“Okay,” Chelsea said calmly, no argument, then proceeded to be absolutely silent until he broke. He told her everything—just like he’d come here to do, if he was being honest with himself; just like he’d known he would deep in his brain stem from the moment he’d set off from school on foot. “And I’m fucked,” he said finally, working himself back up into a dark, satisfying rage about it. “They’re definitely going to pull me. I’m going to sit on the bench the rest of the fucking season, all because of her.”
When he was done, Chelsea was quiet for another moment, like she was thinking. “Doyouthink you have aconcussion right now?” she asked.
“No,” Ryan said with a bombastic certainty that wasn’t 100 percent genuine. “I don’t.”
Chelsea seemed to take him at his word. “Gabby’s not a sports person,” she pointed out. “I’m not saying that as a knock against her; it’s just true. So there are things she doesn’t get. And from what you’ve said, she has zero tolerance for discomfort of any kind, physical or emotional, so I can see why she would have freaked. Having said that, what she did was super obnoxious and overstepping and doesn’t take into account all the ways that your life is different from hers. And you’re right to be pissed off.”
Ryan wasn’t expecting that. “I am?”
“Yeah,” Chelsea said. “Absolutely. I would be.”
“Oh.” Ryan thought about that for a second. It was strange how having such a smart, rational person repeat his argument back to him—not solve it, just repeat it back—calmed him down almost immediately. Like her giving him permission to be angry meant he didn’t have to clutch the feeling quite so hard. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Chelsea pulled into his driveway; Ryan looked up at the darkened house. His mom had forgotten to leave the porch light on again—she was out on a date with Phil the Dachshund Guy, who she’d been dating for a year now but who still insisted on calling Ryanbuddyin a way that was frankly embarrassing for both of them. It was their anniversary, he remembered suddenly. She’d asked him ifhe’d mind if she missed his game.
“Well,” Chelsea said finally. “Last stop, huh?”
Ryan gazed at her for a moment in the glow of the dashboard. He liked her so, so much. He liked her smile and how scarily good she was at math and most of all the sturdiness of her, like here was a person who knew exactly who she was in the world and how she fit in there. Hemorethan liked her, potentially. He’d never felt like that about somebody he’d hooked up with before.
“You want to come in?” he asked.
They were kissing by the time they made it up the front steps and through the doorway; Ryan had her shirt off by the time they passed through the living room. He led her fast through the hallway like he always did when anybody new was in his house, not wanting to give her too much time to look around and see how shabby it was. He kicked the door shut tight and went to work on her bra.
“I’m gross,” Chelsea warned him as he fumbled at the clasp of it, his mouth on her collarbone and one knee between her thighs. “I’m still all snotty. I didn’t even shower today.”
“You’re not gross,” Ryan promised her. Even if she had been, he definitely wouldn’t have cared. “Jesus Christ, Chelsea, are you ever not gross.”
That made her smile. Ryan felt the warm, reassuring curve of it against his cheek. Chelsea nudged him backward, walked him over toward the mattress; he sat down on theedge of it, and she climbed right into his lap. His head didn’t hurt anymore. He couldn’t imagine any part of his body ever hurting again in his life.
“You want to?” he asked finally, plucking at the waistband of her sweatpants; they were lying down now, most of his own clothes in a heap on the floor. His room was dark, the only sounds the hiss of the heater and his own ragged breaths.
“Yeah,” Chelsea said, looking at him seriously. “Yeah, I do.”
“Really?” he asked, unable to keep the shock out of his voice. He’d fully expected her to say no. Then, worried for a second she’d misunderstood what he was asking: “I mean. You want to have sex?”
Chelsea laughed at that, loud and cackling. “Yeah, Ryan. I want to have sex.”
“Oh.” Ryan nodded. “Okay. Good. Me too.”
Chelsea laughed again at that and kissed him. Ryan pulled her sweats down her legs. He’d never actually done this before, though he knew he had a reputation at school, and it wasn’t like he’d done anything to dissuade people. He found it was better to let them think what they thought.
Still, and maybe it was his mom’s vestigial Catholicism in him, but he’d always thought it would be sort of special, the first time he did it. Not that this wasn’t special, obviously—not thatChelseawasn’t special—but if he was being completelyhonest with himself, he always kind of assumed it would be with—with—
Whatever.
Ryan rubbed his hands up and down Chelsea’s arms, felt the swimming muscles in her shoulders: she’d challenged him to arm wrestling one of the first times they’d hung out. He’d won, but not as quickly as he thought he was going to.
“God,” he said, looking at her in the sliver of light coming in through the window, “you are sopretty.”
“You’re pretty, too,” Chelsea told him. Ryan grinned.
GABBY
“What about this one?” Kristina called the next morning, holding up a lip gloss down at the other end of the aisle.
Gabby squinted. “It’s very purple, certainly.”
“Is that a no?”
