Lust - 1 (25 page)

“Did you see Lauren’s dress?” Miranda asked once they were safely ensconced in her bedroom. She exhaled a puff of smoke and flopped back onto her bed.

“How could I miss it? It was practical y fluorescent!” Harper cackled, taking the joint from Miranda and inhaling deeply. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed and rubbing her bare feet against the soft plush of Miranda’s rug. The best part of going to a formal was always the hour before getting ready and the hour afterward rehashing the night—so who cared if they’d pretty much skipped the middle? “And how about the way Peter King kept drooling every time I walked by?”

“Peter the Perv? Didn’t he get thrown out of school last year for trying to instal that camera in the girls’ locker room?” Miranda asked with a laugh, almost choking on a kernel of popcorn.

“He’s b-a-a-a-a-ack,” Harper sang out.

“Hey, at least you didn’t have Lawrence Lester and the bug thugs chasing after you al night,” Miranda complained.

“Lester Lawrence,” Harper corrected her sternly. “Lester and Miranda Lawrence—has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Shut up!” Miranda slammed a pil ow into Harper’s face and they both dissolved into giggles. There were a lot of kids in their high school, and most of them sucked—if they tried hard enough, this could keep them going al night long.

“Dude, great party!” Adam said, stumbling through the doorway of the motel. Beth caught him just before he fel .

“Yeah, great,” she echoed weakly, taking in the cloud of smoke, stench of beer, pumping music, and scattered couples making out in the darkened corners.

Adam high-fived Kane. “Your brother manage to score us the kegs?”

“You know it,” Kane assured him.

“Awesome—point me to it, liquor-man.”

“Adam,” Beth began tentatively, “don’t you think maybe you’ve had enough?”

He brushed her off and charged ahead. “No such thing!” he cal ed back, before disappearing into the darkness.

Beth froze in the lobby, not sure what to do. A few tinted paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting an eerie, shadowy pal over everything. There was no electricity, and they’d decided against candles (nice ambience but overwhelming likelihood of disaster), so they were stuck with the dim reddish lighting of the battery-powered lanterns and the few shafts of moonlight filtering in through the lobby windows.

She and Adam had been one of the last couples to leave the dance, so al the seniors on the secret invite list had already showed up—the place was packed, but in the darkness, Beth couldn’t pick out any familiar faces. There were only strangers, blank bodies bouncing in time with the music or squeezed in together on one of the couches, ignoring the crowd. She was so tired, and so alone.

And she’d been feeling that way for hours—despite glimpses of sobriety and sweet moments of romance, Adam had spent the end of the night in a vodka haze, laughing it up with his friends while Beth stood awkwardly on the fringes, with only Kaia to talk to. And so, with no one to talk to at al .

Now she was on the fringes again, with Adam nowhere to be seen. She felt invisible, and yet total y exposed. As if everyone in the room was watching her, knowing with certainty that she didn’t belong. And indeed, if it weren’t for the Adam connection, she never would have been there—al of her old friends were probably home in bed, or sitting up in Lara Tanner’s basement eating ice cream and watching old black-and-white movies. Much as she wished she was with them, she just didn’t belong there anymore—too bad she didn’t seem to belong here, either.

She looked around in vain for someone she knew, someone she could talk to—even Kaia, at this point, would have been a relief. But it was as if the moment they’d stepped through the door together, everyone else had been pul ed off into some kind of vortex. Vanished. And here she was, alone.

She supposed this wasn’t the kind of party where you made smal talk, anyway. It was the kind where you passed out on one of the dusty couches, or threw yourself into a sweaty mass of dancers—or you did what she’d come here to do.

She could always go home, she guessed. Cal a taxi, get out of here, escape. Forget this night had ever happened, forget about the supposed fresh start, about what she’d been planning to do. Save it for some other time.

The place was a skanky mess.

Adam had morphed into a drunken idiot.

But Beth had waited long enough to know that perfection wasn’t coming—tonight was just going to have to do.

And maybe finding the keg first wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Think we can go somewhere a bit more … private?” Kaia whispered to Kane, running a hand down the smal of his back.

“Say no more.”

They threaded their way through the crowd in the lobby, away from the flickering light and the echoing music. Up the stairs, down a long, dark, narrow hal way, ignoring the shadowy shapes pressed against the wal s, the bodies writhing together. Into a smal , dark room at the end of the hal , the faded drapes drawn, al owing a slash of moonlight to cut through the room. It lit Kaia’s hands as she slowly unbuttoned Kane’s shirt. Their bodies remained in shadow, figures silhouetted against the night.

“Not quite the penthouse suite,” Kane admitted rueful y, his fingers expertly unhooking her bra as they stumbled together toward the bed.

“Not quite.” Kaia lay back and pul ed him down on top of her, pressing herself against his tight body, relishing the heavy weight bearing down on her. “But it’l do.” And so would Kane. He wasn’t the catch he imagined himself to be—but he was hot, he was cocky, and, most importantly, he was there. Sometimes Kaia needed a chal enge—but sometimes she just needed a break.

She pul ed him toward her, closed her eyes, and let herself go.

Along with copious amounts of alcohol, Kane had also supplied the party with two wooden barrels fil ed with condoms, positioned considerately just inside the door.

As Adam blundered off in search of more to drink, Beth had surreptitiously grabbed one and slipped it into her purse—and then, on second thought, she’d grabbed a handful more.

Now, an hour further into the night, her bold act was beginning to seem like a total waste. They were stil down in the lobby amidst a group of Adam’s drunken teammates; Beth’s head was throbbing, and as Adam regaled a cluster of admirers with a story of last year’s basketbal triumph, he leaned against her heavily, as if without her support he would drop to the ground.

“Adam, let’s take off,” she whispered urgently, when he final y stopped talking.

“You wanna go home?” he slurred. “Party’s just starting. Right, guys?”

The “guys,” whose shunted-aside dates al looked about as nonplussed as Beth felt, let out a hearty cheer of support.

“Not home,” she explained in a low voice.
“Upstairs.”

“She wants to go upstairs!” he crowed to the crowd. “Lez go, honey. You want me, you got me.”

Irritated and humiliated—but knowing how hard it had been to prepare herself for this night and determined to final y go through with it—Beth al owed Adam to shepherd her into the dark bowels of the hotel, where they final y found an unoccupied room and slipped inside.

“Beth,” he said, seeming to sober up a bit now that he was away from the noise and the people and the stench of beer, “I feel like shit. Maybe we should just head home.”

“I don’t think you want to go home yet, Adam. This is your lucky day,” she said, trying to sound more brazen than she felt. Beth had never had to make a first move in her life, and she had no idea what to do. But how hard could it be? Al guys ever wanted was sex, any time, al the time, right? So she just needed to let him know that a new option had been added to the menu, and hopeful y he’d do the rest.

“I want you, Adam,” she said in what she hoped was a sexy voice. “Now.”

She pushed him down on the bed, and he landed with a thud, knocking his head against the wooden headboard.

Oops.

“Jesus, are you trying to kil me?” he shouted, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She hopped into the bed, kissing the bruise gently. “This isn’t going the way I wanted it to.”

“What isn’t?” he asked in confusion.

“This. Tonight. Right now,” she told him, kissing him again, more urgently.

“What’s right now?”

Why couldn’t he just
get
it? Why was he making this so hard for her?

“Right now is when—when I tel you that I’m final y ready,” Beth admitted. She bit the inside of her cheek and nervously waited for him to say something. Who knows—maybe he didn’t even want her anymore. Maybe that’s what al this had been about.

He sat up, couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but reached out a hand to touch her cheek, as if trying to read her expression.

“Ready? For … ?”

She nodded, and then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” And she kissed him, and he kissed her back, eagerly, hungrily, and they rol ed over on the bed together, drinking each other in, their bodies lost in each other, and then—

they stopped.

Beth tensed, her back clenched and her muscles stiffening, as they always did, just before she reached the point of no return. He pul ed away, and she lay on her back, breathing quickly, glad it was too dark for him to see the tears that were leaking from her tightly closed eyes.

“Beth?” came his warm voice in the darkness. “Beth, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

No.

No.

“Yes.”

She groped for her purse on the night table, pul ed out one of the condoms, and tossed it to him.

“I mean, we’re in love, right?” she asked. “I love you, you love me, we’re adults. This is the right thing to do.” It came out sounding like a question.

There was a long pause, and then, “Yeah, we’re in love,” he agreed. And he sounded almost sure.

“I just—I just need a minute,” she promised him. “Then I’l be ready.”

He reached over and found her hand, and she clenched it tightly, and they lay side by side on the musty bed. She stared up at the cracked ceiling and breathed deeply, in and out, picturing his body lying next to hers, so close, and how it would be to have him inside of her, to be with him, to lose herself in him. To final y let herself go.

She tried to unclench her muscles, reminded herself that she loved him, she wanted him—and she did, so much that it terrified her. For if she let that wave of emotion, of pleasure, sweep her away, how would she ever find her way back?

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She had to do this, and she had to do it now—because one thing she knew, one thing was certain: She didn’t want to lose him.

“I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “Adam? I’m ready,” she said louder.

There was no response, and his hand was stil .

“Adam?”

She rol ed over on her side, kissed his cheek, his lips, then propped herself up, her face suspended a few inches from his. His stil , peaceful face. Eyes closed. Breath slow and even.

And then—a snore.

Beth flopped down again on her back, next to him.

Unbelievable.

She had been dressed like a fairy-tale princess—and was trapped in the wrong story. In her story, Prince Charming decorated the room with a thousand candles, took her in his arms, and sweetly, gently, took her away with him. In her story, a handsome boy and a beautiful girl danced the night away at the bal and swept off into the sunset. They swore their everlasting love to each other. They lived happily ever after.

Not this story. Not this night.

In this story, the wrong story, she lay atop a grungy bedspread, a hard and creaky mattress, in a slimy motel room, groping in the darkness and ignoring the moans and thuds seeping through the paper-thin wal s.

In this story, Prince Charming was a drunken clod who passed out and left her alone.

Beth lay very stil , listening to his even breathing and trying to forget the night, though it hadn’t yet ended. The hours stretched ahead of her, a desert of time. So much for her perfect night; so much for her fairy tale.

This is not the way it was supposed to be
, Beth thought, closing her eyes and wishing for sleep.
This is not the way it was supposed to be
.

This is not the way it was supposed to be
, Harper thought, scuffing her weary feet against the pavement. She’d left Miranda’s house elated, the alcohol and pot and laughter fusing into the perfect painkil er.

But over the long walk home, strappy heels in hand, her mood had changed.

When she reached her house, she took a few steps up the stone walkway to the front door, then stopped. Her parents, as always, thought she was sleeping at Miranda’s, so it’s not like they were waiting up. There was no reason to go inside—not yet. She veered around the house and found her way into the backyard. She clambered up to the flat top of her rock

—their rock—and shivered in the chil y night breeze.

Somehow, everything had gone wrong.

It was her senior year. It was the night of the party. Her party. She wasn’t supposed to spend the night rol ing joints with Miranda—she was supposed to be with Adam, happy, in love. Not bitter, not alone.