minutes,” Reena said on another laugh, then hung up.
It took her nearly that long to change out of ancient sweatpants, wiggle into jeans, decide on a top and deal with the hair that was currently an explosion of curls down to her shoulder blades.
She kept the music blasting while she dressed, added blusher to relieve the cramming-for-finals pallor.
Should study, should get a good night’s sleep. Shouldn’t go. She flicked on mascara, lectured herself.
But she was so tired of being the one who always did the sensible thing. She’d just stay for an hour, have a little fun, keep Gina from getting into too much trouble.
And see Josh Bolton.
He was so good-looking with the sun-swept hair, the dazzling blue eyes, that sweet, shy smile. He was twenty, a lit major. He was going to be a writer.
And he was asking where she was.
He was going to be the one. She was ninety-nine percent sure of it. He was going to be her first.
Maybe tonight. She set the mascara down and stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe tonight she’d finally know what it was like. She pressed a hand to her belly as it jittered with anticipation and nerves. This could be the last time she looked at herself as a virgin.
She was ready, and she wanted it to be with someone like Josh. Someone dreamy and sweet, and with some experience so there wasn’t a lot of embarrassing fumbling.
She hated not knowing what to do. She’d studied the basics, of course. The anatomy, the physicality. And she’d absorbed the romance of the act in books and movies. But the doing of it, the getting naked and fitting two bodies together, would be an absolute first.
It wasn’t something you could practice or diagram or experiment with until you worked out the kinks in your technique.
So she wanted an understanding and patient partner who’d guide her over the rough spots until she found her own way.
It didn’t matter so much that she didn’t love him. She liked him a lot, and she wasn’t looking for marriage like Bella.
Not yet, anyway.
She just wanted to know, to feel, to see how it worked. And, maybe it was stupid, but she wanted to shed this last vestige of childhood. Having it all in the back of her mind was probably why she’d been restless and distracted the last few days.
And, of course, she was overthinking it again.
She grabbed her purse, shut off the music and rushed out of the dorm.
It was a beautiful night, warm and star-studded. Ridiculous to waste it buried in chem notes, she told herself as she walked toward the parking lot. She tipped her face up to the sky, started to smile, but a chill tickled down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, scanned the grass, the paths, the glow of the security lights.
Nobody was watching her, for God’s sake. She gave herself a little shake, but quickened her pace. It was just guilt, that was all. She could live with a little guilt.
She hopped into her secondhand Dodge Shadow and, giving in to paranoia, locked the doors before driving away.
The group house was a five-minute drive off campus, an old three-story brick that was lit up like Christmas. Partiers spilled out onto the lawn, and music spilled out of the open door.
She caught the sweet drift of a burning joint and heard snatches of high-toned debates on the brilliance of Emily Dickinson, the current administration and more comfortable discussions on the Orioles’ infield.
She had to squeeze her way through once she was inside, narrowly avoided having a glass of some alcoholic beverage splashed down her front, and felt some relief that she actually knew some of the people crammed into the living room.
Gina spotted her and wiggled through the bodies to grab her shoulders. “Reene! You’re here! I have such news!”
“Don’t tell me any more until you eat an entire box of Tic Tacs.”
“Oh, shit.” Gina dug into the pocket of jeans so tight they must be causing organ damage. The Slim-Fast hadn’t whittled off all the twelve pounds
It took her nearly that long to change out of ancient sweatpants, wiggle into jeans, decide on a top and deal with the hair that was currently an explosion of curls down to her shoulder blades.
She kept the music blasting while she dressed, added blusher to relieve the cramming-for-finals pallor.
Should study, should get a good night’s sleep. Shouldn’t go. She flicked on mascara, lectured herself.
But she was so tired of being the one who always did the sensible thing. She’d just stay for an hour, have a little fun, keep Gina from getting into too much trouble.
And see Josh Bolton.
He was so good-looking with the sun-swept hair, the dazzling blue eyes, that sweet, shy smile. He was twenty, a lit major. He was going to be a writer.
And he was asking where she was.
He was going to be the one. She was ninety-nine percent sure of it. He was going to be her first.
Maybe tonight. She set the mascara down and stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe tonight she’d finally know what it was like. She pressed a hand to her belly as it jittered with anticipation and nerves. This could be the last time she looked at herself as a virgin.
She was ready, and she wanted it to be with someone like Josh. Someone dreamy and sweet, and with some experience so there wasn’t a lot of embarrassing fumbling.
She hated not knowing what to do. She’d studied the basics, of course. The anatomy, the physicality. And she’d absorbed the romance of the act in books and movies. But the doing of it, the getting naked and fitting two bodies together, would be an absolute first.
It wasn’t something you could practice or diagram or experiment with until you worked out the kinks in your technique.
So she wanted an understanding and patient partner who’d guide her over the rough spots until she found her own way.
It didn’t matter so much that she didn’t love him. She liked him a lot, and she wasn’t looking for marriage like Bella.
Not yet, anyway.
She just wanted to know, to feel, to see how it worked. And, maybe it was stupid, but she wanted to shed this last vestige of childhood. Having it all in the back of her mind was probably why she’d been restless and distracted the last few days.
And, of course, she was overthinking it again.
She grabbed her purse, shut off the music and rushed out of the dorm.
It was a beautiful night, warm and star-studded. Ridiculous to waste it buried in chem notes, she told herself as she walked toward the parking lot. She tipped her face up to the sky, started to smile, but a chill tickled down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, scanned the grass, the paths, the glow of the security lights.
Nobody was watching her, for God’s sake. She gave herself a little shake, but quickened her pace. It was just guilt, that was all. She could live with a little guilt.
She hopped into her secondhand Dodge Shadow and, giving in to paranoia, locked the doors before driving away.
The group house was a five-minute drive off campus, an old three-story brick that was lit up like Christmas. Partiers spilled out onto the lawn, and music spilled out of the open door.
She caught the sweet drift of a burning joint and heard snatches of high-toned debates on the brilliance of Emily Dickinson, the current administration and more comfortable discussions on the Orioles’ infield.
She had to squeeze her way through once she was inside, narrowly avoided having a glass of some alcoholic beverage splashed down her front, and felt some relief that she actually knew some of the people crammed into the living room.
Gina spotted her and wiggled through the bodies to grab her shoulders. “Reene! You’re here! I have such news!”
“Don’t tell me any more until you eat an entire box of Tic Tacs.”
“Oh, shit.” Gina dug into the pocket of jeans so tight they must be causing organ damage. The Slim-Fast hadn’t whittled off all the twelve pounds
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