“That’s what worries me. What if you see me and you don’t like what you see?” She looked anxious. Her cheeks flushed. “I’m not a boy. Maybe you wish I was.”

“I don’t,” I said emphatically. “I definitely don’t wish you were a boy. I like you. I want you.”

Her hazel eyes reflected the light from the window; they reflected me in a tiny dark image. They grew bright, and I saw a teardrop swelling in one corner. Before it spilled out, I caught it with my fingertip, and then I kissed her mouth softly.

She kissed me back. Gently at first, and then harder, until she pushed herself up to peel off her sports bra. She had small breasts with dark pink nipples. She unbuttoned her shorts and took them off along with her underwear. Her lanky torso curved into rounded hips, a thin line of brown hair leading from her belly button to the curly patch between her legs. I felt like she had given me a gift in allowing me to see her.

I touched her, and her skin was warm. I pulled her closer, wanting to feel her pressed against me. She moved on top of me, skin on skin, breast against breast, her legs straddling my hip, and her breath quickened. It was amazing to be beneath her, to have this effect on her. She moved against me more rapidly, and I felt the slickness between her legs on my thigh. I wanted to make her come, but I wanted to do it with my mouth. I wanted to do for her what she had done for me. I asked, “Can I go down on you?”

She stopped moving, breathless. “Are you sure you want to?”

“Yes, but you’ll have to tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”

She hesitated, her face flushed, and then she rolled off me, and I went to kneel between her legs. I lowered my head, my hair cascading over her inner thighs. She was pearlescent, lustrous, the whole of her body poised alive on the tip of my tongue. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew what I liked, so I tried to treat her the way I’d want to be treated. It occurred to me that I was applying the golden rule in a way that might not be intended, and I almost broke into laugher with her thighs around my face, but then she began to rock against me and I forgot everything except her, the sounds she made, my hands cupping her backside as if I were holding a drinking bowl to my mouth.

She tasted like saltwater oysters. I was in love with all of her. I was not myself anymore; I was hers.

Chapter 45

On Saturday, we moved Joan to the rehabilitation facility in San Rafael. It was only a few blocks away from Steph and Lisa’s apartment.