Regretting You(73)

He bites his fist and winces as he looks at me from head to toe. “Holy shit, Clara.”

I would laugh, but I’m still too angry. I don’t want him to feel my mood, though. I need to shake it off long enough to get this over with.

Miller cups my face in his hands. “Are you absolutely positive this is what you want?” He’s whispering, thank God. The last thing I need is for my mother to ruin this part of my life too.

I nod. “Yes.”

“What about your mom? Where is she?”

“She’s in her room. My door is locked. We’ll be quiet. Plus, my music is on, so she won’t hear us.”

Miller nods, but he seems nervous. I didn’t expect him to be nervous. “I’m sorry I keep asking if you’re sure. I just wasn’t expecting this to happen for a while, so . . .”

“Seventy percent of couples have sex on the first date. I think we’ve been really patient.”

Miller laughs quietly. “Did you just make up a fake statistic to try and get in my pants?”

“Did it work?”

He pulls his shirt over his head, and it falls to the floor. “It would have worked without the fake statistic.” He kisses me then. A full-body kiss—the kind where our legs and bodies and arms are pressed together so close not even air could pass between us. He backs me up to my bed but stops before my legs meet my mattress.

His kiss made this real. Before, when it was my anger fueling my actions, I felt like this probably wouldn’t happen. But now that he’s here and his shirt is on my floor and I’m only wearing a towel and we’re about to be on my bed, it is very real. I’m about to have sex with Miller Adams.

And I’m ready. I think.

If my mother knew what was happening just ten feet down the hall from her bedroom, it would destroy her.

Yep. I’m definitely ready.

My anger prompts me to drop my towel. When I do, Miller gasps and looks up at the ceiling. I’m confused that he’s looking at the ceiling and not at me.

“I’m down here.”

His hands move to my hips, and he just rests them there, still staring up. “I know. I just . . . I guess I’m used to sex being like baseball. You know, lots of bases I have to make it to before I reach home plate. I feel like I’m cheating at the game.”

That makes me laugh. “You hit a home run, Miller. It’s your lucky night.”

He finally lowers his head, but he only looks at my face. “Get under the covers.”

I grin and climb under the covers as he attempts to avert his eyes the whole time. He starts to climb under the covers with me, but I stop him.

“Take off your pants first.”

He tilts his head. “Why are we in such a hurry?”

“Because. I don’t want to change my mind.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you aren’t ready yet.”

God, why can’t he just be like other guys and be a complete asshole about this?

“I’m ready. I’m very ready.”

He focuses on my face for a moment, as if he’s searching for a piece of me that’s lying to him. He forgets what a great actress I am. He finally stands up and unbuttons his pants, then kicks them off. He’s wearing boxer shorts with pineapples all over them.

“Sexy.”

He grins. “Thought you might like these.”

I lift the covers, and he slides into my bed with me but then holds up a finger. “One sec.” He rolls over and reaches to the floor to grab his jeans. When he rolls back over, he’s holding four condoms up like the choice is all mine. “Got them at the Valero on the corner. They’re fruit flavored.”

“Why are they flavored? Are condoms edible?”

My question makes Miller laugh. “No. It’s for . . .” He suddenly blushes. “You know. If you put your mouth on it.”

His answer makes me redden. My question shows just how inexperienced I am. The furthest I’ve ever gone with a guy is when Miller took my shirt off and we made out on his bed for an hour.

I take the orange-flavored condom out of Miller’s hand and set it on the nightstand. “Not the orange one. It’ll ruin the moment. Can’t even believe you brought that into my house.”

He laughs. “Sorry. It was a vending machine in the men’s bathroom. I didn’t get to choose what came out of it.” Miller picks one of the remaining condoms and tosses the other two on the nightstand with the orange one. When he turns back to me, he slips his arm under the covers and pulls me against him.

It scares me. The feeling of his skin against mine. Knowing his boxer shorts are the only thing separating us right now. He wraps a leg over me, and part of me is sad that I’m rushing it, because making out with him at his house was nice. But this is different. This isn’t as intimate because so many steps are being skipped, and I know this, but I feel like I’m too far into it to change my mind. I bury my face in the crevice of his neck because I don’t want him to look at me. I’m afraid of what he’ll see when he looks in my eyes.

“I don’t have to put it on yet,” he whispers. “We can do other stuff first. I mean . . . technically I haven’t even touched your boob yet.”

I grab his hand and slide it over my stomach, up to my breast. He groans, and then he’s the one burying his face in my neck.