Making Out (19 page)

Then again, maybe not. She heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Hey,” Tony said with a soft tilt of his head, finding her. “You okay?”

Heather shrugged, and Tony came over to sit beside her.

“I just needed a break,” she said, but her voice sounded shaky, even to herself.

Tony put an arm around her shoulder to comfort her. “What's wrong? Was that last movie a little too much for you?”

Yeah,
Heather thought.
Too much in a lot of ways. Too much detail . . . too much information . . . too much stimulation . . . and way too many genders to choose from.

How was she supposed to explain to him that just seeing all that sex on-screen had made her even more confused than she was before? Everything in the movie made her uncomfortable. So how was she supposed to sort out how she really felt?

There was only one way to find out, she decided. See if she could make herself fall for a guy. Make herself feel something. For someone like Tony.

After all, she liked Tony. He was sweet. A gentleman. A good artist. A good friend. He had all the qualities she would be looking for, if she were looking for a guy.

She turned her face toward him and without saying anything, leaned up and kissed him as passionately as she could. Tongue and all.

“Euhmn . . .” Tony pushed her away as fast as he could and sort of scooted over. “Whoa. What's this all about? I thought you were gay.”

Heather blinked, embarrassed and totally shocked.

What? He thought she was gay?

“What would make you think
that
?” she demanded defensively.

Tony shrugged. “Takes one to know one, I guess,” he said with a sheepish grin.

Heather's mouth dropped open. What a complete idiot she'd been!
Of course.
It made perfect sense. No wonder he hadn't dated anyone since Jenny Burkowski last year.

Tony sort of settled back into the couch cushions and let out a sigh that Heather recognized immediately. It was the sigh she'd been wanting to sigh herself—of having finally told someone the truth.

“I finally admitted to myself that I'm gay last year,” Tony explained. “Jenny and I had been going out a long time, and not doing much, if you catch my drift. I guess I was in denial.”

“Yeah. I'm familiar with that territory,” Heather admitted quietly.

“Anyway, a week before the prom, Jenny started talking about how we should do something ‘special' on prom night, and I had a sinking feeling I knew what she had in mind. But I just kept ignoring her. So there we were in my car one night and she ripped off her sweater in front of me.”

“Oh my God. What happened then?” Heather asked.

“I flinched,” Tony said, laughing at himself, “and she got the picture. She dumped me that instant.”

“Wow. Everyone knows
half
of that story,” Heather muttered.

“Yeah. The boring half.”

“So she figured out you were gay, but she never told anyone?”

Tony nodded. “I'll always love her for that.”

Heather had to smile at the way he said it.
“Love her.”
He wasn't kidding, either. She could tell Tony really did love Jenny Burkowski in a way. Just not
that
way.

“Anyway, I'm still in the closet—obviously,” Tony went on. “But I hate it.”

“You've never told
anyone
else?” Heather's jaw dropped again. She couldn't believe she was the first.

“No, I finally told Nick a few months ago, and it felt great,” he said. “But I haven't worked up the nerve to really come out. It sucks. I'm strongly recommending you not follow my example.”

Heather smiled. It was so sweet of him to care about her this way—and he really did seem to care. She could tell.

“Honestly, you've got to set an example for me,” he said with a teasing smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Just don't make yourself miserable the way I have. Come out to your friends, Heather—or at the very
least
, come out to yourself.”

That last part made her smile so much, it almost hurt. She wanted to lean over and kiss him again—on the cheek, this time—but she wasn't sure he'd understand.

“I will if you will,” she said, teasing him back.

He shook his head. “No promises here.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, realizing she couldn't push him and didn't want to. “That's fair. But maybe I will anyway. On my own.”

 

 

 

 

“It's hard to believe Lincoln actually slept here,” Marianna joked, gazing around at the black leather seats in the Lincoln Town Car.

“Yeah, considering how tall he was,” Luke said. “But I have it on good authority.”

“Hah. What kind of proof have you got?” Marianna challenged.

“Just look at the trunk. It's got his name right on it.”

Marianna laughed. She loved arguing with Luke—it was their favorite form of flirting. They were both so competitive, they felt most at ease when they were trying to win.

Luke eyed the length of the big, cushy backseat.

“On the other hand, you might be right,” he said. “This thing's pretty short—for tall people.”

“You trying to say you wouldn't fit on this bench seat?” Marianna teased, picking up on Luke's vibe. That's what he was getting at, wasn't it? That there wasn't much room for them to lie down?

“You probably wouldn't fit here, either,” Luke said. “You're not a shrimp, Kazanjian.”

He pulled her close to him and kissed her. Then he leaned forward a little more, still kissing her, and pushed her over gently. She slipped sideways and fell onto her back.

It was an awkward angle, and her feet hung off the end, but she didn't care.
My night in the Lincoln Bedroom,
Marianna thought, her head swirling with all kinds of emotions and feelings.

Actually, it wasn't just her head swirling. Half of the feelings were above the waist. Half below.

For a minute, Luke just lay on top of her, looking into her eyes. “You're beautiful, you know that?” he said.

“Umm.” She
felt
beautiful right that minute, and she didn't want to lie.

Marianna beamed at him. How lucky could she get? Here she was, on prom night, with
the
guy—the one she'd been crushing on for months and months. And he really seemed to be into her.

He also seemed to be waiting for something. A signal? Like she was supposed to let him know how far to go?

Marianna held still, not sure how this part of the game was played. She'd barely ever been kissed before Luke, let alone let some guy round the bases.

“I'm crushing your flower again,” Luke said, looking down at her dress with a smile.

Marianna shrugged. “I told you—crush away.”

“How about if I take it off?”

A sexy shiver ran through her body at the thought of him touching her dress up there. They'd been making out all night, but mostly just heavy kissing. He hadn't gone that far yet.

“Take off my corsage?” she said.

Luke nodded.

“Yeah. Okay.”

He couldn't really manage it, given the positions they were in. Not until Marianna sat up. Then Luke gently unpinned her corsage from the strap of her gown. In the process, his fingers brushed her breast. He tossed the flower on the floor and kissed her again, passionately.

Before she knew it, they were making out heavily, and after a while—was it twenty minutes? longer?—she was on her back again, with her dress unzipped.

Oh, God, Marianna thought. Should she be doing this? She didn't really care about “should” anymore. All she knew was that she was wrapped up in the moment and didn't want to stop.

Luke put his hands under her dress, and she let out a moan. He looked deep into her eyes. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed into his ear, closing her eyes again and getting lost in the moment.

When the moment was over, Marianna opened her eyes and suddenly realized what had happened. Oh my God. She had just done it. The big It. She'd lost her virginity to Luke.

Luke lay beside her, sweaty and exhausted, breathing hard, not really seeing the expression on her face.

Wow, she thought, stunned. She hadn't been planning to go
that
far. Not this soon. She cared about Luke . . . a lot.

But they'd only been going out for a few weeks. What was this—their fourth date? Losing your virginity was supposed to be one of the greatest moments in a girl's life, not an accident.

Luke lifted his head and gazed at her.

“You okay?” he asked.

Marianna didn't know how to answer.

He leaned over her and kissed her nose. Then he caught a fragile expression in her eyes. “Hey . . . was that . . . ?”

“My first time.” She nodded.

“I didn't know,” he said, stroking her hair. “Are you sure you're okay?”

No,
Marianna thought.
Not entirely.

She wasn't sure how she felt, to tell the truth. Right that minute, all she could think was: her father would kill her if he found out.

And even if he didn't find out, she still felt guilty. Like maybe she'd let
herself
down, never mind what her father thought.

She flashed on Coach Robinson's list of “Power Words for Winners.” So much for
self-restraint.

“What time is it?” she asked Luke.

He stretched forward to look at the clock on the dashboard. “Almost two.”

“Oh, God.” She'd meant to call her dad and give him the story about how she was staying at Lisa Marie's, but somehow that hadn't happened. “He probably has the police out looking for me,” she muttered.

Luke looked slightly freaked out. “Really?”

“Well, yeahhhh.”

Marianna wondered why he hadn't called yet. She was supposed to be home an hour and a half ago. It wasn't like her dad—or her mom, for that matter—to just let her be late and then deal with it later. Her dad was more the deal-with-it-right-this-damned-minute type.

Maybe her cell phone was dead?

She sat up, looking for her little evening bag. Before she could find it, her cell phone started to ring.

Uh-oh. Now what? If she answered it, her dad would scream at her and make her feel like a slut—and she absolutely couldn't take that right now.

Not tonight, of all nights.

But if she didn't answer, he would probably jump into his car, come barreling down to the hotel, and make a scene. No joke. He'd done that kind of thing before.

“Are you going to answer that?” Luke asked.

“I have to find it first,” Marianna said, digging through the pile of clothes on the limo floor.

 

 

 

 

“Pick up your cards,” Marco ordered Lisa Marie, tossing them at her one by one. “Like I said, it's time for a little strip poker.”

“Not funny,” Lisa Marie said. She moved away from the game table, but he flipped another card at her and it hit her in the chest.

“Not supposed to be funny,” Marco said. “I think you owe us, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Ramone agreed. “You played us, didn't you, Lisa Marie? Promising to hang with us, each one of us, and then no one winds up with anything. That's what I call a cock tease.”

“Hey, don't say stuff like that.” Bradley stepped forward. “She doesn't owe anybody anything.”

“Thank you!” Lisa Marie felt vindicated.

“Except maybe an apology,” Bradley said, his face turning sour.

Lisa Marie took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Her heart was pounding hard, and she wanted to run. But her instincts told her: never show fear. If they saw she was afraid, it could get seriously dangerous.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she snapped, trying to sound as hard-ass as she could. A good offense was the best defense, right? Angela always said that. “I didn't play anyone. I just wanted to have fun tonight. If you guys got the wrong idea, that's your problem.”

“No, it's your problem,” Marco said harshly. There was such a mean edge in his voice, she felt like she'd been slapped.

With a leering smile on his face, he sauntered over to her. Lisa Marie had already edged away; she was backed against a wall now. He leaned both hands against the wall, surrounding her with his arms so she was trapped. “However,” he said in a sickeningly syrupy voice, “I'd be happy to protect you from these goons . . . if you make it worth my while.”

“Look at her squirm!” Ramone said, laughing. “She looks like a cornered little rat.”

“How would you know what rats look like when they're cornered, Ramone?” Lisa Marie spat the words. “Oh, I forgot. You probably see them all the time at home.”

Ramone's face turned hot red. Yeah—that was the right button to push. One Hispanic to another, she knew what the buzzwords were that would make his blood boil.

Of course there was no way Ramone had rats anywhere near his suburban, middle-class house. He was a private school brat, just like she was. But if he was going to play rough, she could slap back, too.

Ramone threw a beer can across the room, sort of in her direction. It hit the lampshade, knocking it sideways.

“Keep it cool,” Marco said to Ramone. “Everyone knows you drive a Lexus and live miles from the ghetto.”