“Keely?” He sits up and leans over to his bedside table, rummaging through it in the dark. Then there it is in his hand—a condom, wrapped in a shiny square package. I’ve seen condoms before in health class. They’re passed around in a basket several times a year while everyone giggles and self-consciously grabs a few, like some twisted grown-up version of trick-or-treat. Still, condoms are novel to me. The fact that Dean keeps them in his bedside table, that he uses them enough to have them on hand, feels strange. To Dean, are condoms just as ordinary as hand sanitizer or Advil?

“It’s okay,” I say, though it doesn’t mean anything. I feel like I’m speaking into a tunnel.

“What’s okay?” He reaches down toward his belt, undoing the buckle with deft fingers.

“No, I mean, we don’t have to.”

“You’re cool with no condom?” he asks, flicking it away. He pulls the belt off.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We don’t have to have sex.”

He grins at me, his teeth still visible in the dark room. “Of course we don’t have to.” He kisses me, pulling me back toward him, back into our galaxy. “But we want to.” His hand reaches toward the button of my pants.

I remember with horror that I’m wearing an old pair of underwear, cotton with polar bears I’ve had since middle school. Danielle didn’t offer to let me borrow any “real underwear,” and I didn’t ask because that would have been too weird. I feel clammy, my breath shallow, like I’ve had too much whiskey, even though we stopped drinking ages ago.

“Wait.”

“You okay?” He draws back his hand.

“I think we should wait.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. Sitting up, he pulls away from me. “Oh. Okay.”

“I want to,” I say, stupidly upset I’ve let him down. “I want to. Just not yet.”

“Are you sure? It’s not a big deal.” He kisses me again, as if he knows the magic he holds in his kisses, the spell he casts over me with his lips and tongue. But I’m stuck, my virginity an invisible wall between us. I’ll make a decision later. This isn’t my only chance with Dean. It can’t be.

“Another time, okay?”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” I take his hand in mine and squeeze, the thought hitting me that promising is sort of like making a decision after all.

“You know how I feel about promises.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then sits up and gets out of bed. “I’m gonna go take a shower. I won’t be able to sleep until this goes away.” He motions casually toward his pants, unembarrassed.

“Oh, sure.” I’m trying to sound casual but I can’t breathe.