Deeper (Caroline & West #1)(46)

I wish I didn’t know what she meant, but I do. I can’t tease a woman, work for a smile, get her off with my tongue inside her, without thinking about what she wants from me. What I’m going to get for it.

That’s the thing about trading sex for favors. It makes everything feel like a transaction.

“Do you want somebody to kiss you?” I ask. “Is this all theoretical, or …”

Her arms wrap tighter around her legs. “It’s not theoretical.”

“Scott?”

“Sure, Scott. I mean, maybe. I just met him. But what if, right? Why does it all have to be spoiled before it’s even started?”

“It’s not spoiled.”

“It feels spoiled.”

“That sucks.”

“It does.”

She traces a circle on her kneecap with her fingertip. “I only talked to him for a couple minutes. I liked him. He’s easy, you know? And Quinn got ahold of his number for me, but I just haven’t … I don’t want to think of him like that. I want all those words and body parts to have nothing to do with any of it. Except they do.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much inevitable if you’re gonna date the guy.”

She looks right at me for a second, then back at the roof. “I was starting to feel almost like I could do it, earlier today. Call him up and ask him out after break. I thought … But I have to say, you kind of ruined that whole idea, so thanks.”

There’s a smile in her voice, though. A small one, but it’s there.

“I get that I was a prick, but I don’t get what I ruined. You’re gonna have to explain that.”

“I don’t think I can do it. Any of it. I’m going to become a nun.”

“That would be a waste.” Now I can see the smile, the apple of her cheek lifting, though she’s still not looking at me.

“No, I can see now it’s the only way.”

“Sister Caroline,” I say. “Martyr of Internet Porn.”

She lifts her head. I can’t look away from the brilliance of her teeth, her lips, because I have this sudden, awful, amazing idea, and I’m focusing all my attention on keeping it from coming out of my mouth.

I could kiss you, is what I’m trying not to say.

I could make you forget all about those f*cking pictures.

I could make you feel good, wipe out all that shame, show you what’s supposed to be going through your mind when you’re with a guy.

I could. Me.

“You like him a lot,” I say instead. Because she’s already made her choice, and I’m not it. I wasn’t even an option.

“He’s fun.”

“Fun is a little lukewarm.”

“No, don’t. Don’t pick on him. He’s great. Or he could be great. He seems like he could.”

“Too bad he’s so ugly.”

“No, he’s hot, too. Quinn said.”

“Quinn’s into girls.”

“Quinn’s bi.”

“Seriously?”

“You didn’t know that?”

I shake my head.

“Well, she is. And she thinks Scott is hot.”

“So you ask him out, and then you dive right in and kiss him. See what happens.”

I watch her when I say it, because whatever her reaction is, I’m going to memorize it. I’m going to use it to remind myself whenever I need reminding.

She’s not mine. I can’t have her. That’s final.

“I will,” she says. “That’s a great idea.”

But the face she makes—it’s not going to work out as the reminder I wanted.

“You look like you’re thinking about licking a slug.”

“Don’t tease me. I’m working on it.”

I want to tease her, though. I feel suddenly, thoroughly stoned on this idea I’ve had. It’s made it to my brain, I guess. It’s worked through my system in one fast heady rush.

Nothing is real but her and me and this ocean of dark we’re drifting in.

Nothing is real but the way I feel lighter when she smiles. When I’m teasing her, I feel like maybe I’m somebody, after all, and not just a son and a brother, an employee, a quick f*ck. I’m more than a student, an impostor, an arrow on its vector toward a goal. Like I matter to her.

Like I matter for me and not for what I can do for somebody else.

“If I said you should suck him off, maybe, maybe, I’d expect that face. But kissing? How can you be into a guy and make that face when you think about kissing him?”

“It’s complicated. Shut up.”

“I’ll shut up when you answer the question.”

“No. I’m not—why are we even talking about this?”

“Because you’re stoned. You have no filter.”

“I do too.”

“We just talked about your cunt. The filters are definitely off-line.”

She laughs and buries her face in her hands. “That was your fault.”

“Everything is my fault.”

I can’t stop this. Can’t stop myself. Not when she’s making me feel this way.

Her shoulders are shaking. I’m not sure when she quits laughing and starts crying, or if she even does quit. It’s maybe all the same thing. Laughing and crying together.