“I’m just going to quickly use the loo,” I said.
I found myself in the poky bathroom, panic high in my chest, phone to my lips, recording a voice note for my sister.
“Claire, I know I promised no more relationships, but I think I want to hook up with my boss. And I think maybe he wants it, too. I don’t know…. Is this…I mean…Like, I know it’s stupid and risky and it terrifies me…and I know what happened with the last guy. But this is okay, right? It’s been years. What’s the worst that could—”
Someone was banging on the door. I let the voice note send half-finished.
Outside, James took me in with a deep spark of curiosity behind a slightly glazed look. I wasn’t going to let this spark of interest die. I pulled him to me.
“I want you to forget about this tomorrow, but I know I’ll regret it if I don’t do this tonight.”
And I kissed him. It was warm and wet, and I think he was startled at first. After a moment, he pulled away.
“Natalie, I really shouldn’t. You’re my— This is—”
“Do you want me to stop?” I asked.
“Not even a little bit.”
I kissed him again, his hands soon on me, steady and strong. The kiss was at once tender and firm. It felt like a kiss on a leash. There was a restraint in the meeting of our lips and the light pressure of his fingertips on my flesh. But the restraint soon came loose, James’s hands reaching for my waist, pulling our bodies together.
A sharp pain suddenly bloomed on my lip, a metallic taste in my mouth. It didn’t take me long to realize that he’d bitten me. Hard enough to break the skin. I pulled back, our eyes connecting. There was a challenge in his. My pulse raced quicker.
Perhaps this should have been a warning that James might hurt me more significantly down the line. That he might even enjoy it. But inthis moment, I was so consumed by want, blood rushing through my ears and creeping across my tongue, that there wasn’t any room for fear.
And I wish I could say that this was where things ended between us, but as I walked over to his apartment, the promise of a home-cooked dinner and perhaps something more ahead of me, I’m ashamed to admit that this felt like the beginning of something new.
6
Ex Number One
Marc
It’s amazing just how easily a shitty boy can ruin your whole night. I’m sipping a Smirnoff Ice, already a bit dizzy, the usually sweet bubbles sour in my mouth. Across the teeming living room, Marc and his boys are having a laugh, elbowing one another and downing cups of foamy beer. They’re red cups, just like the kind from American shows. Everyone says it’s so cool he got them. Marc, that is. It’s his house we’re in for the prom after-party.
To be totally honest, Marc’s got a weird hard-on for all things American. He says he’s going to Harvard to study, but it’s not clear to anyone whether he’s actually gotten in. His parents, who are staying in a hotel for the night, could probably afford it, though. They’re stupid rich. Which is kind of why we’re at Marc’s place to begin with. It’s huge—they’ve got four whole bedrooms and a pool. One time, Marc had me over and got me to give him a handy in it. When he came, his voice slipped into this weird American accent. It was strange as fuck.
Anyway, I’m at Marc’s stupid big house looking at his stupid hot face and trying to make eye contact with him. I’ve been trying this for a good half hour now, and it’s like he’s deliberately not looking at me.
It’s strange to say, but in this new state of crisis, I feel a little more alive than usual. Terrified, but everything drawn into a sharper focus. I hate it. I need it.
Emily’s suddenly appeared, a bony arm around my shoulders. She’s been hitting it harder than I have, shiny copper curls wild from all the dancing.
“Come on, Nat. You’ve gotta dance with me!”
“In a minute,” I say.
Emily tracks my line of sight.
“What’s going on with you two anyway? You were all weird leaving the hall. You didn’t even speak to each other. You fighting?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
She hiccups and leans her head against my shoulder. “Babe, he’s kind of an asshole. You’re better off out of it.” She abruptly springs upright. “Now come dance with me!”
“In a bit. Promise,” I say.
I watch her pout and leave, and I gather what courage I can. It never comes easily to me, bravery, but I’ve gotten good at faking it. I strut across the room, imagining I’m a sexy model or actress, hoping that this will mesmerize Marc, who is now, at the very least, looking at me. I catch the end of what his friend in the red hoodie is yelling, slapping Marc’s back to punctuate his point.
