Nine Liars (Truly Devious, #5)(80)

“The other night,” he said. “I think you were going to ask me if I’d ever had sex. Weren’t you?”

To her surprise, her awkwardness with the question had gone.

“Yes,” she replied.

“But you didn’t ask. What answer did you want?”

“The real one. Because I’m guessing yes.”

“That’s the right answer,” he said.

There was a little twinge inside her—part upset, and part satisfaction. It was okay. It was a little strange. It was good. It was all those things at once.

“A lot?” she asked.

David laughed, but not unpleasantly.

“What’s a lot?”

“Did you win any awards for Most Sex?”

A real laugh this time. He got off his hands and knees and rolled next to her, so they were face-to-face on the pillow.

“My last girlfriend before I went to Ellingham,” he said. “And once at Ellingham. Well, not at Ellingham. I went to Burlington with Ellie for a party. I met someone there. It was just the once.”

Ellie. Their friend from Ellingham. It was odd to talk about her this way, out of context of all the terrible things that had happened there.

“Is there anything specific you want to know?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Not right now.”

“What about you?” he said, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Do you really need to ask?”

“I mean, I think the answer is no, but I’m asking.”

“You think right.”

“Are you asking for . . . a reason?”

“I think so.”

He considered this for a moment.

“Okay,” he said. “Do you want to . . . talk about that? Because . . . we should talk about that. Before . . .”

“Yeah,” she said. “But I’ve thought about it. And . . . would you . . . want to?”

A short laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course. But . . . we don’t have to. We can do whatever. I’m saying yes. I’m also saying that whatever you decide is good with me. You know what I’m saying . . .”

There was a little nervousness there now that was unlike him. She looked at his face, which was framed in the squares of pale moonlight coming through the glass.

If not now, when? This was about as ideal a time as she’d ever hoped for. This was what she had thought about and considered and researched.

“I’m saying yes,” she said.

“Tonight, or in general, in the future?”

“Tonight,” she said. “Now.”

“I brought condoms,” he said. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Where are they?”

He reached into his back pocket and produced a small package.

“If you say stop, we stop. Talk to me. And we don’t have to. Just so we’re super clear on this.”

“Same.”

Now that they’d had the discussion, they were left for a moment looking into each other’s faces on the pillow. For a moment, she thought the spell was broken. But then they both burst out laughing at the same time. People made out like this stuff was so serious—it wasn’t. It was stupid and fun. It was taking turns rolling on top of each other, biting ears and kissing necks and getting stuck in your own clothes trying to get them off. It was feeling muscles moving under skin, feeling the warmth under the covers. She didn’t know precisely how it was all supposed to go, but she was getting an inkling that was growing all the time. She was vaguely aware of noises in the hallway, but they didn’t matter. She was gone—out of the mansion, in some kind of skyscape made of David’s hair and the inside of the covers. Nothing mattered, not the future or college or anything but . . .

There was a knocking on the door—a strong, steady knock that increased in urgency.

“Who is it?” Stevie finally called, breathless.

The person responded by throwing open the door. Sooz stood there in a long red dressing gown, over royal-blue pajamas with a pattern of leaping tigers.

“I know who . . . oh.” She looked at the two of them together, blinked in confusion, then shielded her eyes as a nod toward privacy. “I thought you said come in. So sorry.”

She stepped back out of view, but kept the door open a crack.

“It is important, though. You’ve got to come downstairs. I know who Samantha Gravis is.”

Sooz gathered the residents of Merryweather in the kitchen rather than the sitting room. She had roused the entirety of the house, including Janelle, Vi, and Nate. Everyone else was wearing, if not formal sleepwear, then something generally presentable. David had pulled on his Yale sweatpants and his T-shirt. Stevie had grabbed the closest thing at hand—her sex hoodie.

“Oh,” Janelle said, noting the onesie that Stevie was wearing (now well zipped). While modest enough, it had never been intended for a wide audience. She wondered if she was still flushed, still sweating. She could feel moisture at the base of her neck. Her hair was probably standing on end. Luckily, no one cared what Stevie looked like—they had all been roused and brought around to the table, where Sooz’s laptop was open.

“I couldn’t get to sleep,” Sooz said. “I was thinking about everything that happened tonight and the face of the girl in the newspaper. I was sure I had seen her before. So I looked through my photos. It took a while, since I have so many, but . . . I found her.”