By ten, I was pretty buzzed and feeling so relaxed I’d actually been staring at his mouth as he talked. I think I wanted to kiss him. The thought was so shocking, so welcome, that it made me giddy.
This was what I needed. I started to touch him as we talked—a hand to his wrist, my knee bumping his thigh—small touches, but they didn’t go unnoticed by him. When I finished my beer he cleared his throat and ran a nervous hand through his strands of black silk.
“You wanna maybe come over to my place and watch a movie or something?”
“Sure,” I said without hesitation. His eyes popped wide with surprise, and I giggled, which made him laugh too.
“All right. We can leave your car here,” he said. “I’ll bring you back when the movie’s over if you’re okay to drive.”
“Okay.” I let him take me by the hand and lead me to his car. The feel of my hand in his larger one was nice. We drove with the windows half-down while he blasted EDM. I felt alive and young in that moment. This was what I should be doing. Going out, having fun. Living my life. Giving nice guys a chance.
We got to his apartment and he put on a new Greek war drama. But by the time the title was across the screen, he’d sat next to me, looked at me, and then we were kissing. I think I surprised him when I leaned back and pulled him down on top of me, because he let out a moan and then chuckled at himself. My head was buzzing and my skin welcomed his touch. It had been a long time since I kissed anyone, and Ken knew what he was doing.
Things progressed quickly. I’d dated guys during college, and done some stuff, but I’d never had sex. The full desire had never been there. But tonight I felt something inside of me pushing. Something seeking. Something begging me to fill that longtime void inside of me. And Ken was more than willing.
His shirt came off, and his smooth brown skin hovered over mine. He pushed up my shirt and gently shoved a hand under my bra to cup me in his palm. I felt strangely . . . disembodied, like I didn’t want to think about it. I just wanted to keep going, as quickly as possible, before I could talk myself out of it. I squirmed underneath him until I’d pulled my shirt and bra off. He moaned again and took each of my breasts in his warm mouth, one by one, until my back was arching for more.
“Amber . . .” he murmured.
I reached between us and stroked the outside of his jeans, eliciting a guttural cry from his throat. Then I unbuttoned his pants and he sat up. His eyes stayed on me, hungrily eating me up as he dropped his jeans and stepped out of them. His eyes roamed down to my hands where I was unbuttoning my shorts. That’s when the first small bout of nervousness hit me.
Keep going, I told myself. It’s okay.
I lifted my hips and he tugged down my shorts before climbing on top of me. Now there were only boxers and panties between us. I felt an underlying panic, like if I didn’t hurry up and do this I would lose my nerve and never move forward in life. As he kissed me, I reached down again. He lifted his hips and let me pull down the elastic of his boxers and take him in my hand. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he composed himself, and then he reached for his wallet inside his jeans on the floor. Within moments he had a condom in his hand and was ripping it open with his teeth.
Oh, my God . . . this is happening.
I pushed down my fear. He rolled the condom on and looked me in the eyes again. This was my chance to stop him. But I didn’t. Reckless rebellion against years of nothingness urged me to push my underwear down. Ken touched me and said my name again with such adoration. He licked his fingers and touched me again. Then I felt him, right there. I held my breath as another shock of nervousness ratcheted through me.
Ken thrust his hips and I cried out at the stinging pinch of discomfort. He must have taken my gasp as a sound of pleasure because he thrust hard again and I yelled, pressing my forehead into his chest and gripping his sides as hard as I could. My entire body went rigid. What was I doing? What was I trying to prove?
The right man’s worth waiting for . . .
“Ken,” I said breathlessly. “Wait. Stop.”
His hips immediately stilled and he wrenched his head back to look at me. In a panic, I pushed him so I could sit up. He pulled out of me, making us both hiss. Then he looked down at the condom, which made me do the same. There was brownish-red on it. His head swung up to me, his eyes wild.
“Tate? Please tell me this wasn’t your first time.”
I opened my mouth to lie, to tell him I was on my period or something, but I hesitated too long.
“Fuck,” he whispered. He hung his head, pressing his face into his hands.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. My head suddenly cleared as all traces of lust faded. I spotted my underwear on the floor and snatched them up, shoving my legs into them. I was trembling all over as I tried to find the correct holes for my arms and head in my shirt.
“I didn’t even think . . .” Ken stuttered. “I wouldn’t have been so . . .”
“It’s okay,” I said. But it wasn’t. I shouldn’t have let it go so far. “It’s my fault. I should have told you.”
“Amber . . .”
Once my legs were in my shorts again, I headed for his bathroom and closed myself in. I splashed cold water on my face, breathing hard, refusing to look at myself in the mirror. How could I go out there and face him again? I was humiliated, and I hated that he obviously felt guilty for being rough with a virgin.
Oh, my God . . . I wasn’t a virgin anymore. Did it matter? Kind of. I’d just always thought it would be different. I’d only ever imagined being with Rylen . . . I shook my head at that lost dream, and felt a moment of irrational anger toward Ry, as if he were to blame for my actions. I stood upright and shook my arms out, releasing a deep breath.
Unless I planned to live in his bathroom, I had to get back out there. Ken stood in his living room, completely dressed. His eyes were full of remorse, which made me look away. The room spun a little from the buzz that clung to me.
“I think I should go home,” I said.
“Tate.” He came forward and took my hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t even . . . I didn’t expect this to happen.”
“I know,” I said. I’d taken us both by surprise. “I didn’t either.”
“Are you mad at me?”
I looked into his eyes and said strongly, “No. I’m not mad, Ken. I swear.”
“But you think it was a mistake.” I watched him swallow hard. I knew he wanted me to say no, that it wasn’t a mistake. That I liked him and wanted to be with him, but I couldn’t give him false hope. I, for one, knew how much false hope really hurt someone.
“I thought I was ready, but I was wrong. That’s on me, not you. It’s not because of anything you did. You’re . . . awesome. I’m a mess.” I tried to smile, but he looked like I’d kicked him in the balls. I’d totally left him hanging. I let out a trembling sigh. “Can you take me to my car?”
He was silent a second, and I prayed he wouldn’t make things any worse by begging me to stay or something. Thankfully, he asked, “Will you be okay to drive?”
“Yeah,” I answered quietly.
I felt near tears the entire drive back to the lot with my car. Then there was the awkward moment when we arrived, where I didn’t know if I should hug him good-bye. I ended up clutching my purse in both hands and blurting, “Good night, Ken. Thanks for dinner.” So lame.
He let out a huff of air and a disbelieving chuckle. “Yeah. No problem.” I couldn’t tell if he was mad or sad or what, but I didn’t take time to find out. I got out and shut the door. Ken waited until I was in my car with the engine on before he drove away.
Guilt consumed me whole at that moment, like a giant, slimy mouth. I sat there disgusted with myself on so many levels. I’d tried to appease my aching heart by pulling the wool over its eyes, but my heart knew what it wanted and would accept no substitutes. I wanted to bitch-slap my stupid heart.
I knew Remy was waiting for a call, but I didn’t think I could stomach it. In fact, I w
as mortified at the thought of telling her. If anyone could understand and love me without judgment, it was Remy, and while she was an open book about her own escapades, I’d always been more hesitant and private. And right now I couldn’t think about what had happened, much less talk about it. Besides, Remy would sense my guilt and probably try to take partial responsibility for pressuring me to go out with Ken.
I pulled out my phone and texted: On my way home. So tired. Nice guy, nice dinner, but I’m not feeling a 2nd date. Sorry. Luv u.
She texted back right away: Aw, boo. :( Luv u 2.
And that was that.
I turned twenty-one at the beginning of that summer. I didn’t take the day off or tell anyone it was my birthday. But Remy knew, and she asked to take me out after work. Funny thing is, Remy ended up being the drunk one while I was the DD. I’d been drunk plenty of times, especially in high school, but for the past year I’d had no desire. It was like I’d seen too much. Drunk driving, alcohol poisoning, bar fights . . . hooking up with dudes you had to see way too often at work. Yeah, no thanks.
“I can’t believe you didn’t bother to bring a change of clothes,” Remy complained.
I glanced down at my navy work pants and my under T-shirt, then at Remy’s cute skirt and beaded top. I looked around at the other girls with their hair flowing and shiny. Mine was up in a ponytail. Suddenly I felt incredibly frumpy and old. Remy sipped her pink drink with her glossy lips, and I suffered a pang of jealousy.
An older guy in a flannel shirt came over, puffing out his chest. “Can I buy y’all—”
“No thanks,” I said. Remy’s eyes bulged. I guess she wanted that free drink.
The man looked back and forth between us and muttered, “Lezzies.”
Remy gasped and I shot him the bird as he walked away. Then she glared at me.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll buy you a drink myself, but men like that will act like you owe them something if you accept a drink from them.”
Remy studied me. “I feel like your job is sucking the life out of you. When’s the last time you hooked up with someone?”
My face heated as I thought back to Ken’s apartment.
“Maybe it’s not your job. Maybe it’s Rylen,” Remy said. His name was like a punch to the chest. Remy finished her drink and pushed it away. I nodded at the bartender to bring her another. “You know I’ve shipped Ryber for a long time, but—”
“I thought we were Amlen?”
She shook her head. “The point is, his half of the ship refuses to sail, and it’s screwing up your life.”
“It’s not because of him.” Big, fat lie.
“I’m not trying to be mean . . .” Oh, she was totally about to be mean. “But don’t you think if Rylen thought of you like that, he would have made a move by now? You’ve been legal for three years.”
I grit my teeth to avoid telling her to shut up, and when her drink came I almost snatched it up and sucked it down myself. Instead, I sat quietly and watched her sip.
“All I’m saying is that you either need to flat-out tell him how you feel, no small hints that can be taken as jokes, or drop the fantasizing and move on. You’re freaking gorgeous. You’re going to regret wasting your youth.”
Geez. I turned to face the bar and scowled at the rows of bottles. Remy slid her arm around mine and put her chin on my shoulder, gazing up at me with a pouty face.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said all of that. It’s the vodka talking.”
“No, you’re right.” I rested my cheek on the top of her head.
Behind me I heard a man cough loudly, and imbedded in the cough was something that sounded a lot like Lezzies. I saw flannel pass us.
Remy started to turn, saying, “That’s it,” but I grabbed her arm.
“Just ignore him. I promise to let him bleed to death if I get called to the scene of his accident. He’s bound to get stabbed by someone someday.”
She giggled. As the night went on, I got to hear all the dirty details of Remy’s sorority life at UNLV and their brother fraternity with its myriad of hot, future businessmen. She was in her last year and would have her biology degree soon. Remy’s future sounded glamorous, and as much as I wouldn’t trade my job for anything in the world, I began to wonder if I wasn’t cheating myself out of something. But then, as I stood in the tight bathroom stall of the bar two hours later, holding Remy’s hair back, I realized we all had our place in life. I’d rather be the helper than the puker. Perhaps that made me boring, but I was happy. Ish. Happy-ish.
When it rains, it pours. And floods. And washes away adolescent dreams.
That Thanksgiving, for the first time since the bombings on Fatal Friday, a true sense of dread had settled over the U.S. There’d been so much hearsay of imminent danger over the years. So much talk of threats and possible enemies, but it seemed like hot air because nothing ever happened. Today felt different. Every news station was abuzz. I sat with my family after our Mexican-American feast, watching the coverage. My phone sat on my lap, ringer on high in case I got called in to work.
“Tomorrow is being hailed a monumental day in U.S. and world history,” the anchor said. “Every U.S. Senator and House Representative, along with our President and Vice President are headed to Washington DC to meet with leaders from allied countries. Never before will so many leaders be together outside of a decreed summit of the United Nations: Britain, France, Spain, Turkey, Belgium, and Canada to name a few. Those who cannot join will be present via satellite. The security level of the nation’s capital is on the highest alert it’s ever been.
“For those of you just joining us, U.S. intelligence gained undisputed evidence that three undisclosed nations have nuclear weapons that are not sanctioned by the U.N., and are refusing to disable or allow the U.N. to further research. Our sources suspect the countries are Russia, North Korea, and one of the Middle East Emissaries, but representatives will neither confirm nor deny those rumors. They have, however, confirmed that our country is under a dire threat. The House speaker was quoted this Monday saying ‘Time is of the essence. We are overriding the U.N. and taking matters into our own hands.’”
At this, my father shook his head from the recliner. “About time.” Grandpa Tate murmured his agreement. Mom, Abuela, and I continued watching in silence.
“Once the international panel has met this evening, the U.S. representatives will immediately vote on whether or not the U.S. should declare war. The meeting is expected to last through this evening, possibly into morning hours.”
There had always been known threats—countries and groups that were hostile to western culture, but it sounded like the current perpetrators were taunting us, with bombs pointed and fingers on the triggers. The news switched from the anchor to demonstrators on The Mall lawn in D.C. Some cried out for peaceful negotiations, while others hollered for the swift justice of war. And though it was all a bit unsettling, I felt a grateful sense of distance from the danger. I was glad to live in the middle of nowhere.
I stood, ready to hit the sack early, but a special alert flashed across the screen.
“Senator Bradford Navis of Nevada is being flown from proceedings in the nation’s capital back to his home state. We’ve received word that his wife has been in a car accident and is in critical condition.”
What? I pressed a hand to my heart as Mom and Abuela gasped.
“Not the senator,” Mom said.
My heart ached. Bradford Navis was young and vibrant. He took office at thirty, his gorgeous wife at his side. The two of them were clearly in love, the way they always smiled at one another, caught on camera. They couldn’t have children and it was common knowledge that they were in adoption proceedings.
“That is a damn shame,” Grandpa said softly.
“I light candle.” Abuela stood and disappeared to her guest room to pray.
I sat next to Mom, feeling too heavy to get up and go to bed now. I saw tragedy all the time, but it was always h
ardest with young couples and families. So full of life and energy. To see someone’s candle snubbed so soon, so suddenly, it filled me with an aching hole full of questions.
My phone buzzed with a text message, filling me with disappointment at the thought of getting called in. But when I looked, my heart rose into my throat. It was Rylen.
Happy Thanksgiving.
I grinned like crazy. He rarely texted me unless he was somewhere in the U.S., off duty. I texted Happy Thanksgiving back to him. Where was he?
Then he said:
I bolted to my feet. “Oh my gosh! Rylen’s coming over!”
Mom jumped up too, clasping her hands and beaming at me, then she ran off to straighten up the kitchen. She knocked on Abuela’s room on the way, telling her in Spanish that Rylen was on his way. Dad grinned and kicked the footrest down on his recliner.
I typed back with a shaking hand: Yes. See u soon!
Rylen! I dashed into the bathroom, feeling giddy as I brushed my teeth, then into my room to change into something cuter and brush my hair. I was swiping on lip gloss when I heard the door open and happy voices ringing out. I ran down the hall and into the family room, stopping in my tracks at the sight of not one, but two people.
Rylen . . . damn . . . he looked so amazingly good, dressed in his BDUs. But at his side was a girl. A cute, petite, shy-seeming, Hispanic girl. Rylen gave me a half-smile from across the room. He seemed almost nervous, the way his eyes darted around to each of our faces, stopping on mine for an extra long moment before focusing on Mom. Then he put his arm around the girl’s shoulder and said, “Tate family. I’d like you to meet Livia . . . my wife.”
Dizziness overcame me. The room was silent as a beat of shock settled over us. Mom shot a worried glance at me, but at the sight of my stony face quickly looked away and recovered with a beaming smile. And then my parents converged on them, making happy sounds, giving hugs, asking questions that I couldn’t hear through the storm in my ears. My entire Thanksgiving meal threatened to make an ugly reappearance. I vaguely felt Mom’s hand on my shoulder, pulling me forward, casting another anxious look at my face before she plastered on that smile again.