Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
He leans in to kiss me again and I melt into it, feeling his body sink into mine on the couch as he settles all of his weight on me. He runs a hand through my hair and then trails it down the side of my face, down my neck, and rests it on my chest. Then he moves it lower, running his fingertips lightly over the skin at my waist, and then his hands are undoing his belt and snapping open the button of his pants. I hear the sound of a zipper and am shocked out of my stupor. I push him away, looking around frantically. He jumps off me and raises his arms up as if in surrender. I notice his unzipped pants, half hanging off his hips.
“We can’t do that here.” My voice sounds shrill.
“What difference does it make?” he asks. “We’re already breaking the rules.”
“Someone could come in!”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We won’t get caught.”
It doesn’t sound fun to me, having sex here where someone might walk in. He’s probably used to adventurous girls, girls who get off on having sex in public, who do it in their cars, on the beach, in bathrooms at the back of a bar. I’ve never even been in a bar.
I’m such a kid.
“I don’t want to lose my job,” I say, which is true, but is actually about number 5 on my list of worries behind (1) I can’t have sex for the first time on the gross green couch in the break room, (2) I hope Dean likes me, (3) If he wants to have sex on the gross green couch though, he probably doesn’t like me—just wants to have sex with me, (4) I wish I knew what the hell I was doing.
“Just touch me.” His voice is achingly low. I can feel its vibration in my stomach, can feel excitement and anxiety pooling there and spreading across my chest. He’s still standing in front of me with his pants unzipped, and he pulls them down so he’s just in his boxers. “You’ve never even touched me.”
I can’t help thinking about taco night, when the guys at school were so casually complaining about handjobs. Mouth or nothing, Simon had said, like he had any right to insist on anything. Is that what Dean wants? If I use my hands, will he be disappointed? Will he complain about it to his friends later the way Ryder did?
But I push those worries aside. James Dean is standing in front of me in his boxers and I want to touch him, want to see the expression on his face when I do.