Sarah’s parents were out at a dinner gathering, and after my mom dropped me off, Sarah showed me around for the grand tour. Her house was large but not ostentatious. It was warm and inviting, and spoke of wealth and taste. Her father was some well-known philanthropist who traveled a good deal and knew many famous people. Whenever Sarah talked about him, she was childlike in her regard, looking up to him like a saint or hero. She told me all her best qualities were from her father, and that her comfort and poise in social settings was due to his influence. She dearly loved her mother, Linda, but seemed to have a special bond with her father, Luke. He taught her how to make people feel at ease, how to exude warmth and friendliness, essentially how to charm anyone in any circumstance. She wanted to follow in his footsteps, which meant going to work for the nonprofit he’d founded and built. College was first, perhaps even an advanced degree, but Sarah had her heart set on working side by side with the man she most loved and admired.
After the house tour, we started the evening by chilling out in the family room watching a cheesy romantic comedy. Once the breezy ninety minutes was up, Sarah led me upstairs to her room, which I’d glimpsed during the tour and was seeing up close for the first time. It was large and well-appointed, elegantly patterned in various shades of gold, red, and brown. Sarah turned on some music. She sat on the floor, rifling through her CDs, while I sat perched on her bed and we talked about our favorite bands. Conversation eventually turned to the following night.
“How are you going to deal with it if Kip asks you to dance?” Sarah asked.
“I already told him I’m not much of a dancer.”
“I’m sure he’ll want to slow dance with you. You don’t have to be good to do that.”
“Can we move on to the next subject, please?” I didn’t want to be talking about slow dancing with Kip with the only person I wanted to hold that closely.
“No, we can’t. Have you slow danced before?”
“I’ve watched people do it. It’s simple.”
“Yes, but very intimate. You need to be prepared for what might be in store for you tomorrow. Kip’s a pretty affectionate guy, and he likes you. So unless you tell him not to, I’m sure he’ll be very affectionate with you. How are you going to deal with him when he gets in your personal space?”
“I’ll figure it out if and when the time comes.”
Sarah finished manipulating the stereo and a ballad came on. “You need to know going into it what you’ll be comfortable with. Are you going to let him slow dance with you?” She wouldn’t let it go.
“I don’t suppose it’ll kill me.”
“Knowing you, it might. Show me you can do it.”
She gracefully stood and walked over to the bed, leaving meager dance-floor space between us. “Dance with me.”
“No,” I said in a tone meant to convey she was insane.
She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers in invitation. “I mean it. Show me you can take it.”
“Perkins. No.” My voice was stern and deliberate.
Sarah put her hands on her hips. “Don’t ‘Perkins’ me. If you can’t do this with me, someone you know and trust, then how the hell do you expect to be able to do it tomorrow? You need to get over your fear of being held or you’re going to be miserable.”
“I’m not afraid of being held.” Not by you.
“All right, my mistake. I meant your discomfort at being held.”
“I don’t want to do this with you.”
“You’d rather do it with Kip?”
“I’d rather not do it at all.”
“Exactly my point. But you’re going to have to, so you should try to get a little comfortable with it now, where it’s safe and quiet and no one else is around.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Great. Show me.” Sarah gave me the “come-hither” gesture with her fingers again.
I nearly growled. “Sarah.”
“Come here.” She took my hand and pulled me off the bed, standing me in front of her. “If he slow dances with you, you’re going to place your arms around his neck, like this.” She took my right hand and draped my arm over her shoulder, following suit with the left. “And he’s going to put his arms around your waist, like this.” She slid her arms around my waist.
My face was suddenly inches from hers and blood surged to my cheeks. I turned my head to avoid her eyes. I could smell that faint jasmine perfume she occasionally wore, and inhaling her scent made me want to give myself over to her completely. I kept myself in check and pulled my arms away from her neck, but she held me firmly by my waist.
“Sarah, I can’t do this.” I was frightened she’d be able to feel my racing pulse and glean its meaning.
“I know.” She reached again for my right hand and placed it back over her shoulder. “Which is why you should practice. Focus on breathing.” She moved my left arm back into position as well. Our heads were just above and past each other’s shoulders in the dancing embrace, our cheeks touching. Her breath tickled the skin on my neck, which sent shivers through me. Her breasts pressed against mine and our hips melded to each other, the heat of her hands around my waist scorching the skin through my shirt.
My body was on fire and I was having trouble concentrating. “You don’t understand,” I whispered, my voice losing an octave since my last protestation. “I can’t do this.”
Her right hand moved to my chin, turning my face to hers. “You can,” she said quietly, gazing into my eyes.
“Sarah, please.” I was reduced to nearly inaudible begging. I watched her watching me, searching me from one eye to the other, until I couldn’t take the longing anymore.
I tightened my arms and drew her to me, bringing my mouth to hers and kissing her gently. Her head pulled back a little and the hand around my waist stiffened, but somehow, I ignored it. If I’d realized she wasn’t responding, I would have broken the kiss immediately, but the softness of her lips and sweetness of her mouth created a craving in my abdomen that momentarily shuttered my doubts and willfully ignored hers. I tugged her to me with slightly more force, my mouth tenderly roaming the soft landscape of her lips. As my tongue lightly traced her upper lip, I heard her breath catch. I opened my eyes at the sound, my mouth still on hers, and saw wide eyes looking back at me. Unable to read any of the emotions there, I finally broke the kiss.
Still entranced and moving in slow motion, I gradually became aware that I’d probably irretrievably fucked up our friendship. Panic set in as I finally made that connection. After I pulled farther back, the deer-in-headlights expression on Sarah’s face shifted into realization, then further into determination.
Sarah tugged me forward and brought our mouths together again. She tightened her arms around my waist and pressed against me. When she parted my lips with her tongue, I brought mine forward to meet hers, and the sensation was so exquisite, so electrifying, that we both whimpered. As our tongues continued to dance together, I found myself amazed to learn how much surface area of lips and tongues deserved to be so studiously examined. As I explored her mouth with mine, I felt I could linger along that welcoming, wondrous, soft warmth for days, discovering one breakthrough after another in the delicious details that were Sarah. Each moment our mouths were connected was a treasure, and I drowned in the pleasure of discovery.
After several marvelous minutes, Sarah drew away from me, though our bodies remained connected. I opened my eyes and watched hers flutter open. My mouth hung open, and I quickly closed it. We stared at each other, only our breaths breaking the silence. I was stunned and confused. Whatever emotions she’d awakened within me had knocked me off kilter and left me baffled. Where I usually would have fortified my defenses and leapt from her embrace into the safety of isolation, I wanted only to be closer to her, wanted to remove barriers, wanted to feel the warmth of her body against mine.
She had completely captivated me, and I desired nothing more than to remain in her arms fore
ver. I felt helpless, lost in the sea of light-blue eyes that sought answers in mine, for I had none to give. I’d never experienced such longing before, never craved such closeness, never felt anything so wonderful. I moved my gaze to her mouth, as if I could find knowledge there. Explanations. But the only thing I found was an intensifying of the ache I’d already felt when she pulled away, the yearning to hold and be held by her.
Her lips parted slightly and her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. I flicked my eyes back to hers. Though I was incapacitated by the fear that kissing her again might push her away, desire smoldered within me, and I willed away the distance between us. As if reading my thoughts, Sarah trained her eyes to my mouth, threw her arms around my neck, and threaded her fingers in my hair. She crushed her lips to mine, and I responded in kind, as if I could devour her. I splayed my hands across her back, pulling her closer and melding her body into mine. She moaned as I deepened the kiss, and the sound stoked within me a craving I’d never known. Brazen need replaced the sweetness of the previous kiss, and my blood ran hot from the friction we were creating with our bodies.
Reality or common sense or something finally took hold of Sarah, who, while still kissing me, walked us several steps backward and gave me a gentle push that broke our embrace and left me sitting at the edge of the bed. I was breathing heavily and trying to concentrate on steadying myself.
She gazed down at me for a few moments, furrowed her brows, shook her head, and started pacing.
“Shit,” she said.
It wasn’t the first word out of her mouth that I was hoping for, though I wasn’t sure exactly what that was. She ran both hands through her hair before hugging herself pensively and continued pacing.
I didn’t know what to say, couldn’t begin to process what had just happened between us, so I stayed silent. I couldn’t add anything except words of astonishment.
“Shit,” she repeated. She ceased her strides and stood looking at me from across the room. “I’m taking you home.”
I watched her for several seconds, contemplating a response—something, anything, to say—but words failed me. I peered down at my hands and nodded. I felt ashamed. Not so much because I knew what we’d just done was wrong, but because I hadn’t wanted to stop.
Her feet came into view, and I glanced up as she stepped between my legs and gazed down at me.
“Cazz. I have no idea what to say to you right now, so I’m not going to say anything.” She bent down, cupped my face in her hands, and gave me the gentlest of kisses. Then she removed her lips and regarded me with astonishing tenderness. After several moments, she walked to the door. “Come on.”
I followed her downstairs, and she drove me home, into the longest, most confusing night of my life.
Chapter Seven
Before the amazing turn of events of the previous night, I’d already had low expectations heading into Homecoming, knowing I’d be sharing a limousine with Sarah and Dirk, the picture-perfect couple. I didn’t usually dwell on how great they seemed together, possibly because I honestly liked Dirk, or possibly because I didn’t view myself as a rival. But after sharing mesmerizing kisses with his girlfriend, the last thing I wanted was to have to watch Dirk and Sarah cuddling up together the entire night.
Turns out that with my low expectations, I’d set too high a bar.
Outwardly, I doubted anyone noticed how traumatic the evening was for me. I was, after all, a nomad, unable due to circumstance to forge long-term bonds and therefore used to playing the stoic with practiced indifference. Inwardly, I felt out of place, alone and confused.
The night before, I’d been too wound up to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. I’d replayed everything over and over and over until it felt so raw I could bleed from it, as if it were a strange scab I kept picking at. I replayed the dance Sarah led; the kiss I initiated; her responding hesitation, followed by her determination and desire; her mouth on mine; her scent; her body pressed tightly against me; the warmth of her breath; her gentleness when breaking apart; her silence during the drive to take me home.
What did it mean, any of it? Was I a horrible creature who took advantage of the kindness of a friend to get what I wanted? What was it I wanted? What was I to her? Friend? Suitor? Would she ever talk to me again? Would she be so embarrassed or guilt-ridden by what we’d done that she’d end our friendship? Would she blame me? Be angry with me? Disgusted by me?
I didn’t know what Sarah thought about me. I didn’t know what it meant for me what I thought about Sarah. All I knew was it was Sarah’s mouth I wanted on mine, Sarah’s scent I wanted to inhale, Sarah’s smile I wanted to stoke, Sarah’s body I wanted wrapped around mine. Yet even if I could never touch her again the way I had last night, I’d be happy if I could simply be with her, talk with her, laugh with her, soak up the sun that was her. She made my heart soar.
She could also make it come crashing back down, if my trust was misplaced. But none of the uncertainty mattered. Only one thing mattered.
There was only Sarah.
I wasn’t sure if I should have been freaking out or what it meant to my future, but that simple truth finally carried me into sleep.
Tonight, however, here we were at Homecoming.
From the start, it seemed I was destined to remain on the periphery of Sarah’s—I mean, Queen Sarah’s—enchanted evening. She’d been crowned at the football game, as had Dirk. The only alone time I was able to get with her lasted all of about ninety seconds, right after we’d arrived at the dance. Of the five couples sharing the packed limo, Sarah and Dirk were the last to file out, behind Kip and me. The other three who’d ridden with us didn’t hesitate to make their way into the dance. Dirk and Kip asked for a minute and stepped away from us to have a few words, something about planning the smoking of some Cuban cigars. During this tiny moment, I had the Queen to myself.
She was in the agave dress, and I quickly looked away to minimize the flush rising to my cheeks at the sight of her, unflanked, having emerged from the previously packed limo and standing up to her full height (more, in her heels). Sarah, whom I hadn’t seen since the night before when she dropped me off at my house without saying a word. Sarah, who filled my waking thoughts and restless night. Sarah, in this phenomenal dress exuding high-octane sensuality and magnetism. She turned to me with a boys-will-be-boys eye roll as Dirk and Kip made their secretive plans.
I regarded her nervously, a million thoughts churning through my mind. What did I say to her? Should I compliment her? Compliments weren’t really my thing, but I was okay with stating the obvious. And the obvious was that Sarah was gorgeous. Should I tell her how pretty she was or would that sound lecherous? Were we still friends? Was she regretting having invited Kip and me along? Did she hate me?
God, I wouldn’t be able to handle that.
Sarah didn’t take her eyes off mine, the cinema that was my face giving her ample entertainment as I cycled through my worries. Of all my concerns, one kept bubbling to the surface: fear. I was so afraid of losing her, so afraid of what she’d become to me, my chin started quivering and my eyes pooled. I was never more obvious or vulnerable with another human being and couldn’t comprehend what it was about her that brought out this annoyingly desperate side of me. We continued to regard each other in silence, with me doing my darnedest to keep my tears from tumbling over. I was pathetic and frustrated with myself.
Sarah’s expression turned from amused and questioning to concerned and tender. She lightly grasped my forearm.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “We’re here to have a good time tonight, remember?”
I nodded and focused on the ground.
“You don’t seem like you’re having such a good time.”
I looked up at her and wondered if I should acknowledge the truth in that statement. Then I figured my eyes had already answered for me. I shook my head.
“What can I do to make it better?”
My relief was so great I let out something halfway betw
een a sob and a laugh. I couldn’t help but give her a half-hearted smile. Sarah was making me feel better by letting me know she still cared about me. But my relief was fleeting—Sarah was a kind person and would probably be asking the same thing of anyone who appeared the least bit upset.
I quickly chastised myself for that ungenerous thought. Here she was, trying to lift my spirits, literally and figuratively reaching out to me, and I immediately responded by making it out to be a bad thing, like she didn’t really care about me. I certainly wasn’t deserving of her warmth or concern if that was going to be my reaction to this girl who had consistently been there for me when I needed her.
We couldn’t get into anything too personal, given that our dates were expected back at any moment. I put my hand on top of hers where she was still holding my forearm.
“Forgive me.” As soon as I said it, I knew it could be taken to mean different things. I meant it as something between “forgive my moodiness” to “forgive my emotional reaction,” but now that the words were out, it could mean I was asking for her to overlook my actions from last night. Was that subconsciously what I meant?
Sarah narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side, a puzzled look on her face. As she was about to respond, Dirk called out. “You ladies ready to rumba?” He clapped and rubbed his hands together enthusiastically as he and Kip sauntered toward us with big smiles.
I let go of my hand on Sarah’s and she removed hers, then held my gaze for another moment before turning to Dirk. Following an exaggerated bow, he extended his hand to her. “Shall we, m’ lady?”
She beamed up at him and curtseyed. “We shall.”
With that, my brief connection to Sarah the night of Homecoming vanished.
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