“How are you doing?”
“Good, really good. Thanks. How are you?”
“Oh, great.”
He glanced around. “Are you meeting anyone here?”
“Just my friends,” I said, pointing in Terrie’s direction.
“Lots of guys are coming here later, you know.”
“Oh, that doesn’t surprise me.” I smiled at him. “Events with beer and without chaperones are traditionally popular.”
“Yeah, but you — you’re such a friendly person. You meet people easily, especially when there’re lots of people to meet.”
I didn’t exactly agree with this but, since Di had left to go to college, social interactions at school had become less torturous. “Thanks,” I told Jason.
“And Glen Forest’s a real friendly place, too. I’ve always thought so, haven’t you?”
He was losing me with his thought progression, but I was in the mood to be agreeable, so I said, “Sure.”
“So many nice people in one spot,” he added, then he studied his cuticles for a second. “Um, Ellie, about that — are you okay with me being here with Amy? I know we said we were just friends and could date whoever we wanted, but I don’t want you to feel — ”
“I’m fine with it, Jason. Really.” I plastered an absolutely delighted grin on my face.
He exhaled hard and heavy. “Oh, good. I was a little worried, but you’re really cool, you know that?”
I just nodded and kept grinning.
He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. A peck that hardly registered. “I’ll never, ever forget prom night,” he said with a seriousness that bordered on the comical.
“Me either,” I assured him.
He flashed one last bright smile at me before bounding off to find his princess. Nice guy, despite his memory impairment and complete lack of lovemaking skills. Jane often likened him to her affable, albeit simplistic book character, Mr. Bingley, which, I supposed, wasn’t too far off.
But where, oh, where was my hero? My Mr. Darcy? Not here, to be sure. Glancing around Chad’s backyard, I spotted a handful of other Bingley types, the scary Mr. Collins replicas, and a bunch of pure bad-guy Wickhams but —
“Are you still grumpy?” the voice of the Mr. Wickham I knew best said behind me.
“I am never grumpy, Sam. Although, occasionally, I’m rather irritated.”
He elbowed my ribs as he came to stand beside me. “What’s with the snooty language? ‘I’m rather irritated…’” he mimicked. “Been reading all those highbrow British novels again?”
That boy is detestable, Jane remarked.
He, apparently, doesn’t think too highly of you either, I replied to her. And your highbrow language is rubbing off on me.
Nonsense! she said.
“Nonsense.” I slipped and said this aloud in imitation of her. Sam quirked a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Yeah, you have been,” he said. “You really get into all that English lit crap, don’t you? But, hey, that’s okay by me. It keeps you from being my competition.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m planning on med school,” he said, pride and a hint of worry in his voice. “So don’t suddenly give up the English and decide to pursue science.” He grinned a little. “I’m hoping my classmates will be a bunch of morons.”
I chose to overlook the backhanded compliment and focus on Sam’s professed career goals instead. I’d suspected his interest in medicine, but I hadn’t gotten confirmation of it before that night. Certainly, his fascination with human anatomy was clear.
“So, that’s what you’re going to study?” I asked, knowing my love of literature would, indeed, keep me away from the sciences. “You’re that sure you’ll like it?”
“I’m that sure.” He shrugged. “I still need to get through four years of undergrad bio stuff before applying but, yeah. There were a few things in life I knew right away. That was one of ’em.”
Distracted by him, I took a sip of my beer before I realized it, then grimaced at its unrelenting bitterness. “Blah. I can’t stand this stuff.”
He gave me a speculative glance. “Well, I’ve got something else in my car.”
“What?”
“C’mon.” He tugged on my arm. “I’ll show you.”
I stood firm. “Sam Blaine, I won’t be dragged into your car and plied with alcohol, never to be seen or heard from again.”
He looked offended. “The hell with you, Ellie. It’s not like I’d drug you, attack you and then toss your body into a swamp. Get over yourself.” He took several angry steps away from me.
“I — I — ” I began. I didn’t know why he always brought out this combative side of me but, this time at least, he didn’t deserve an accusation like that. “Sorry,” I said finally. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
He shot me a look, unsmiling. “That’s okay. Listen, I have rum and Coke. Come have some with me if you want. Skip it if you don’t.” He took another few steps away, but then he paused and turned back toward me. Waiting.
Ellie…Jane said, her tone heavy with warning.
I followed him.
Unlike my car, which was parked pretty much right outside Chad’s front door, Sam’s was a good block away from the house and from most of the other cars. But, with four minutes of brisk walking, we got to it fast.
As we slid into his parents’ Oldsmobile, I couldn’t get over the weirdness of the whole thing. Me and Sam. Sitting in a car. Drinking. Talking about our college plans. It was like a scene from a John Hughes teen flick. I glanced around but didn’t see anybody filming.
“Give me your beer,” Sam commanded.
I handed it over and watched as he dumped the disgusting liquid out the window. He flipped open a Coke can and poured half of the soda into my plastic cup. Then he pulled out a small bottle of rum and added a generous amount to both my glass and into his half-full Coke can. He handed the cup back to me.
“Cheers,” he said. “Here’s to finally graduating.”
“If we survive finals next week,” I added, clinking beverages with him.
We both drank. The sweet, syrupiness of the mixture was heaven after the beer, but beneath the sugared swirl of caffeine, an alcoholic bite lay in wait nonetheless.
After several swigs, I blurted, “You were really great onstage tonight. I didn’t know you were planning to enter Air Band.”
He shrugged but couldn’t hide a grin. “A bunch of us decided to do it last week. We were fooling around but it was kinda fun.”
“Oh. Well, nice job. I — I didn’t see the very end, but I heard that the guys doing the Scorpions won it.”
“Yep. They closed the show. They were awesome.” Sam paused, his blue eyes burning into me. “Why’d you leave early?”
I gulped some air. “To get a good parking space here, of course.”
He nodded, but he didn’t look like he believed me. And, since it was a total lie, he had good reason not to. I was reminded of something Jane told me once: “If a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavor to conceal it, he must find it out.” I knew I’d let my guard down too much with Sam. That I was being too obvious. So I tried to relax, pull back, be cool.
He pointed to my almost-empty cup. “Want some more?”
“Sure.”
He opened a new can of Coke and fixed both of our drinks stronger this time. A half hour went by. Maybe an hour. I don’t know how long we sat there, sipping, talking and eventually laughing. I felt lightheaded to the point of giddiness, but it wasn’t from the rum.
Jane said, for probably the tenth time, You should leave.
But I shrugged her off and, instead, found myself talking with Sam about the chemistry II exam we had coming up on Monday.
“Stop worrying, Ellie. You’re gonna ace it. You always do.” He slanted a devious look my way. “And you can bet I will, too.”
I smirked, feeling full of myself and of the confidence that alcoholic consumption brings. “If I were a betting g
irl, I wouldn’t waste my time on such an easy wager.”
His brows rose slowly and he leaned in close. “Really? And what would be one worth your time?”
I looked deep into his eyes. His pupils had dilated to huge dark orbs ringed by blue. He must be pretty buzzed if not actually drunk. I sighed and figured Jane was right and I should leave.
“I said if I were a betting girl, but I’m not one.” My confidence slipped a notch. “Not by a long shot.”
The edges of his lips curved upward. “Well, I’m a betting guy. And I’ve got a wager for you.”
I blinked. Curiosity made me ask, “Really?”
“Really,” Sam said.
Really foolish, Jane chimed in. It is long past time to return to the party, Ellie. This instant would be preferable. Say goodnight to the conniving Mr. Blaine.
No, Jane. I want to know.
As the saying goes, Jane began coolly, curiosity killed the —
“Tell me, Sam,” I said. “What would you bet?”
He gave me a long, hard stare. “Put the cup down, Ellie.”
I put it down.
“Slide a little closer to me,” he said.
I slid.
I saw him put his Coke can on the floor. He swallowed. “I bet,” he whispered, “we can’t stay this close for two minutes before one of us makes a move.”
I swallowed this time. “A move? You mean, on each other?”
He nodded.
“So, um, one hundred and twenty seconds.” I glanced at my watch for emphasis. It had a second hand, but I couldn’t read it. My entire arm was trembling.
He reached over and grabbed my wrist, twisting it a bit so he could check the time. It didn’t hurt, but his very grasp made my skin tingle. “It’s been thirty seconds,” he said.
“What counts as a move, in your opinion?” The longer he held my arm, the less bold I felt. Breathing became a challenge, and my heart raced so fast I could no longer distinguish the beats.
“A touch that would be considered inappropriate in public.” He eyed me archly. “Or a kiss, of course.”
“Of course.”
I could almost taste his rum-soaked lips on mine, and a thought that would’ve been inconceivable two hours ago hit me like a slap: I really wanted him. I wanted Sam Blaine.
In an instant I dismissed my old vow to avoid him and remembered in its place a different promise to myself. That this time I got to choose a lover. And I was going to choose him.
Dear heavens, no! Jane cried.
Sam bent my wrist again to read the watch. “Fifty seconds. You’re really holding out, Barnett.”
“You expected me to be overcome by your charm?” I gave a breezy laugh, a shallow, flirtatious trick for garnering male attention, but effective.
He blinked and put his mouth against my ear. “Yes.”
I held still, but the tiny hairs covering my body jerked to attention.
“One minute, ten seconds,” I said calmly, although I had no idea if this were true.
I felt his breath on my skin — first my earlobe, then my neck, then my cheek.
“How many more seconds?” he rasped out. “Are we there yet?”
He was too near me, I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even fake it. “I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Close enough.” He tilted his head and brought his lips down on mine.
Sam’s kiss was long and slow and utterly inquisitive. His hands roamed my shoulders, giving off a penetrating heat that singed my skin beneath my clothing. He pulled off the sweatshirt I had draped around me and untucked my T-shirt with a single tug. I felt his fingers walk up my spine and burn delicious tiny tracks on my back. A moan escaped me.
“Oh, God, Ellie,” he murmured as my own hands grasped the taut skin that rose just above the waistband of his Levi’s.
He lunged against me, chest-to-chest, his tongue entering my mouth more forcefully now. I couldn’t help it. I welcomed the invasion and craved more.
The back of my head pressed hard against the passenger-side window. I felt the jab of the door lock in my left shoulder blade. My legs twisted awkwardly to the right, and I was getting a cramp in one foot, but I didn’t complain. I didn’t want Sam to stop.
He did anyway.
He pulled back and gave me an almost tender look. “That can’t be comfortable.”
I shook my head.
He kissed my nose. “Doyouwannamovetothebackseat?” he whispered, a sentence spoken so hurriedly it might’ve been one slurred word instead of seven.
I nodded.
He lifted himself off of me and clumsily climbed between the two front seats and into the back. This inelegance, in a guy who so often radiated cool self-assurance, was more endearing than a love note. He held his hand out for me and helped me make the awkward journey as well.
We sat for a long moment, facing each other on the smooth vinyl cushion, until Sam, with a very deliberate gesture, wrapped his arms around me and brought me to him again. His expression had a seriousness etched into it, a combination of intensity and vulnerability I’d never before seen in him. His pupils looked more dilated than ever, a sure sign of inebriation, and I felt an acute stab of disappointment that he was only here, only with me this way, because he’d been drinking.
“Look, Sam,” I began, “I’m not drunk and — ”
“I’m not drunk either.”
“But your eyes are dilated, and we did have all this rum — ”
His lips formed a lopsided grin. “Your eyes are dilated, too, and you drank just as much rum.” He shrugged. “Hey, I’m not kissing you because I’m wasted,” he said, somehow able to read my mind. “Pupils can dilate not just from being high on something. It happens in dim light. It also happens when you like somebody.”
I put my arms around him now. “Is this the future doctor speaking?”
He shook his head. “This is the guy who’s wanted to kiss you like this since sophomore year speaking.”
“Oh.”
He licked his lower lip and tugged on me until my hips slid along the seat. Until I was lying down and he was above me, his face millimeters from mine. “Yeah, Ellie. ‘Oh.’”
Then he kissed me again, holding nothing back.
While the Oldsmobile’s backseat could hardly be considered spacious, I was impressed by the degree of maneuverability we achieved. In the course of less than five minutes, he’d wedged off my T-shirt and bra and managed to unsnap and unzip my jeans.
In another five minutes, I’d divested him of his shirt and wrestled his Levi’s to the floor. He jerked my jeans down the rest of the way until there was nothing between us but my panties and his boxers. Yes, he was a boxers guy.
With a groan, he pressed his hard erection against me and my breath got stuck in my larynx. I labored for air.
He kissed my mouth with a wanting that made my nipples peak, then he broke away and kissed my nipples. His tongue swirled over them, suckled them, very gently loved them. I wanted to melt into him as our bodies moved together. He put his cheek against mine and thrust his hips hard again. Desire shot through me, and I had to smother an overwhelming urge to shout out.
“Please, Ellie. Say yes to the question I’m about to ask.”
“Yes.”
I heard him gulp some air. “But you don’t know the question, and I don’t want you to — ”
“Sure I do,” I said, my voice breathy. “Make love to me, Sam. Please. Right here. Right now.” Because I’ve chosen you, I added silently.
There was a long, heated pause in which I heard Jane screaming Exclamations Of Horror in my head. I’d ignored her rising levels of aggravation for the past hour, but it was time to lock her out. Sorry, Jane, I said as I did it. Then I waited for Sam’s reply.
“You really are incredibly smart,” he said into my ear at last. “You guessed my question.”
“Yes, I’m brilliant,” I replied, not that it took a PhD in neurochemistry to figure out a teen male’s backseat intentions. �
�Look, Sam, if you hadn’t asked me, I’d have asked you.”
He chuckled with what sounded like incredulity. “I had no idea you’d developed this wild side, Ellie Barnett.” He grabbed for his jeans, pulling a thin wallet out of the back pocket. “But I’ve never not liked anything about you.”
The double negatives gave my slightly rum-addled brain a second’s pause but, once I’d determined his words were intended as praise, I let it go. For one of the few times in my life, I let everything go and just allowed myself to fall into the moment.
He drew out a condom and ripped the foil. Instead of rushing to put it on, though, he set the opened packet on the ledge by the rear window and returned to kissing me. Something in that simple gesture made my heart leap.
His fingers slid down my hips and over — then under — the fabric of my panties. He rubbed his thumb pad against the sensitive folds of skin between my legs and up to the aching nub. He lifted his fingers off me and shifted just enough to move his hands more easily. Then, in one fluid motion, he skimmed the panties off my body and placed his thumb back where it had been before.
He slipped one long finger inside of me and pulled it out. He repeated this, his thumb rubbing and arousing the whole time. A wet stickiness began to flow freely from deep within me, and I wanted to call out to him to stop because I couldn’t control it. My nerves took part in a frenzied dance just beneath the surface of my skin. The rest of my system was pure chaos.
He thrust the long finger in again, farther this time, pulled it out and brought it back, now joined by another. The pressure inside me was harder, more intense. I couldn’t help it, I moaned and, in response, he moaned, too. I lifted my hips up to meet his fingers.
“What can I do to get you closer?” he asked.
I didn’t speak, but our eyes met and, silently, I tried to express that he was already doing everything right.
So he kept probing, his strokes smooth and sensual, until my remaining control almost fractured from the agony of wanting him.
In desperation, I snatched at the foil packet and pressed it to his chest. When he withdrew his fingers from my body to grasp it, I jerked his boxers down. He winced.
“Sorry,” I said.
“No, it’s okay. I just — my body’s a little touchy right now. It’s not a bad thing.” He glanced out of the car window and into the depth of the night, inky-black except for the thin beam of illumination from a lone streetlamp. Then he looked down at me and broke into a grin. “If anyone interrupts us, I will kill them with my bare hands.”
According to Jane Page 18