“Not as perfect as you.” His fingers draw ticklish circles on the nape of my neck.
“Come on.” I roll my eyes and grin. “I thought we were past the ‘no you’re more perfect’ phase in our relationship. Try some more sophistication and we’ll give it another go.”
“I accept your challenge.” His voice drops low and rumbling and he purrs sensually into my ear, “When we met, I saw how perfect you were and I fell in love with you. And then I realized you were far from perfect and I loved you even more because of it.” He stops, looks me in the eyes as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “How was that?”
I’m speechless as Ebony takes the mic and announces, “Our next reader is a newbie continuing the tradition of wooing his lady with a poem. Brian Ward, everybody.”
Rhett and I clap in sync and I can feel his biceps flexing against my back. Brian’s awkward and uncomfortable as he takes the stage, adjusting the microphone to compensate for his gawky height. His blonde hair is slicked back and he wears a bowtie in respect for the magnificence of the occasion.
He reads a sweet and sincere but utterly unremarkable for my best friend and she greets him with open arms once he’s finished, thrilled beyond her wildest dreams. They spend the rest of the night holding hands and exchanging cute words. He orders her drinks and it’s nice to finally see Sky with someone who respects her and likes her for who she is.
As for Rhett, he’s entranced by the poets who read after Brian. He’s trying not to get too, um, excited before we go back to my house and I enjoy myself by watching him watch them. His eyes light up at the flawless choices of words rhythmically pounding from the stage. For once, the poems of love and loss and beauty and heartbreak manage to hold my attention, even the ones put forth by notoriously horrible douchewads. Our hands are twined together as poet after poet takes the stage. Rhett wraps me into several rounds of thumb wrestling before the readings end with resounding applause from the audience. The lights turn up and we stand. Excitement, suppressed during the day, bubbles through me as I smile at Rhett. He’s obviously antsy as he bobs from foot to foot.
“Del, Rhett!” Sky calls to us right before we leave. Brian’s holding her hand tightly and it’s refreshing to see him a respectable distance and not groping her at every opportunity. “It was good seeing the two of your tonight, considering everything’s about to change.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively and punches me on the arm like we’re fifth graders about to embark on an epic mission for our teacher.
I roll my eyes. “You crazy kids better get going; it’s nearly nine thirty, won’t your babysitters be worried about your safety?”
Sky stares at me, un-amused, and looks between me and Rhett before smiling briefly with a wish of good fortune. “Be safe, youngsters. But not too safe, if you know what I mean.” She winks and Brian laughs awkwardly, unaccustomed still to Sky’s blatant comfort with sex and sexuality. She leans in and huge me with one arm. “Good luck. Remember my advice. No missionary.”
The two of them leave as I turn red.
Rhett squeezes my hand and asks, “What’d she say?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. “Some tips, I guess. Ready to go?”
“Back to your place?”
I bite my lips, confidence diminishing by the second. “If that’s still okay with you.”
All of a sudden, he lifts me off my feet and plants a firm kiss on my lips until I’m giggling with his levels of public affection. He grows serious and says, “There’s nothing I’ve wanted more in my life than to spend tonight with you.”
I take Rhett’s hand as we reach my house. He shoves the door open and shuts it behind him, pulling me closer until our bodies touch.
He kisses me softly and asks, “What are you thinking about?”
“Honestly?” I bite my lip, embarrassed. For the past few hours, the only thought on my mind has been getting him upstairs and being able to be with him like we never have. He nods and I say, dropping my voice low because I know it makes him crazy, “I’ve been trying to remember what your abs look like.”
“Oh?” He lifts an eyebrow. His eyes graze, unabashed, over my body and I can’t stop myself from blushing. “Well then-” his voice is a tempting rumble in my ears “-why don’t I show you?”
I nod and smile and lead him up the steps. My heart races against my ribs, nervousness swiftly being replaced by excitement. We reach my bedroom and I take charge, like Sky told me to, for once. I grab him and bring his body to mine. My fingers knot in the curls at the nape of his neck as I press my lips hungrily to his. I allow my inhibitions to slip away and run my hands down his chest until they stop at the hem of his shirt.
Rhett pauses as my hands feel over the cloth of his shirt. “Are you sure you want to do this? Because if you don’t…just, tell me if you want to stop and-”
“Shut up,” I breathe against his lips. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Well then,” he laughs. Then his palm finds the doorknob and turns and we’re in my bedroom. Neither of us hits the lights but there’s moonlight filtering in through the sheer curtains, illuminating him in ethereal light. “Did you clean for me, Cordelia Kane?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I did. I’m sort of a mess, if you haven’t noticed.”
“You’re my mess, though,” he persists.
Then his fingers ghost to the chilled zipper on the back of my blouse and something deep and foreign lunges through me. I clasp myself to him because I can’t get close enough as he drags the zipper slowly down my back. Rhett takes a small step back as my blouse falls to the ground and, instead of feeling exposed and awkward at showing him a body I’ve never quite been comfortable in, I feel free.
Everything makes sense as I slip out of my skirt and Rhett appraises my bare chest. “Wow.” I giggle and he goes on, “Seriously.”
“Do you want to…?”
I trail off and take his tentative hand in mine, lead it to my collarbone and let go. His strong fingers fall to my breasts and my nerves set on fire at this new touch. His fingers experimentally squeeze and move over me and he makes a soft guttural sound that most definitely isn’t a word. Taking this as a queue, I press gently on his chest and he folds onto the bed, my bed where I’ve slept for years and have never thought of as anything special until Rhett is sitting there, eyes wide and heart beating fast.
He takes his hands from me to remove his shirt and I’m instantly aching for the warmth and perfection of his touch. Then his shirt is tossed to the floor and I have to stop myself from going slack jawed.
I allow myself to look at him, the flawless shape of the muscles I’ve felt through every embrace and the utopian tan of his skin glistening in the pale light. “It’s like you’ve been photo shopped onto my bed. Absolutely ridiculous.”
Then he lies down and pulls me on top of him. I straddle his hips and kiss him energetically, breathing heavier as his mouth moves from mine and down my neck. I can feel his teeth lightly against my skin as his fingers lock on the lacy latches of my new bra and the sensation makes me mad with a new primal desire far within me.
Rhett blushes heatedly under me as his fingers struggle with my bra and admits, “I can’t get it. Never done this before.”
I roll my eyes though I’m as red as he is, thankful for the dark, and help him unlatch the new bra. I fling it away to the floor and am immediately self conscious. Nobody has ever seen this much of my body until now and this insane intimacy is embarrassing in the best way possible.
“Oh my god,” Rhett exhales shakily and I feel him stiffen beneath me.
More confidently now, his hands make contact with the backs of my thighs as I relish in the feeling of my uncovered, electrified chest against his. He’s warmer than me and his heart pounds hard through his chest and to mine. I drag my body down until I’m kneeling in front of him. Fingers jittery, I undo his belt buckle as he sucks in an almost pained breath.
Nervously, I ask, “You okay? You, ah, ready?”
; “Are you kidding?” The tension leaves his voice as he laughs a bit. “The girl I’m in love with is almost entirely naked in front of me and you don’t think I’m ready?”
I pointedly shimmy out of my light blue underwear, glad that I took extra time to groom in places I never had to before, and his jeans follow in short pursuit. “Are you serious? Skeleton boxers?”
“Well, I, um…” He chokes up at me running my fingers under the elastic of them.
His hips are defined under my palm and I say, “It’s nothing, but your boxers are scaring me. You should definitely take them off.”
“Anything for you.” He grins and slides his boxers off. Then he seizes my wrists and flips me onto my back. I’m so turned on it’s ridiculous as he slides his lips between my breasts, then over each one while his hands grip my sides greedily. Then Rhett mumbles into the space between my navel and pelvis, “I haven’t done this before, so let me know if I’m…doing alright.”
Without thinking of what I’m doing, I moan loud enough that I thank god silently nobody else is home as his fingers find me where I nearly burst with the shock of nerves. There are no words, but I can tell Rhett sees this as a vote of approval and continues, lips moving back to mine. I can barely breathe much less form my mouth to his as my own fingers dig into the tense muscles of his back.
Quickly and nearly without my notice, Rhett replaces his fingers with his euphemism-worthy self and pushes ever so slightly.
I hold him closer and nod into his shoulder when he asks if I’m okay. Maybe my near shrieks have alarmed him, but not to my knowledge. I always assumed my first time would hurt but…shit. It doesn’t. Everything is amazing and electric and unbelievable and I arch my back to a sharp angle as fireworks begin to erupt over my everywhere. Rhett, my boyfriend, my first and greatest love, pants against me as he lets go and groans in a way that makes me fall even harder for him.
Sunlight pours through my curtains and wakes me. My eyes drift lazily open and then snap wide as I remember everything that happened last night. I’m on my stomach and Rhett’s arms are spread beneath me, radiating warmth. I’ve never fallen asleep without pajamas on and I’m cold even under my winter covers. I glance at the clock – ten forty – and turn onto my elbows to look at Rhett. He’s peaceful and beautiful with the sunlight splayed across his shying eyelids. I push myself up onto my palms and tickle my hair over his face.
His nose wrinkles adorably as his eyes flutter open. He raises himself up and kisses me lightly. “Your hair smells nice.”
“It smells like you,” I respond with a soft sigh.
“Obviously; that’s why it smells good.” He puts his hands behind his head to prop himself up. The sweet smile growing over his face is intoxicating as he says, “Good morning, my love.”
“Hello yourself,” I murmur, then roll away from him. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
He lifts an eyebrow and pulls me back to him so our skin is touching, his warm and flushed and mine cold and pale. “Don’t leave me yet.”
I kiss his neck briefly, the taste of his sweat still there. “What am I supposed to do then?”
His hands skim over my back and rest on my neck, a line of nerves heating up in his wake. “I could think of a few ideas.”
Rolling my eyes, I sit up next to him, covers pulled around my nude chest, and ask, “Breakfast?”
“You cooking?”
I tease, “I don’t know, do you suddenly possess that ability?”
“Definitely not, but I’d be happy to keep you company and slightly distracted.”
“Deal.” I stand and walk happily over to my dresser.
Rhett calls after me, “Your skin is positively spectacular in the morning light. Utterly poetic.”
“You’re going to write a poem about my ass?” I tug on a pair of underwear and a blank tank top without a bra because this is my house and I’m happy being here with only Rhett. For a brief moment as he follows me down the steps in his own clothes, I let myself imagine a future where we’re together, a future where we live in some suburban nightmare with a lawn he mows on Saturdays and kids who go to soccer practice. Then I remember the suburban lifestyle isn’t really for us and imagine living in a tiny apartment at the center of a bustling city, together against the world and going to poetry slams or music festivals in Central Park.
We pad into the kitchen and I dash the thoughts from my mind; more likely than not, in seven months I’ll be headed to New York and busier than ever with no time for boyfriends or anything but making my life better for me.
Then a question slips from my lips as I set a carton of eggs on the counter and take out a pound of bacon. “Can I ask you something?”
Rhett perches on the counter and laughs, “Shoot.”
“What do you think of New York?”
“In what context?”
I bite my lip and whip a few eggs in a bowl. I’ve been keeping this from him but now we’re tied together and I can’t take any of it back and I don’t want to. So I let the words slip out. Dr. Sullivan’s letter to The New Yorker and Michael saying, more or less, that I could go and how much I want to be with him past high school even though that’s such an idealistic teenager thing to say.
When I finish rambling, a smile spreads slowly over his lips. I’m surprised. I thought he’d be mad at me for keeping it in so long, but what he says is this: “I’m not going to let you leave for a brighter horizon and hang back to go to some soul-sucking state college. This town isn’t my home, it never will be, because, if you’ll pardon the cliché-”
“For you? Always.”
A flicker of indecision and almost hurt twinges in his eyes, but then his loving gaze intensifies as I put a pan on the stove. “Cordelia Kane, you are my home now. And whether you go to New York or LA or Tokyo or the moon, I’ll be there.”
“Seriously?” I’m grinning like mad.
He goes on, taking out a spatula and moving around the eggs to scramble them. “I actually applied to NYU on a wicked pipe dream. It was barely after we started dating and I was nearly as happy as I am right now. I’ll apply to a few more school around there and get serious about tuition money. Everything is going to work out for us,” he promises. “These eggs about ready? I’m starving.”
Though I want to talk more about this, I’m still too buzzed on him to change the way things are. We have months to think about the future but only moments to live now.
Rhett fiddles with my fingers absently as I push mildly burned bacon and eggs onto two plate and set them down at the table. He sits down next to me.
After a minute, Rhett muses, “What’s the opposite of a virgin? Like, what are you once you aren’t a virgin anymore? I only ask so I can explain to my past self once time travel is invented that, at some point, he will become whatever an opposite virgin is. He’ll be shocked.”
I nearly choke back a bite of food and reply smoothly, “Though I don’t strictly believe in the concept of virginity as a social construct used to commodify young women, I would argue that the opposite of a virgin is a virgout.”
He nods seriously, considering, then a grin cracks over him. “You’re perfect, you know that?”
I shrug modestly. “It’s a blessing and a curse, but I’ve learned to live with it.”
“I love you,” he sighs like we’re in some romantic comedy. “Sorry, that was sappy.”
“I don’t mind.” I collect our plates and put them in the sink, making a memo to my future self to clean up. She probably won’t follow through; future Cordelia tends to be an unreliable person. I return to his side as he stands and I lock my hands behind his neck. “In fact, sappy is very good for me.”
“You taste like bacon,” he mumbles against my lips as he kisses me, “and I really like this top on you.”
I press against him, loving the feel of us together as memories of last night flood my mind. “You’re only saying that because I made you a virgout.”
Chapter Nineteen – Warning Signs
Three weeks later, it’s our last day of school before Thanksgiving break. When I arrive at school, I can already tell something’s wrong. Rhett doesn’t meet me outside at our usual spot and he doesn’t catch up to me before first period. Figuring a couple of reasonable explanations, I shoot him a text asking if he’s sick before slumping in for another dull lecture where I can practically hear brain cells committing suicide from the dull minds around me.
During my third period study hall, I’m obsessively checking my phone waiting for him to text back. Maybe he’s still sleeping, but that thought doesn’t stop me from worrying over him. We’ve been together almost constantly for the past few weeks, under our tree or at Ebony’s or anywhere we can be alone. The moment I told Sky the details of the first night we spent together, she swore to give the two of us time alone without her and Brian infringing. This promise was spurred by the four of us, as a group, spending lunches and evenings together. Sky, as usual, could sense the shift and didn’t want to wedge between us, especially when she was with Brian twenty-four/seven.
I banish my train of thought and dig through my rucksack until finding the large manila folder where the letter from The New Yorker sits with the first four drafts of my reply letter. Almost every day this month, I’ve been exchanging ideas for my reply with Sullivan in attempts to be as impressive with language and writing as possible. This is the last one before I send it off as the deadline is rapidly approaching. Thanksgiving is coming up and I want the answer mailed priority before then.
My pen etches across the pages of my most recent draft making edits and corrections wherever possible. I fix things I wouldn’t have thought were wrong a few months ago until my hand is cramping up from holding the pen so hard between my fingers. Nothing has mattered to me as much as this letter save Rhett and everything we’ve shared together.
Near the end of the period, Sky and Brian slide in across the table from me, hands locked together and matching expressions of worry on their faces. The bell rings but they don’t stand.
“What’s up?” I ask as I put away my materials and shoulder my bag.
Love in the Time of Cynicism Page 24
