I reach my hand between my legs and touch myself.My eyes fly open.I’m not even slightly sore.I don’t feel any chafing or pain or even a twinge of discomfort.Nothing.Why don’t I feel any of those things?
If anything happened between Declan and me, I’d be sore.No question about it.I’ve never had actual sex.I’ve never been penetrated by anything but my own fingers every once in a while.I’m not a doctor or an engineer, but I just saw what Declan’s packin’, and there’sno wayhe could have gotten inside me without leaving some sort of calling card.
Which means I’m still a virgin.
I laugh to myself and stare at the water circling the drain under my feet.Still a virgin!I should be relieved, and I guess I am.But I’m disappointed, too.I can’t lie.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I’ve always hoped that, by some lucky turn of events, Declan would be my first.Not only that, but I had to admit to myself years ago that I was holding out for him.I didn’t want to give myself to just anyone.
I’ve always wanted it to be Declan.
So maybe it’s for the best that nothing happened.
What a shame it would be to hold out all those years for him, only to be too hammered to remember it!
I comb conditioner through my hair and feel myself settle and calm.I still dread talking to Declan about all this, because it’s awkward, but it could have been much, much worse.
My job now is to march out there and tell Declan that he can calm down, too.I picture him, wrapped in a towel, thinking he has to apologize because he’s taken a ride on the Summer train.I need to set him straight.
All I have to do is figure out a way to break the news without telling him the whole truth—that I know without a doubt we didn’t have sex, because my virginal va-jay-jay shows no signs of getting any action.
I finish my shower, towel dry, and slip on one of the luxurious hotel robes I find hanging in the bathroom closet.I comb my hair, look into the mirror at my squeaky-clean reflection, and tell myself that all will be well.
I step into the suite.I don’t see him right away.Then I notice him sitting on a chair at the dining room table, staring out into space.
I go to him and hop up on the table, swinging my legs.“That’s a top-notch shower.I highly recommend it.”
He nods.He looks sad.
“Declan, we’re okay.Really.Nothing happened.”
His eyes flash at me.He’s so handsome—and so tortured—that my heart hurts.
“I don’t remember much,” he says.
I shrug.“The last thing I remember is looking for Evander and Phoebe at a place called the Mariah Carey Chapel of Love.”
He widens his eyes.“Riiiiight.Beyoncé.”
“Except Beyoncé had a freakishly deep voice and a five-o’clock shadow.”
He manages a weak smile and reaches out to give my hand a gentle squeeze.Declan gazes up at me, his eyes searching mine.I see nothing but affection and gratitude there.And all I want to do is say it out loud.
That I love him.That I’ve always loved him.
But his expression sends a hot rush of fear through me.I want to look away, but I fight to stay with him, to return his smile the best I can.
“I remember something else, Summer,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“I kissed you.”
“You did.And I kissed you back.”
“You sure did.”
His thumb strokes the top of my hand.His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, and without thinking, I run my tongue over them.Declan’s pupils dilate and his violet-blue eyes grow dark.
