Except that it is. As much as I want so much more, he’s right. I am not ready. Not at all.
Maybe I’ve tensed or otherwise signaled him—I don’t know—but Esben rolls onto his side, his mouth never leaving mine, reassuring me. He paces our kissing, sometimes gentle and teasing and sometimes escalating the heat between us before bringing us back down again in a kind of blissful torture. Just because I haven’t made out like this before doesn’t mean that I don’t know how good he is. He’s got me in a safe place, one I believe, without a doubt, is enough for him. He’s enjoying this as much as I am.
It occurs to me that this boy has not faltered once in the time that I’ve known him. Not on any level. I reach my hand up, touch his chest, feel the muscles in his shoulder, and then run my palm down his arm, over the bracelets he always has on, and then I set his hand on my hip. The truth is that I’m feeling a little drugged, a little out of my own head right now. I keep moving his hand until it’s under the hem of my shirt.
Esben rubs his nose against mine. “Allison?”
I can’t help but arch my back a little. “You said . . . you said there was a spectrum.”
“There is, yes.”
“Show me,” I tell him.
“I didn’t mean you had to investigate that spectrum two seconds after I mentioned it.”
“I know you didn’t.” I slide his hand over my stomach, then up to just under my rib cage. “But the spectrum . . . it means we could do something and then not do other things . . .”
“It does.”
“And you can . . . stop?”
He smiles. “Of course. Allison, of course. Any guy who’s not a complete asshole would stop. We’re not machines that get activated and then can’t be shut down. I just want you to be comfortable, okay?”
“How can you be this . . .” I look into his eyes. “How can you be this everything?”
“Let’s be clear here. I’m not saying that this is all a total breeze for me, because you’re pretty damn hot, and I would love to be tearing your clothes off, and I’ll probably have to take, like, forty cold showers later today.” His grin is both mischievous and utterly sweet. “But you know what feels better than anything physical?” Esben looks at me for a long time. “How it feels to be falling for someone the way that I’m falling for you.”
Esben could not possibly slay me more than this. He’s making me want and hope for things I’ve never allowed myself to even dream about. “I was already so comfortable with you . . .”
“Yeah? Good.”
“And now . . .” I want to feel his hand against my skin. “Now even more so.”
“Again, good. But that doesn’t mean we have to rush anything.” Yet he lets me nudge his hand to make sure he moves higher. Which he does. And the moment that my breast is under his touch, his mouth goes to the side of my neck—
Both of us jolt at the pounding on the door. The pounding that very quickly becomes incessant.
“Esben! Esben!” A male voice booms through the door.
“Baby Blue, you better be in there!” Kerry says loudly.
“We’ve got a situation!” Another male voice.
Esben sighs and drops his head against me. “Really? Now?” he whispers. “Maybe they’ll go away.”
The hollering outside the room increases.
I laugh and reluctantly remove his hand from under my shirt. “I don’t think so.”
He grumbles, but climbs over me, kissing me quickly. “You ready to meet the boys?” he asks before going to see what’s so urgent.
“I guess so.” I sit and smooth down my hair.
He swings open the door and barks at the people behind it. “This better be goddamn important.”
Kerry and two guys push past him. “Hey, Allison!” She sits on one side of me, and one of the boys plops down on the other.
He’s a big guy, tall and very muscular, with black hair peeking out from under his baseball hat and a harmonica hanging around his neck. He grins at me and puts out a hand. “So you’re the famous Allison, huh? Very nice to finally meet you. I’m Danny.”
I smile back and shake his hand. “Hi, Danny.”
He reaches out and delicately adjusts the top of my shirt, which was evidently hanging off my shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt.” He winks before sticking the harmonica in his mouth and blowing out a few sultry notes.
“Hey, I’m Jason!” the second guy says and waves from his spot by the door. I try not to gape. While not quite as tall as Danny, Jason is even brawnier than his friend, and just as good-looking. The white T-shirt he’s wearing contrasts strikingly with his dark skin, and his angular face makes me think he should be modeling and not studying liberal arts.
“Okay, what’s so important?” This is the first time that I’ve seen Esben look truly irritated, and I can’t help but be flattered.
“I’ve been calling and texting, but, for once in your life, you’ve apparently turned your phone off.” Kerry holds out her own phone. “Read this. It’s a Facebook post that’s getting shared. The woman lives around here.”
Esben takes the phone rather brusquely and reads aloud. “‘Cassie’s birthday party is supposed to start in three hours, and no one has RSVP’d. Not a single person. We invited the entire second-grade class. She’s six, okay? Six.’” He lowers the phone for a moment and takes a sharp breath before he continues. “‘What am I supposed to tell her when no one shows up? She has a strawberry birthmark over half her face, and one bratty girl in her class started bad-mouthing Cassie, saying she was ugly and contagious, and got everyone too afraid to talk to her. I can’t stop crying. We’ve got a huge room with princess decorations reserved at Bounce Till Dawn, because that’s what Cassie wanted. And she’s so full of hope, and that hope is going to be crushed, because she has no idea what’s about to happen. What in the hell am I going to do? Should I cancel the party and make up an excuse to Cassie? Sorry for the rant . . .’”
“Oh God,” I murmur. I know about crushed hopes all too well. And I know about rejection all too well. I feel sick.
Esben passes the phone back to Kerry. “Jesus.”
“She’s six!” Kerry says angrily.
“I know.” Esben’s feet are tapping against the hard floor.
Danny still has the harmonica in his mouth, and Esben glares at him when he produces a long, sad note.
“This kid has to have people show up to her birthday party. You have to make that happen,” Jason insists.
“I know!” Esben says sharply. He is visibly upset. “Sorry, sorry . . . just give me a minute. I don’t know what to do.”
He looks to me, and I give him a calm smile. “Yes, you do.”
Esben spins in his chair and gets on the Internet while we all wait. The sound of his typing echoes throughout the room.
“Okay. The party is at one of those places with giant inflatable structures and slides and stuff. It’s about twenty minutes from here. Here’s what we’re going to do. Kerry, comment on that post and tell her that a party is coming Cassie’s way, and she is to take her beautiful daughter to Bounce Till Dawn and prepare her for the best princess party she could ever want. Don’t let her argue with you; just tell her that the party is on. End of story. Share the post, and tag everyone you know.” He glances at us. “Jason, find Professor Donahue. She’s got triplet girls who I think are around this age. Tell her what’s going on, and see if she’ll come. Ask her to tell other parents. Then call anyone you can think of who has a car, and round up as many people as possible to fill those cars. We’ll need a caravan of sorts.” He turns back to us. “Who do we know in the theater department?”
There’s collective silence.
“Who do we know in the theater department?” he says with more urgency. “Think!”
“Oh, oh . . . Jennie Lisbon is a theater major,” Danny says. “And she’s megahot.” He punctuates this with a whistle into his harmonica.
Esben claps his hands. “Good. Ask her to raid the costume de
partment. Take anything that’ll work. Princess dresses for everyone.”
“Well, the girls,” Jason corrects.
“No, everyone. This kid wants a princess party, then we’re all going to be goddamn princesses. You’ll love it.”
“Dude, I’m not wearing—”
“Zip it!” Esben says gleefully. “You interrupted what was a very, very nice afternoon”—he pauses to wink at me—“even though it was for a good reason, and you put me in charge. So, you’re going to be a princess, goddamn it. Allison, can you and Kerry find a toy store and grab whatever princessey things you can find? Glittery stuff, ribbons, whatnot. Oh, and some helium balloons. Lots.” He opens a drawer and pulls out a small zipped bag and tosses it to me.
“What’s this?”
“Petty cash,” he answers with a smile. “You know, for emergencies.”
I toss it back. “I got this.” Simon keeps my bank account more than solid, and the only thing I ever spend money on is takeout.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Thanks, babe.”
“Sure.” I manage to say this without whimpering. No one has ever called me babe, and the way it naturally rolls off his tongue makes me melt.
He goes back to the computer and begins typing furiously as he talks. “I’m posting this. We’re going to flood this place with people who understand that Cassie deserves the best birthday ever. This kid is going to know how many people are on her side.” His face has such solid determination as he works on his post, and I am even more captivated by him. “There. Done.” Esben stands up. “Okay, everybody, move. We’re on the clock.”
Danny stands and towers over us. “I’m gonna make a much better princess than you, Jase.”
“Yeah, good luck with that. Just you wait. I am going to rock this out so hard.”
Esben shoves them both playfully and pushes them to the door. “Go, go, guys.” We hear their princess debate and screeching harmonica sounds continue down the hall.
Kerry gives him a quick hug and takes the car keys. “Love you, Baby Blue. We’ll be fast, I promise.” She goes to the door and coughs too loudly. “I’ll give you two a second. Sorry for breaking things up.”
Esben reaches for my hand and pulls me up. “I’m going to stay here and keep track of the comments. See what else we can come up with. I bet anything that someone will come up with something awesome. I’ll also call this bounce place and let them know what’s coming their way. See if they’ve got more rooms they can open up.”
Everything about him is electrified right now. He’s got an energy and a drive that has him totally on fire.
I put a hand on the side of his face, and I can’t help but shake my head a little with disbelief. “You’re like a goddamn superhero, aren’t you?”
He laughs lightly. “Hardly. I just can’t let this little girl be sad. At least not today.”
The next five hours secure that I am falling for Esben the way he is falling for me. He creates much more than a birthday party. He creates a near festival. The bounce place opens every room they have, and people stream in—with the overflow crowd hanging out in the parking lot like tailgaters at a football game—and there are so many balloons and metallic streamers and dresses and crowns and presents that I can hardly see straight.
Best of all, there is a truly happy little girl who has the party of all parties and who is undeniably and totally delighted by it all, and a mother who’s nearly speechless with gratitude.
When the party begins to wind down, I find Esben. He’s pulling off his pale-blue dress with its poufy tulle skirt, and I take his hand.
“You’re wonderful. You know that?” I say. “I could have used someone like you when I was a kid.”
He looks at me so intently and with such care. “I’d have moved mountains for you, Allison.”
“I believe that.” I start for the door, then turn back. “Esben? No more push and pull. No more wariness. I’m completely in this with you. I think I have been from the minute you picked up my ice cubes, but I just didn’t know it.”
CHAPTER 18
SHATTER ME
It’s the Wednesday after Thanksgiving, and I’m getting ready to go to Kerry’s art show. Last week, I hitched a ride down to Massachusetts with Esben and Kerry, and although I could tell Esben wanted to meet Simon when they dropped me off at my house, and I know Simon wanted to meet Esben, I wasn’t ready. That blending of worlds felt weird at the time, but I’m regretting it a little now. Maybe over winter break . . . and I cannot wait for Steffi to finally meet Esben when she comes for Christmas, as she does every year.
Back in my dorm room, Esben is at my desk and has been alternating between catching up on his social-media pages and sneaking glances at me. I’ve been fussing with my hair and trying to put on eyeliner the way Steffi taught me, and I’m not sure what’s so interesting about that. But he keeps looking at me.
When I’m finally done, he spins to face me with a mischievous expression. “You look good,” he says with a certain edge that I like.
“Thank you.”
“That dress . . .” He eyes me up and down. “It’s hot.”
I wrinkle my brow. “It’s not hot. It’s a long-sleeve wrap dress.”
He reaches out and strokes a hand over my waist. “One that hugs you in all the right places. You’re oblivious to how gorgeous you are.” His touch goes to my lower back, and he guides me closer until he’s pulled me into his lap. Immediately, his mouth is buried against my neck, kisses covering my skin, grazing over the top of my chest.
I tilt my head back. “I should wear dresses more . . .”
“And purple. Purple looks great on you,” he murmurs. “We still have thirty minutes until we have to leave. Think we could find something to do?” He pushes aside the top of my dress, and his mouth goes just above my bra line.
Esben wasn’t kidding when he told me there was a spectrum. I haven’t even taken my pants off with him yet, but he’s somehow managed to keep us very busy these past few weeks. And given the way his tongue feels and the way he’s periodically sucking on my skin, I’m pretty tempted to rip off my dress right this second.
“I know exactly what we could do,” I say. Esben lifts his mouth to mine, but just before we kiss, I stop him with a smile. “I want to go on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and all that.”
He laughs. “You do?”
I nod. “I do. I’m ready. And I think it would be fun.”
“It would be fun. We can send each other dirty tweets and drive our followers mad.”
“Then I definitely want to do this. Will you help me?”
“Right now?” he asks and traces the line of my V-neck.
“Yup. And I’ll thank you for it after the art show.” I’m totally taking my dress off tonight.
“Deal.” I nearly fall off his lap, because he’s whipped us around to face the screen so damn fast.
I sit on the bed while he navigates social-media sites and fires questions at me. I didn’t realize there was so much that went into these things, that it’s more than just passwords and profile pictures. He knows all the ins and outs of privacy and posting settings, and he gives me a brief tutorial on the basics of how these sites work. Then he takes my phone, downloads the apps, and logs me in. Apparently, I motivated him to work at the speed of light.
“There. And I’m your first follower on Twitter,” he says happily. “Since you have exactly zero pictures of you stored on your phone, I’ll take one. Now, sit there, and keep being that sexy.”
I blush, but face the camera.
“And while you’re the only person I know who doesn’t have a million selfies, I do like that you saved a screenshot of the text I sent you.” Before I can say anything, there are a few clicks, then he lowers the phone. “God, you are so beautiful.”
“Esben . . .”
“You are. Look.” He crawls onto the bed and shows me the photo he’s taken.
“You’ve got,
like, a million filters on it.”
He shakes his head. “Not a one. Now, let’s get you some followers, okay?”
“Oh. I guess so.”
Esben begins typing on his phone, and, a minute later, my own phone dings. It’s some kind of Twitter alert.
“Apparently, I’ve been mentioned.” I send him a fake-confused look. “I wonder who could have done that?” I tap the alert and am taken to my new Twitter page.
You all remember #allison, yes? Let me reintroduce you. Meet #girlfriendallison. She’s new to Twitter, so let’s give her a warm welcome. And coffee. She loves coffee.
I watch, stunned, as his tweet gets favorited and reposted over and over. And it takes only seconds for my followers to grow from this one tweet. I’m still blinking at my phone as Esben pulls me out the door.
“We gotta go,” he says, laughing.
“Why are all these people following me? I haven’t done anything.”
He shrugs and zips my coat while I continue to stare at my feed. “Guilt by association, baby.”
Esben guides me to the art gallery across campus, his hand at my elbow, because I cannot stop staring at my phone. “I have three hundred followers on Twitter. It’s been ten minutes!” I tap the screen. “And . . . like, a zillion friend requests on Facebook! And lots of pictures of coffee . . . what do I do? Am I supposed to do something? Post?”
“God, you’re cute.” He catches me as I stumble over a curb. “Take some pictures tonight. I’ll help you post some stuff later, if you want.”
As we walk into the gallery, I put my phone away. It seems silly, but I’m kind of giddy over my newfound social-media presence.