I’m glad to be the someone,” I say. Mega cheesy. I just want her to know I’m glad to be here instead of … pretty much anywhere else I could be.
Cara smiles at me. “Smells like meat loaf,” she says. “Okay?”
“Great by me.”
“Wait here.” She runs away, and I contemplate movie titles. Something upbeat. Something fun.
* * *
“OH GOOD,” she says. “That’s new. I haven’t watched it.”
Cara drags her monitor onto the dresser and situates it so we can see it if we sit side by side on her bed. We lean against the headboard, pulling the plates onto our laps.
She claps the overhead light off, and there is just enough glow from the windows and the closet and the screen that we can see to eat.
When the food is gone, we lean over and put the plates on the floor. Cara leans across my lap to do it, resting her arm like a bridge on my thighs. When she pulls back, she doesn’t pull back all the way, so her hand is still on my leg. And we’re just sitting there, watching the movie with her fingertips touching the fabric of my shorts in a way that’s not altogether unpleasant. Casual. Friendly. Like it’s okay to be all up in one another’s space because we like each other.
After a while like that, she says, “Do you want to lie down?”
“Yeah.” I’ve been leaning against the headboard, and it would be nice to lie down. So we scootch and adjust the pillows. The sides of our legs are pressed together, and Cara takes my hand in hers and holds it on top of her stomach. Our heads are near, on the same large pillow, and every once in a while, when we breathe in at the same time, our shoulders touch.
I almost cry a little, because I never think anyone wants to be this close to me. When I sleep at Abby’s, we’re in the same bed, but we always make sure to have our own space. The other night when she was drunk, we fell asleep together because she didn’t know any better, but I did, and it feels good, having someone beside you.
The credits roll before I know it. The sky is dark, and I’m going to have to go home soon. I don’t want to leave.
Cara rolls toward me, draping her leg over mine. Her cheek hits my bare shoulder. The hand that isn’t entwined with mine comes across and rubs my stomach. This time, I actually cry. Small tears that leak out the corners of my eyes because what’s happening now is not at all what I thought or what I expected.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s my first time.”
She slides her hand up until it wraps around one of my boobs, which is suddenly at attention. She hooks her finger over the fabric of the shirt, right in my cleavage, and tugs until the strap slides down off my shoulder and my whole boob is exposed. Then she rolls farther, up over me, never meeting my eyes, and grabs my nipple in her mouth and holds it with her tongue.
Oh, God.
Then there’s a moment where her knee slips between my legs and her mouth is … where it is … and our hands are intertwined, and I can feel her shuddering breath.
Then Cara raises her head and looks at me. I don’t know what my face says. I don’t even know what I want it to say.
“That’s what he did to her,” she says. “In the movie.”
“Why did you do that?” I say. Because I can’t say anything else.
She comes up on her knees, right at my side. She licks her lips, and I look away. “What?” she says.
I scramble up, and a little away. “Why did you do that?”
She’s confused. She runs her hand through her hair.
“I mean, why did you think it would be okay?”
Silence.
“It’s—it’s not okay?” She scrambles to the far corner of the bed. “But—you came over,” she says. “We held hands.”
“And?”
“What was I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “That we’re friends.”
Cara’s face crumples. She looks devastated. “That’s so mean,” she says. “Why would you hold my hand, and say I
Cara smiles at me. “Smells like meat loaf,” she says. “Okay?”
“Great by me.”
“Wait here.” She runs away, and I contemplate movie titles. Something upbeat. Something fun.
* * *
“OH GOOD,” she says. “That’s new. I haven’t watched it.”
Cara drags her monitor onto the dresser and situates it so we can see it if we sit side by side on her bed. We lean against the headboard, pulling the plates onto our laps.
She claps the overhead light off, and there is just enough glow from the windows and the closet and the screen that we can see to eat.
When the food is gone, we lean over and put the plates on the floor. Cara leans across my lap to do it, resting her arm like a bridge on my thighs. When she pulls back, she doesn’t pull back all the way, so her hand is still on my leg. And we’re just sitting there, watching the movie with her fingertips touching the fabric of my shorts in a way that’s not altogether unpleasant. Casual. Friendly. Like it’s okay to be all up in one another’s space because we like each other.
After a while like that, she says, “Do you want to lie down?”
“Yeah.” I’ve been leaning against the headboard, and it would be nice to lie down. So we scootch and adjust the pillows. The sides of our legs are pressed together, and Cara takes my hand in hers and holds it on top of her stomach. Our heads are near, on the same large pillow, and every once in a while, when we breathe in at the same time, our shoulders touch.
I almost cry a little, because I never think anyone wants to be this close to me. When I sleep at Abby’s, we’re in the same bed, but we always make sure to have our own space. The other night when she was drunk, we fell asleep together because she didn’t know any better, but I did, and it feels good, having someone beside you.
The credits roll before I know it. The sky is dark, and I’m going to have to go home soon. I don’t want to leave.
Cara rolls toward me, draping her leg over mine. Her cheek hits my bare shoulder. The hand that isn’t entwined with mine comes across and rubs my stomach. This time, I actually cry. Small tears that leak out the corners of my eyes because what’s happening now is not at all what I thought or what I expected.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s my first time.”
She slides her hand up until it wraps around one of my boobs, which is suddenly at attention. She hooks her finger over the fabric of the shirt, right in my cleavage, and tugs until the strap slides down off my shoulder and my whole boob is exposed. Then she rolls farther, up over me, never meeting my eyes, and grabs my nipple in her mouth and holds it with her tongue.
Oh, God.
Then there’s a moment where her knee slips between my legs and her mouth is … where it is … and our hands are intertwined, and I can feel her shuddering breath.
Then Cara raises her head and looks at me. I don’t know what my face says. I don’t even know what I want it to say.
“That’s what he did to her,” she says. “In the movie.”
“Why did you do that?” I say. Because I can’t say anything else.
She comes up on her knees, right at my side. She licks her lips, and I look away. “What?” she says.
I scramble up, and a little away. “Why did you do that?”
She’s confused. She runs her hand through her hair.
“I mean, why did you think it would be okay?”
Silence.
“It’s—it’s not okay?” She scrambles to the far corner of the bed. “But—you came over,” she says. “We held hands.”
“And?”
“What was I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “That we’re friends.”
Cara’s face crumples. She looks devastated. “That’s so mean,” she says. “Why would you hold my hand, and say I
Similar Books
