Lust - 1 (14 page)

blonder girls, bitchier girls, lamer girls, and most of al , tired of sitting around waiting for something to happen.

She wasn’t that kind of girl.

Not usual y, at least. And not tonight.

So after the meeting in the diner (and Harper had at least derived a measure of pleasure from watching Beth twist in the wind, as Adam cluelessly dug himself into a deeper and deeper hole), Harper had decided she needed a break. A vacation from this unsettling and ineffective good girl version of herself that was trying to forge some kind of honest emotional bond with her oldest friend. A return, if brief, to reality.

Enter Derek.

Derek was blond, built, brainless—and had been chasing after her for months. A few dates with him had been al she needed to deem him more irritating than nails scraping on a blackboard, but tonight? Tonight he had seemed just what she needed.

So here she was, an hour after her unabashed booty cal , tangled up in his idiotic arms. It hadn’t taken much. She’d washed off the diner grease, slipped into a red camisole and black faux leather skirt, applied a fresh coat of makeup, and been more than ready to go fifteen minutes later when his black SUV pul ed up to her house and honked until she emerged from the front door. Derek had, of course, been al over her the moment she stepped into the car—or, as he preferred to speak of it, his “love machine”—but after a few slobbery kisses, she’d suggested they stop off for a drink. If she was going to make it through a night with Derek, sober just wasn’t going to cut it. (Though she knew from experience that drunk was an equal y unwise way to go; when dealing with Derek “Magic Fingers” Cooper, it was best to keep your wits about you. Moderation, that was key.) So—one drink. One long drive down a dark road, hiphop blasting from the speakers, Derek keeping one hand on the wheel and the other massaging the contours of her inner thigh. Harper let her hand creep across into his lap, returning the favor—after al , he was incredibly hot, and with the music blaring, it was too loud for him to say anything dumb that would spoil the pretty picture.

Ten minutes more and they were there. “Lover’s Lane”—in this case, a quiet stretch of back road with plenty of cactus tree cover and open space for the picnic blanket Derek

“just happened” to have in his trunk. They lay on the scratchy blanket and groped each other, with plenty of heavy petting and heavy breathing. Soon Harper was sprawled out on her back, wearing nothing but a pair of violet satin panties. She was also bored out of her mind.

“You’re so hot,” Derek said, stroking her breast with his meaty hand and then leaning in to plant a slobbery kiss on it. “I mean,
really
hot,” he added, coming up for air.

“Mmm-hmm,” Harper agreed as she shifted position, searching for a comfortable spot on the gravel y, uneven ground. No luck. She shivered—September wasn’t such a great time to be out at night with no clothes on, she supposed. On the other hand, she thought, her mind wandering as Derek kissed (or, judging from the feel, licked) a path across her chest, at least the stars were beautiful. She’d never been one for star-gazing, but she needed
something
to do.

“You’re hot too,” she added mechanical y, after it became clear that Derek was waiting for something of the sort.
And was that the Big Dipper?
she wondered idly.

It had been like this for the whole tedious, predictable night. Sure, at first it had been good to be reminded of how desirable she was, but it had gotten old. Fast. Or maybe she was the one getting old—because, for whatever reason, she just couldn’t get into things. In the past, she would at least have had a little fun before drifting into boredom. Put her brain to sleep and let her body run on autopilot. But now, it was like she couldn’t stop herself from thinking.

And thinking and Derek? Not a match made in heaven.

Not that he wasn’t a pretty perfect physical specimen, Harper conceded, running her tongue along the outline of his ear and then kissing her way down his neck. She’d give him that.

No, she wouldn’t be lying here naked in an abandoned field on a ratty blanket with some guy who couldn’t cut it on the A list. Ripped chest, deep blue eyes, cut biceps, adorable dimples on his face (and butt)—he certainly wasn’t getting through life on his wits.

“Did anyone ever tel you that you look just like Lara Croft?” he asked, rol ing over on his side and gazing at her with an adoring look that made her cringe.

“Who?” If, in the heat of passion, he was comparing her to some ex-girlfriend, he was even dumber than she’d thought.

“You know, Lara Croft. Tomb Raider.” Derek paused in his inch-by-inch examination of her body. “It’s kind of lame, not as good as Madden NFL or Grand Theft Auto—but dude, she’s hot.” He went back to work. The guy was industrious. “Mmm, not as hot as you, babe.”

Okay, Harper decided, enough was enough. Seriously—video game chick? Even an ex-girlfriend would have been better than
that
.

Harper abruptly pul ed away from Derek and began col ecting her rumpled clothes from where they’d fal en during his hasty scramble to strip her bare.

“I’m a little tired, Derek,” she said, squeezing into her strapless bra and pul ing her top over her head. “Can we head home now?”

“But I told you, I’ve got protection,” he protested, confused. He tugged lamely at her shirt, trying to pul it off again; she wriggled out of his reach. “We were just getting started!”

“Wel , now you can get started getting dressed,” she informed him, throwing his pants in his face. “Because I promise you this—it’s not going to happen.”

It had been two days.

Beth and Adam stil weren’t speaking to each other—and Beth was desperate.

Which was the only possible explanation for her cal . A last, the very last, resort.

And after al , there was no one else. She hated to admit it, but after getting together with Adam, she’d drifted away from most of her girlfriends. There was nowhere else to turn.

Desperation sucked.

She flipped open her smal Winnie the Pooh phone book to the right page—after al this time, she stil didn’t know the number by heart—and began to dial.

“Hey, Harper, it’s … Beth,” she said timidly, once the other girl had answered the phone. And they began to chat. Awkwardly pushing through al possible areas of smal talk (big surprise, there weren’t too many), Harper at least had the grace not to ask, “Yeah, but what do you real y want?” though Beth was sure it was at the forefront of her mind. And why not?

When had she ever cal ed Harper “just to chat”?

As Harper prattled on about something that had happened to Mr. Greenfield’s toupee during third period, Beth asked herself again whether she real y wanted to have this conversation. Whether she could actual y bring herself to have it out loud. She shuffled through some papers on her desk, began doodling on the back of one, nothing but meaningless scribbles, but it passed the time and calmed her down. Final y, she glanced over at the bed, which she’d neglected to make that morning. The sheets and comforter were tangled and strewn haphazardly across its surface; it seemed a bigger mess than one person could possibly have made on her own, even tossing and turning al night, as she had. It was the bed that convinced her; she didn’t want to be on her own there, not forever.

“Harper, can I ask you something?” she interrupted. Harper was
still
talking, laughing about whatever it was she’d just divulged, but she broke off immediately, sensing the tension in Beth’s voice.

“Of course.”

“Wel …” Beth had no idea how to begin. “You and I have spent a lot of time together, but we don’t real y know each other that wel , I mean, I guess we’re not real y
friends
.…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harper said quickly. “Anyone important to Adam is a part of my life. You know how close we are.” Beth felt a quick stab of pain at the words—yes, of course she knew how
close
Adam and Harper were. Hadn’t she suffered through hours of conversation about how wonderful Harper was? What a great friend she was? How misunderstood she was? Like she needed a reminder that her boyfriend considered some other girl his best friend, maybe his soul mate. (He’d never said it aloud … but then, Beth had never had the nerve to ask, not wanting to hear the answer.) Platonic soul mate, she reminded herself—and, after al , why else had she picked up the phone?

“You do know him better than anyone else—probably better than I do,” Beth admitted, gritting her teeth. “That’s kind of why I wanted to talk to you.” There was a long pause.

“Wel ,” Beth began again, “maybe it’s been obvious that Adam and I haven’t been getting along al that wel lately.”

“Real y?” Harper’s voice oozed concern. “I hadn’t noticed—what’s wrong?”

“It’s been a lot of little things, I guess—but, I mean, there’s this one big thing hanging over us. And I think—no, I know, that’s the real problem.”

“What?”

“You’l laugh.”

Of course she would laugh. Harper went out with a different guy every week, and Beth was sure she wasn’t pushing any of them away with some half-articulated excuse that she only half believed herself. Not that she wanted to be like Harper. Of course not. She didn’t even
like
Harper. But al the more reason not to want the other girl to laugh at her, hold it over her for the rest of the year, spread it around the school that Beth was … wel , Beth was sure Harper would find an appropriately cutting description.

Maybe this had al been a big mistake.

“I swear, I won’t laugh,” Harper promised.

“You wil ,” Beth countered.

“Beth, I promise you,” Harper said seriously, “you can tel me anything. If you have a problem, I real y want to help.” On the other hand, she sounded so sincere—and Beth was so desperate.

“It’s sex,” Beth said final y. “I’ve never—wel , it would be my first time, and I’m not sure I—”

“You haven’t slept together yet?” Harper asked incredulously.

“You probably think that’s pathetic, don’t you?” Beth held her breath and waited for the inevitable.

“No, no, of course not,” Harper said hastily. “You just caught me off guard, that’s al . I always assumed … but there’s nothing wrong with it.” Beth sighed in relief. Maybe she could confide in Harper after al . This thing had been eating away at her for too long, and it would be so good to actual y talk to someone about it. Even Harper …

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Beth explained. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I
do
. Or at least, I think I do. But every time we get close, I just freeze up. And he thinks it’s because I don’t trust him, but it’s not that—it’s just that …”

“You’re not ready,” Harper prompted.

Beth sighed again.

“I guess so. I mean, I guess I’m not.” Why was it so easy for Harper to grasp, but stil so hard to make Adam understand? It’s not like she’d made some hard-and-fast rule for herself, no sex until col ege or something. And it’s not like she thought there was something wrong with the girls in her class who were doing it—even the ones who were doing it a lot.

She had just always thought of herself as someone who would wait. Until she was real y in love, until she was old enough—it had al seemed pretty simple and straightforward in the abstract. But now? With Adam? Now she wasn’t so sure—what did it mean to be “real y” in love? When would she be “old enough?” What did it mean to be “ready”—and would she even know when she was? Would it be when she wasn’t scared anymore? When sex didn’t seem like such a big deal that might change everything, ruin everything? What if that time never came, and
this
was what it felt like to be ready? After al , when she was with him, part of her always felt ready, more than ready—eager. Hungry for more. It was just that the other part of her, the part that said no, wait, not now, not yet—that part was stronger. And that was the part that stayed with her when she got out of bed. That was the part she had to trust—right?

“So, have you two talked about this?” Harper asked.

“It seems like it’s al we ever talk about anymore,” Beth admitted. “And he says he understands, but it’s like there’s always al this tension between us. We’re always fighting about something—but it seems like, somehow, it’s always about this. I’m just afraid …”

“What?”

Beth had never put the fear into words before, although it was always with her, simmering just beneath the surface. Somehow saying it out loud made it just a bit more real, a bit more dangerous. But it had to be said.

“Sometimes I’m afraid that he’s going to break up with me,” she said quietly. “Find someone else who’s not so—someone who
is
ready.”

“Beth,” Harper said in a grave voice. “Like you said, I know Adam. He would never do that. He loves you.”

“You don’t understand, Harper,” Beth said plaintively, and suddenly al of the concerns she’d bottled up over the last few weeks came spil ing out. “There’s something off, and lately it’s like, everywhere I turn, he’s with Kaia. What if she—and he—I don’t know. Maybe I should just—do it, you know? What am I waiting for?”

“You’re waiting until you’re ready,” Harper reminded her.