by Sarina Bowen
“I think…” I have to stop in the middle of the sentence, because I honestly don’t know what to make of all of this. “We’re friends with a lot of chemistry. I didn’t really see that coming. And I don’t think it’s going to go away too easily. So pretending it never happened is a bad strategy. We can’t be like those freaks from California who come to Moo U and then try to wear their flip-flops in the snow.”
She laughs against my chest. “Does that happen?”
“Yeah. You’ll see.” I hold her a little closer. “So we’re probably going to end up doing it again, don’t you think?”
“We will if I have anything to say about it.”
The candor startles me, and I laugh and kiss her forehead. “Okay. So we’re friends who get naked sometimes. Can we try being that?”
She tips her head back and looks up at me. “Yes, Dylan. We can try being that. Just promise me this—you won’t tell our families.”
“Okay?” I hadn’t gotten that far. “But why?”
“I don’t want to explain myself. And it’s none of their business.”
“That’s true,” I agree. I don’t really want to explain myself, either. Everyone is really protective of Chastity. I don’t need that lecture. “I can keep a secret.”
“Okay,” she says.
“But my balls are freezing off right now. So put on this T-shirt and let’s cuddle. I’ll find you a toothbrush if you want.”
Ten minutes later I blow out the candle and hop into the bed with Chastity. The party has quieted down, and the old house settles into its usual creaks and groans.
It’s peaceful here, with Chastity in my arms. I guess it should feel super strange. But it doesn’t really. “I’m sorry I made you feel weird about your scars. I just had no idea how bad it was.”
“I don’t like to talk about it,” she whispers. “It was the most humiliating day in my life. They took turns with the horse whip.”
My eyes slam shut against that image. Another wave of helpless disgust makes my guts roll. “Jesus. I’d really like ten minutes alone with whoever did that to you.”
“So would I,” she says softly. “No—that’s a lie. I never want to see them again. I just want to forget they even exist.”
I sift a hand through her damp hair, and wonder if that actually works. In my experience, the harder I try not to think about something, the worse it gets. “Good thing you don’t ever have to go back there.”
“Good thing,” she agrees.
“I can make you forget about them, you know.”
“Really? How?” She props herself up on an elbow.
“Like this.” I lean in for a kiss. It’s supposed to be a quick one. A joke. But Chastity tastes so sweet that I go in for seconds and thirds. Her smooth hands wrap around my body, and I tangle my legs in hers.
One kiss turns into an epic make-out session. As my lips become swollen with our kisses, it occurs to me that I might be in this a little deeper than I planned.
But kissing is my favorite thing ever, so I’m not going to worry about it too much. Not tonight anyway.
I don’t worry the next day, either. Or the one after that. Over the next few weeks, Chastity and I spend a lot of time together.
In the first place, we have an impressive amount of sex. It’s like when I become obsessed with playing a new song. I need to play it over and over again, and the melody becomes sweeter each time I hear it.
Many late-night hours are spent in my bed, kissing until Chastity’s lips are chafed and making love like we’ve just invented it. We sleep tangled up in each other and wake up needing more.
It’s magic.
The daylight always comes, though, and keeps us busy with other things. Exams loom. There are chemistry labs to complete and papers to write.
On the weekends, I go home to milk cows, press apples, and make caramels. Chastity and I sleep in separate houses and pretend not to crave each other as we work side by side in Leah’s kitchen.
The first time I tried to steal a kiss, though, we almost got caught. Chastity’s hearing must be better than mine, because she broke out of my embrace and made it halfway across the kitchen before Isaac walked through the door with two mugs of coffee for us.
Chastity thanked him sweetly. And there was no damage done, thank God. But after that, she instituted a zero tolerance policy about touching on the weekends.
“But you look hot when you’re stirring caramel,” I’d complained. “And I’m not good at delayed gratification. Can we make a batch of caramel sauce? I have some big ideas for it.”
“Back in your corner,” she’d said. Her eyes had flashed as she’d given my chest a shove. “We’re on a deadline.”
And we are. Chastity is running an entire small business from a spreadsheet on my laptop, and the orders are still coming in thick and fast.
In the bedroom, I’m the one who sets the pace. But in the kitchen, it’s all Chastity. “Measure that. Stir this. Pour it in here.”
The only thing I’m in charge of is the music selection. And I love this setup. I do what she tells me to, all the while admiring her flushed face and bright eyes.
We’ve sold so many caramels. Griffin hasn’t said a bad word about the goats in weeks. And the payments are starting to pile up in Leah’s bank account.
Since our caramels are delivered by Leah on her cheese route, we’re free to drive back to Burlington on Sundays around noon. I speed along highway 89 with my hand on Chastity’s knee. And I don’t even bother with the pretense of asking Chastity if I should drop her off at the dorm.
We drive right back to my place, exchange a few words of greeting with Keith or Rickie, and then climb the stairs to my room. Our clothes come off immediately. And then I show her just how hard it is to spend forty-eight hours without touching her.
It’s a good life. And let’s face it. If it were any other girl, I’d probably already be feeling itchy about spending so much time together. Girls inevitably want things from me that I can’t deliver. They always seem to want to hear that they’re crucial to my very existence. And that’s where I always let them down. I’m twenty years old, and I don’t make promises. If I did, they’d sound cheap to my own ears.
I can’t do it. Who the fuck knows where I’ll be a year from now? Or five? It’s just silly to plan that far ahead. I’ve broken promises before, and it nearly broke me. So now I try not to make any. It’s simple.
But Chastity understands me. She always has. She doesn’t ask those big questions because she has a lot going on in her own life, too. There’s school, which is still hard for her. And she’s made new friends, too.
Like Ellie. And Rickie, surprisingly. Those two are unexpectedly tight. So when Chastity walks through our kitchen door on a Tuesday evening in early December, I’m not actually sure who she’s here to see.
I am, however, happy to see her. “Hey! I was just thinking about you.”
“Really?” She looks a little taken aback. “Whatcha making?” she asks, hanging her coat on a hook. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and I just want to gobble her up.
“I’m reheating some tomato soup. Want some?”
She shakes her head. “I already ate. Plus, Rickie is waiting for me.”
“Again?” I laugh out loud. “What’s the movie this time?”
“Something about a cowboy and a puppy. I forget the title.” She shrugs. “You’d hate it.”
“Puppies are okay,” I point out. “But I could take or leave the cowboy.” I really don’t understand the pact that my roommate and Chastity made. They agreed to watch twenty-four Hallmark movies together before Christmas. “Can’t imagine cowboys are your thing either, right? Didn’t you grow up with cowboys?”
“This isn’t a real cowboy, Dylan,” she scoffs, pulling off her boots. “He’ll have a shiny belt buckle and dimples. And he’ll carry the Christmas tree around while his muscles bulge inside his T-shirt.”
“But nobody gets naked,” I clarify, just to double
check. “I’m not missing any action, right?”
“There might be a kiss at the end.”
Like I said, I don’t understand it. “But I’m still getting action later, right? Come here. I need a moment with you.”
As always, Chastity obeys. She crosses the kitchen to stand in front of me, flushed and happy. “What? The movie is starting.”
“Before you go ogle a fake cowboy, I need a real kiss.” I crook my finger. “Make it a good one.”
She steps closer, and I drop the wooden spoon onto the counter and pull her in. As soon as my warm mouth joins her cool lips, she parts them for me.
And then it’s on. There’s never just one kiss with Chastity. We always get carried away. It isn’t long before I’ve spun us around to pin her against the countertop. Her hands are in my hair, and my tongue is in her mouth.
“CHASS!” yells Rickie from the other room. “You’re missing out! The cowboy just saved a kitten!”
We break apart, panting a little. “You’d better go,” I say hoarsely. “Don’t miss the fake puppies and kitties.”
“The animals are real,” she whispers back. “But very well-behaved. Unlike you.”
“You don’t want me to be well-behaved,” I point out. “You like me naughty.”
“Guilty.” She lifts her chin to smile at me. “Catch up with you later?”
“You can count on it.”
Chastity leaves the kitchen, and I turn off the heat under my soup. It’s hot enough, and so am I. I have a chem lab to write up, but it’s going to be slow going. I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about her.
Last night I had her on her hands and knees until she screamed my name. I’m hard just thinking about it.
When my soup is all gone, I clean up and peek into the living room before heading upstairs. Chastity and Rickie are shoulder to shoulder on the sofa, an ugly afghan stretched over their knees. They’re sharing an enormous bowl of popcorn and dissecting the movie.
“I think the sheriff did it,” Rickie says. “That man is dirty, and not in a fun way.”
“You can tell because he parts his hair in the middle,” Chastity agrees. “I think the dog is going to rat him out.”
“No, the horse. He looks smarter than the dog.”
Chastity laughs, and the sound makes me smile.
I turn and walk upstairs to get a little work done. With any other girl, I’d be a little freaked out at the way she so quickly became a fixture in my life. Maybe I’m just too sexually satisfied to care.
And maybe it will all go bad. Things usually do.
Not tonight, though. Rickie and Chastity look so comfortable that it’s too tempting to sit down and watch dreck just to soak up a little of their inexplicable optimism.
The holidays are coming on fast. I’m not a big fan of Christmas break. It’s a lot of togetherness. Three weeks of getting on each other’s nerves. And then there’s the ache of spending another Christmas without my dad.
I force myself to walk away and head upstairs.
Thirty-Two
Chastity
All my life I’ve known that keeping secrets is hard. But it turns out that keeping secrets from Leah is the hardest.
Even from forty miles, I feel queasy about it. Sitting here in the coffee shop on the velvet sofa, I’m reading Leah’s latest email on my phone. Dylan is sitting right beside me, his hand draped over my knee in that casual way I used to see it draped over Kaitlyn’s.
Life is good. Really good. Except for the guilt I’m feeling as I read.
Where are you? I called last night. I know exam time must be tricky but please call me back because I’m worried about you. Also, I have news about the foundation! We’re really excited over here.
I tap the reply button, but then hesitate because I don’t know how to justify my behavior. In my former life, I lied all the time. Or at least I committed sins of omission. But I did it to protect myself. If anyone on the compound knew what I was thinking about during church, I would have been beaten.
And then I slipped up a couple times and proved that theory right.
But those lies were told for survival. Lying to Leah feels awful. She’s been nothing but kind to me.
Still, I’m not ready to share how often I’m in Dylan’s bed instead of my own. Now I’m the one who barely comes home to the dorm anymore. I keep a toothbrush and a change of clothes at Dylan’s.
I’ve basically taken Kaitlyn’s place as Dylan’s sexually fulfilled, somewhat insecure girl of the moment.
Sorry Leah! I reply. Spending a lot of time at the library. I’ll try to call you tonight. I want to hear about your foundation!
“Leah? Or Ellie?” Dylan asks without looking up from his book.
“Leah. I’d better sleep in my own bed tonight. That way I can see Ellie at dinner and call Leah.”
He looks up. “You could just tell her, you know.”
“Maybe.” But my reply lacks conviction.
“Wouldn’t that be easier?” he presses. “My mom still thinks I’m dating Kaitlyn, by the way. I haven’t corrected her, but I feel like a heel.”
“I’m sorry. Let me think about it,” I hedge. But in my heart of hearts I know I’m not there yet. Leah won’t judge me, exactly. But she’ll shower me with both questions and concern. She’ll ask about birth control, and she’ll probably make noises about Dylan’s lack of interest in relationships.
I don’t want the questions, and I definitely don’t want the lecture. Because I already know he isn’t the kind of guy who ties himself down.
Birth control is a good idea, though. I have an appointment tomorrow to take care of that. Dylan is a faithful user of condoms, but I know I need to own my part in it.
Rickie sets a tray on the coffee table in front of us, and then flops down on the chair we saved for him. “That line! This is why I hate exams.”
“That’s your reason?” I ask. “I hate exams, because I hate exams.” My hands get all sweaty just thinking about finals next week.
He shrugs. Rickie doesn’t ever seem to worry about school. I don’t even know if he goes to class. It’s just one of the many things I don’t understand about him.
“Yay, coffee,” Dylan says, reaching for one of the two enormous cappuccinos on the tray. They’re served in bowls instead of cups.
“That thing is huge. You’re going to be up all night.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Rickie says.
Dylan shakes his head. “No, I got this size because Chastity likes these but never orders them.” He offers me the bowl. “Here. Drink some.”
“Really?” I take it from him and sip from the edge. “Thank you.”
“I have a kink for feeding you,” he says, giving me a smile. “This is also for you.” He lifts a tiny plate off the tray and offers it to me. There’s a single cookie on it, but it’s a work of art. It’s two layers in the shape of a Christmas bell, with a gleaming pool of red jam showing through a cutout in the center.
“Oh. It’s so pretty!” I feel all warm and squishy inside as I trade the bowl for the little plate. The cookie is exactly the sort of exquisite thing that I would never buy myself. I’m too practical. The coffee shop offers a tray of day-old scones and muffins at half price, and they’re the only thing I’ve ever eaten here.
I take a bite, and after the first crunch, the buttery shortbread seems to melt against my tongue. The jam is tangy, too, like raspberries. “Wow,” I say, chewing. “Try this.”
He shakes his head with a smile. “I’ve had them. This one is all for you.” Then he leans in and kisses the side of my face. “It’s your reward for solving question number seventeen.”
“But I haven’t done that one yet.”
“When you do, I’ll just have to think up another reward.” His smile turns slightly wicked.
Across the way, Rickie waves his arm in the air, as if clearing invisible smoke. “Jesus. You guys are basically off-gassing cuteness. And everyone else in here is reeki
ng of Christmas cheer. How do you expect me to keep up my surly facade under these conditions?” He picks up his own giant coffee bowl and takes a gulp.
“Why do you hate the holidays so much?” I have to ask.
“I don’t have anything against the holidays.” He shrugs. “Except Burlington will be a ghost town. No fiddle tunes from Dylan and Keith. Nobody to come over to smoke pot or have sex on my couch…”
“Aren’t you going home for Christmas?” I ask. “I thought you were from Hardwick.” That’s a Vermont town not too far from Tuxbury.
“I’ll probably stop by the parents’ place for Christmas dinner,” he says. “I’ll bring wine and make polite conversation for as long as I can stand it. My parents and I aren’t close.”
Dylan kicks a foot up onto the coffee table, nudging Rickie’s knee with his toe. “Why don’t you come to Christmas Eve at our place? It’s a big party, but casual. The food is awesome. And you can watch Chastity try to ignore me from across the room.”
I laugh because all of that is true. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through Christmas break pretending Dylan and I are just friends. It’s going to be awkward.
“That does sound like fun,” Rickie says. “Will your sister be there?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Of course she will. Although that’s not really a selling point.”
“Says you.”
“Please. If Festivus was a real holiday, it would be Daphne’s favorite. The airing of grievances is right up her alley.”
Rickie grins. “She and I have a lot in common, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Dylan agrees. “Although I enjoy your brand of cynicism more than hers. You throw better parties and you rarely pinch me.”
Rickie sips his coffee. “I might take you up on Christmas Eve.”
“Stay over,” Dylan says. “It’s closer to Hardwick, anyway.”
“I’m not an easy guest,” Rickie says slowly. “You guys might not have room.”
“Sure we do,” Dylan argues. “I’ve got you covered.” They exchange a glance that has more layers of meaning.
