by Molly Ringle
At about that moment, Amber was telling us she wanted to spend the next morning in a Catholic church. She had softened enough toward Tony, and scared enough about the nineteenth, to come to this somewhat arbitrary decision. Perhaps the ancient concept of the church as sanctuary appealed to her, as did the soothing company of a virginal altar boy.
Tony and Shannon, of course, volunteered instantly to sit with her. They even got up the idea of fasting until it was time for Communion at morning Mass. Laurence and I agreed to go along, but only under the condition that we would get to eat whenever we wanted.
For dessert the five of us shared a huge dish of the pub’s “pudding,” which I would have called cake drenched in custard and whipped cream. Amber didn’t eat much. She took a lot of deep breaths and produced several forced smiles. Tony kept up his stream of calming talk, bolstered by Shannon. They hardly looked at Laurence or me.
Laurence excused himself to the restrooms. A couple of minutes later, I did the same.
We hadn’t planned this. The idea merely jumped upon me, a product of months of deceitful habits. But it worked like a new watch.
I rounded the corner into the narrow corridor containing the restrooms and pay phones. Laurence stepped out of the men’s room just as I arrived. The walls hid us from the dining area and muffled the pub noise. We were alone for the moment.
Our gazes linked like magnets. Our feet drew us to the farthest corner. My hands settled onto his sweater, climbing his chest. He fell back against the wainscoting and tugged me close to him. Our lips meshed in a soft, hurried collision, sticky with pudding, slick with desire. A whimper escaped my throat. His breath came faster, flowing warm over my lips. Stolen kisses, I had found, often carried this quality, shaky and sizzling. I knew that from Gil, and from Laurence himself the last two days, but this surpassed them all. No other kiss had ever thrown me from room temperature to take-me-now in under ten seconds.
When we stopped to breathe, glancing around for intruders (of which none appeared, thankfully), I found Laurence looking as if he felt much the same. Cheeks and lips flushed, eyes sparkling yet unfocused, he blinked at me in wonder. “That was the best dessert I’ve ever had.”
I snuggled into his arms. “Me too.”
His hands squeezed my hips. “I’m not sure I’ve had enough.”
Could a double wallop of love and lust actually make you faint? I suspected so. “Wish I could bring some up to your room later,” I said.
Alas, in order to keep Amber company from the stroke of midnight onward, our entire group of friends had agreed to camp out together in the third floor study room. But if the others fell asleep, and Laurence and I could steal half an hour...
“We might find a way,” he said, evidently thinking along the same lines. He bent his head, imprinting my mouth with one last tingling, tangy kiss. “Better get back to our table.” He slid his hand across my breast. “Separately.”
With a wicked smile, he strolled away, leaving me in charmed shock. I had inspired the priggish Laurence Hawthorn to cop a feel in public. Holy saints above.
* * *
The study room on the third floor contained two bookshelves of motley reading material, a floor lamp, and three beat-up couches with scratchy upholstery. We hauled the cushions onto the floor and, with our sheets, duvets, and pillows, transformed them into decent mattresses.
“I’ve never been to a co-ed slumber party,” Tony remarked, wriggling down under his blankets with a grin.
“I feel like we should be playing Spin the Bottle,” Shannon said, and then shot me another of those suddenly guilty looks.
I tried not to glance at Laurence, reclining on the makeshift mattress beside mine. My hormones revved as I pictured myself tackling him, right here, melding our mouths together, wrapping our limbs around each other...
“Laurence?” Amber said meekly, bringing my fantasy to a stumbling halt. She sat with her duvet around her shoulders, her face washed clean of makeup, but still gorgeous as ever. Her eyes regarded him with anxiety. “It’s fifteen minutes till midnight. I’ll only ask one more time. Even here in front of everyone.” She summoned up a coy smile, though it looked like it took some muscle. “Take me up to your room?”
He smiled as well, and his voice was kind when he answered. “And I’m telling you one last time: no. I can’t. I won’t. End of discussion.”
She nodded, tightening the duvet around herself. “That’s what I thought. Wouldn’t have been my best performance anyway. I’m too nervous.”
Shannon crawled over and hugged her. “Amber, we’re all here. We’re not letting anything get you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Laurence added. “After tomorrow you’ll be feeling great and back to your old saucy tricks.”
“Also,” said Tony, holding up a travel-size Bible, “I brought my good book and a crucifix, and I think I can give exorcism a shot if I have to, though I’m not technically qualified.”
Amber bowed her head, smiling. “Thanks. You guys are the best. Seriously, every one of you.”
Ouch. Pinch on the ass from my conscience, there.
“We love you, Amber,” I said, to compensate.
“Guess what?” Shannon said. “I brought a big book, too. Amber’s favorite.” She leaned over and pulled Gone with the Wind out from under her pillow. “Ta-da! Shall we take turns reading and lull our dear Miss Scarlett to sleep?”
We agreed to the plan, and settled into our blankets, leaving on the lamp. Shannon began (“Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but...”), and after a chapter she handed it off to me. Tony took the following turn, then Laurence. He read in a low, lilting, near-monotone voice, a pitch calculated to settle listeners into slumber.
I watched from my pillow as they succumbed: Tony first, then Shannon, then, at long last, Amber. Laurence left a long pause at the end of a sentence. No one stirred. He lowered the book and looked at me.
Pulse hammering, I nodded.
He set Gone with the Wind next to Amber’s pillow. We stole out of the room and jogged up to the fourth floor, where he pulled me into his room. He reached down and switched on a table lamp, still holding my hand. His bed beckoned with its duvet thrown open near the pillows. I looked away. Give me a minute here, bed.
He locked the door. “Evening.”
I stood swinging my arms. “Hiya.”
He stepped closer. I wondered if we required more small talk, some endearments, any civilized discourse...
He placed both hands on my boobs. “A little larger than they look, you know.” He fondled them through my T-shirt. “Hmm, no bra now. I like.”
Okay. No small talk necessary.
I burst into giggles--complicated giggles spawned from nerves, amazement, love, and want. He seemed to understand, smiling at me.
“I...” I said. “I didn’t know you’d...how you’d...”
He left my chest alone for the moment and drew me by the hand toward his bed. “I don’t know how you’ll do things either.” He sat down, pulling me with him. “Sort of hoped we might find out.”
We leaned forward at the same second and met in a kiss, which soon caught fire and became the roaring blaze we had kindled at the pub.
“I thought you wouldn’t do this until Tony left,” I said between breaths.
“I thought so too, but apparently I can’t wait.” He tackled me and we fell over onto the mattress.
We flung his duvet over our legs for warmth and went on kissing. Within a couple of minutes he shoved up my shirt to get an eyeful--and mouthful--of my A-cups.
“Larger than they look?” I said. “So they look like absolute flatness?”
“Under a thick sweater, yeah,” he said, but grinned and nuzzled his face against them all the same.
Soon I lay on top of him, both of us bare-chested, with only our thin pajama bottoms between us. These did very little to hide shapes and textures, I might add.
“Is that what you felt when you molested me?” he whispered.<
br />
I hid my face on his neck, smiling. “All too briefly.”
“Feel whatever you like, as long as you like.”
Oh God.
I did. So did he.
My skin felt fever-hot. I tried to swallow my moans and whimpers at first, but he liked them; he echoed them, and murmured affirmatives. Besides, no one was around to hear. That was the beauty of a private room and a very late hour.
Once, for my landscaping job, I had planted a wide bank of dianthus blossoms in an old man’s garden--carnations, to most people. The smell of that job intoxicated me, the soothing earth and water mingling with the clove-like spice of the flowers. Every couple of minutes, while planting, I buried my nose in them and inhaled, unable to get enough of the scent. It reminded me of something delicious and dear, but I could never place what.
Now I knew. It smelled like Laurence. Or at least, he smelled like that alluring bed of carnations, with a dose of boy pheromones sprinkled on top. I breathed it on his skin and tasted it on his tongue. I wanted to drink the flavor all night.
At last, sometime in the wee hours, we lay naked, sated, and exhausted. I tried to stay awake, my face on his chest, knowing we had to get up early and accompany Amber to Mass, and hang out the whole day to see if she died or what exactly. My emotions were mixed about that possibility. If Amber was going to die in the next twenty-four hours, this act of love gained a deeper importance somehow, a stronger link between her surviving and mourning friends. If nothing happened, as seemed likelier, then that was even better, as we’d all be free of worrying about it, and Laurence and I could get on with our schedule of amorous events.
“Mutual masturbation,” Laurence said, a little too clearly in the silent air.
I grunted. “Thank you, science man.”
“Is not only enjoyable, but something teenagers should do more often. Would greatly reduce unplanned pregnancy rates.”
I lifted my head. “More often as opposed to regular sex?”
“Right.”
“Which you have done at some point?”
“Well...” He squeezed one eye shut, peering at me through the other. “Would I seem totally less of a man if I hadn’t?”
I hugged him. “I’ll have to taunt you about it. But you obviously have some experience, so, nah, not a problem.”
“Someday we’ll talk about that. Or not. It isn’t very interesting, really.”
“Nonsense. I’ll want to hear all the jealousy-making details.”
“Speaking of which...” I felt him turn his head to look down at me. “Did you and Wilson, or anyone...”
I nodded. “Wilson. Nobody else, with the regular sex I mean. Definitely not Tony. Nothing with Tony.”
He hugged me tighter for a second. “Good.” He said it quietly, and I figured I knew what he meant: Good, you didn’t shag Gil.
Hopefully he’d forgive me for my one episode in which I did get this far with Gil, whenever I tell him about that. But I planned to make up for it by giving Laurence the high score in number of hot sessions. Hell, he’d get one every few hours if I had any say in it.
I sat up on my elbow and kissed him. “This was better than anyone else. Ever.”
His well-kissed lips looked like raspberry-hued silk in the lamplight. His hair lay in a tangle. He stroked a finger down my cheek. “I think I love you, girl.”
“Yeah?” I lowered my head till our noses touched. “I know I love you. So there.”
We rested on his pillow a minute longer, then he stirred. “God, when do we have to get up?”
I looked at my watch and groaned. “In three hours. And speaking of Tony...”
“Yeah, we’d better go back to the study room. Just in case.”
“Okay.” I surveyed the rumpled pile of duvet and sheets. “So. Where are my pants?”
When we were dressed, Laurence got up with me. He kissed me again before unlocking and opening the door. “Hope no one--” He choked off the end of the sentence.
I turned, and my heart seized up.
Outside the door, against the wall in the corridor, sat Tony. He gazed at us, looking tired and hollow, as if he had been sitting there and listening a long time.
Chapter Forty-Three: All Hell
“Tony.” My greeting was lame, stunned.
Laurence, who was smarter, said nothing.
Tony blinked at me. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”
“No.” Fear produced the word before I could reconsider. I stepped toward him. “No, it’s nothing, I promise. What are you doing up here? Is everything all right?”
“Nothing?” He braced his sock-clad feet against the floor and pushed himself up the wall until he stood. Reaching over his shoulder, he knuckled his back where it had touched the paneling. His voice came out low, deadened. “Didn’t sound like nothing.”
“We were only talking.” My heart raced; I felt my pulse in my fingers and lips. “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you up, and Laurence happened to be up too, so...”
“For two hours?” Tony’s words still emerged soft.
“Two?” I echoed. “I don’t know if it was two hours. I mean--”
“I woke up two hours ago. You guys weren’t there. You weren’t in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or anywhere else. I finally came back to the study room, and Shannon woke up.” Tony’s gaze climbed past me to Laurence. “She suggested I try Laurence’s room.”
The floor seemed to wobble under my feet. Shannon betrayed me?
“I was going to knock,” Tony went on, “then I heard...” He looked down, voice faltering. “I should have gone away. They say if you listen at keyholes you only hear what you don’t want to. That’s the truth.”
Even as the ashamed blush seared my face, I stuck to my implausible story. “It doesn’t mean anything. Look, you know how we joke around, make off-color remarks--”
“Eva.” This time it was Laurence. He sounded as icy as the North Sea. “Stop lying. He knows.”
For the first time I realized how my denials must have sounded to Laurence. I spun to face him. He stood rigid, one hand clutching the open door, oceans of hurt in those proud green eyes.
I tried to plead with my gaze, to make Laurence understand. “We don’t need to have this discussion tonight. We’re all tired, and--and things were probably misheard--”
“Things like ‘mutual masturbation’?” Tony’s sudden shout rang off the walls. “And ‘Where are my pants?’ And ‘I’ve never done this with Tony’?”
I spun back to him, my skin freezing and then hot in a two-punch flash. He had heard it all. My life plunged another level deeper into hell. “Please,” I squeaked. “It’s not like it sounds.”
Meaning, I wasn’t sleeping around with just anyone. I didn’t want to hurt Tony, and this wasn’t how I wanted him to find out I loved Laurence. But my exhausted mind malfunctioned, and kept sending the wrong signals to my vocal cords.
“I am sorry, Tony,” Laurence began, but Tony shot him a look.
“Don’t talk to me right now. God, you! Mister Self-Control! What got into you?”
Laurence seemed to hesitate between answering and keeping his mouth shut as requested. He chose silence and looked at the floor.
“Are we finished?” Tony’s words vibrated through me. He kept his arms wrapped tight around his chest. “You and me, is it over? That’s all you have to say: ‘Yes, it’s over.’ I’m not an idiot. I know what I heard.”
“I...I guess...but...”
“But?” Laurence repeated, incredulous.
I turned to him.
“Eva,” he said, “we’re through lying. Aren’t we? Or were you lying to me too, in there?”
Breathing fast, I searched his face for some sign of mercy. “Why are you doing this?”
“You’re sleeping with Laurence.” Tony enunciated the sentence distinctly. “Aren’t you?”
I pivoted back to him. “No! Not ‘sleeping with,’ not like that. This was the first time. And I’m
sorry I lied--both of you, I’m sorry--but I didn’t want to hurt you; I didn’t want this to be--”
“Do you want to keep sleeping with him,” Tony interrupted, “or do you want to stop?”
“I…I don’t want it to be like this. This isn’t fair--”
“Can’t you answer?” Laurence’s quiet tones stood in contrast to Tony’s ringing temper, and frightened me far worse, which I hadn’t thought possible.
I looked at him, trembling. “Come on. You know what I mean.”
“What do you mean? When are you going to stop lying?”
“I don’t want to choose like this, when we’re all tired, and mad, and...”
Laurence laughed bitterly, shaking his head as he looked me over, as if regretting the purchase of an expensive gadget that had just broken on the first try. “Thank you for that ringing endorsement, Judas. I’ll leave you two to work it out. Please tell Amber my dessert didn’t agree with me, and I needed to rest in my own room a while. I’ll see her in the morning.” He took in Tony in a parting glance, and then settled his gaze on me. “Don’t bother speaking to me tomorrow.” He slammed his door. The lock shot into place.
Tears flooded my eyes. I pounded both palms on the cold wood. “Laurence! No! Wait, please.”
“He meant Peter.” Tony spoke softly now.
I rolled around to face him, my head and shoulders leaning on the door.
“Peter’s the one who denied Jesus,” Tony added. “Disavowed any association with him. It’s me you’re playing the Judas with. Or closer, anyway.”
Sniffling, I wiped my eyes on my T-shirt sleeve. “I’ve screwed everything up. I love you both. Do you believe me?”
“I want to.” He slumped sideways against the wall again, as if his strength had given out. “But how can I believe you anymore?”
“I didn’t want it to happen this way.”
“Gosh. Me neither.”
“I mean...” I swallowed, forcing back my self-pitying sobs. “I would have told you. Really.”
“Told me that you’re leaving me for Laurence?” A hoarseness flickered in his voice, as if tears hid in his throat, too.
