“Play me a song.”
He grabbed the electric guitar instead and plugged it into a small practice amp on the floor. The volume was set very low. I could hear the string sound over the amplification. He started strumming softly, and I knew what he was playing: “Just Like a Woman,” but the Jeff Buckley version. And then he started singing. It wasn’t perfect but it was beautifully flawed. He held nothing back. He even changed some verses and lyrics, which made me laugh.
She dances just like a woman. Oh and she drinks tequila, not at all like a woman, but when she breaks, she breaks... just like a little girl.
The last line was so soft, so delicate—the way he delivered it, I thought he must believe it to be true. That I could break like a little girl.
When the song was over, he turned around and smiled sweetly.
“I liked your changes,” I told him.
“I was going to add a line about your breath, but it seems to be minty fresh now.”
Grinning, I said, “I used your toothbrush.”
“So now your gross little sweaters are on my toothbrush?”
“You offered.” I laughed, and then patted the bed next to me. “Want to spoon?” I yawned. “I need that nap.”
In a flash he unplugged the guitar, put The Cure on his CD player on low volume, tore off his T-shirt, and slid in behind me, wearing only his flannel pajama. “God, I thought you’d never ask,” he said. He wrapped his arms around me. Nothing hurt. Everything was right. We were spoons in a drawer. We fell asleep, his face tucked into the back of my neck.
I don’t know what had come over me. Maybe it was the fact that my mom had prioritized taking Kiki to the spray-tanner over picking me up. I needed to feel something, to feel wanted.
It could have been days that we lay there tangled together—moving at times, always aware of each other’s bodies. When we started to move together, I was curled in a ball with my back against Gavin’s bare chest. He started dragging his index finger up my leg, making little circles on the outside of my thigh, pushing my T-shirt up until he was caressing my bare hip. I put my hand over his to stop him.
I didn’t think what I was doing to him was fair, but I was scared we would become exploding stars if we gave in to each other. Our energy would be exhausted too soon and we’d have to float through space like lifeless rocks, bumping into each other, drifting through our own stardust.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before kissing the back of my head. He rolled out of bed and threw his T-shirt on. When I looked back I noticed how turned on he was.
Catching me staring, he said, “It has a mind of its own.” And then he laughed half-heartedly. “I’ll go get your clothes.”
“Yeah, I should get home. Thank you.”
When he returned, we both got dressed quickly in front of each other. It wasn’t weird at all.
HE WAS QUIETon the way to my house. It was around four p.m. when he pulled into my driveway. Shutting the car off, he turned to me. “You might want to go easier on the booze next time.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” I said.
There were unanswered questions lingering silently in the air around us.
“What do you have planned for tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’m gonna go to ballet class in the morning. That’s it. Maybe study. You?”
“I have to finish that paper and study a bit, too.”
“You want to come here and study around three?”
He smiled. “In your bedroom?”
“Yes, in my bedroom.”
“Do I need to bring garlic or a wooden stake or anything like that?”
At first I thought he was flirting, but clearly he was teasing. “You’re an idiot. Do you want to or not?”
“Yes, Penny. I want to study you... I meanwithyou. I’ll be here.”
