Shay

I can’t sleep.

I roll over and stare at the clock. Three a.m.

Steve left five hours ago, reluctantly still a virgin. I assured him that my reasons for waiting had nothing to do with Easton, that I just wasn’t ready. I’m an evil liar.

Guilt had me inviting him for a soak in the hot tub, and after a heavy make-out session that ended with us back in the house, his swim trunks were on the floor, and my hand . . . well, my hand was right where he wanted it. After that, I think we were both a little more convinced that I’m not hung up on Easton.

But I have another five days full of prime virginity-losing opportunities, and I wonder if Steve’s right. Maybe now’s the time. We might not have another chance to be alone like this until we’re in college, and even then there will be roommates to work around and neighbors on the other side of thin walls. I can’t deny that our circumstances are ideal, but I always imagined I’d be in love when I lost my virginity. Will Steve wait that long?

I grab my phone off the nightstand and scroll through the pictures Mom sent me earlier. My stomach twists with longing. This is the first time I’ve missed a family trip, and seeing my brothers lined up and walking barefoot down the beach makes me feel . . . homesick.

I laugh at myself. How silly. I’m the one at home.

I click over to my text thread with Easton. It’s midnight there. I bet he’s still awake. And because I know he’ll tell me the truth, I send him a message before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: Would you have dated someone in high school who didn’t put out?

Easton: I did a few times. Not every relationship got that far.

Me: But did you end things because you weren’t sleeping together?

I stare at my phone for a long time. The bouncing dots that indicate he’s typing appear and then disappear. Shit. I probably sound like an immature child.

Me: You can be honest with me. I won’t judge you.

Easton: If my answer was yes, you fucking SHOULD judge me.

I can practically hear his voice just reading the words. I can see his nostrils flare in disbelief. I miss him.

Me: So . . . why didn’t you answer?

Easton: Because this conversation makes me want to come back to Jackson Harbor and beat the shit out of this boyfriend of yours.

Crap. I clearly didn’t think this through. I’m an asshole who’s going to get my sweet, awkward math nerd boyfriend pounded by an NFL quarterback. Cause of death: irresponsible texting.