She smiles and rests her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes lock with mine, and I catch myself holding my breath. “I love that about you,” she says, and my chest tightens at the use of that word.
Love.
I know that’s not how she means it, but I can’t help that my brain goes there. “I love that you don’t cover up the past or bury things and try to pretend they didn’t happen,” she says.
My gut knots up like wet sisal rope, and I realize I’m clenching my jaw. I should say something. I should say something now, open up to her while I can.
But my thoughts skid off the rails as Amber’s hand trails from my shoulder to my chest. “Sean?”
“Yeah?”
“Touch me.”
They’re the sweetest two words I’ve ever heard in my life, and I sit there for a second just basking in the glow of them.
But a request like that calls for more than that, so I reach out and skim my palm along the side of her face. Cupping her cheek, I hold her gaze and smile. “I’m glad we’re here together.”
“Me, too.”
I lean in and kiss her, taking my time. I mean to go slow, easing into it, giving her a chance to pull back.
But something happens when my lips touch hers. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s Amber, or maybe it’s something chemical that ignites as my tongue grazes hers. She gives a soft little whimper and deepens the kiss, her fingers tunneling into my hair. Her mouth is minty, and I wish I’d bothered to shower or pop a Tic-Tac. But the way Amber is moving against me suggests she’s not exactly appalled by my contact.
“You feel so good.” She presses her body against mine, and I swear to God I’ve never felt anything so amazing.