Say You Still Love Me(82)

How many times has he been with a girl before? We haven’t even talked about that. Shouldn’t we talk about that first?

I gather my nerve. “How many times have you done this?”

“Done what?” He says it so innocently.

I roll my eyes. “How many girls have you been with?”

“Do you mean—”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t answer right away and I start to think he’s formulating a lie. But Kyle doesn’t seem the type to lie about how many girls he’s slept with. So he must be busy counting them all in his head. “Oh my God,” I mutter. “Don’t tell me—”

“Two.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously. Two.”

“Who?”

He groans, like he doesn’t want to answer. “First was this girl Shannon, when I was fourteen. My brothers threw a party at our place while Mom was away and she was there. She was a couple years older. Never saw her again.” He pauses. “And then Avery, last summer.”

So they did sleep together.

My jealous flares, and that cynical voice creeps into my subconscious, wondering if I’m just the 2006 version of Kyle’s 2005 summer camp experience, if his summer itinerary would read the same—cliff jumping and golf-cart racing and cabin-sleeping—except with a different female lead.

“You’re nothing like her. This is nothing like last summer,” Kyle says, as if reading my mind. He leans in to fit his face into the crook of my neck. Hot, wet lips graze my skin.

I close my eyes, reveling in the feel. “How is it different?”

“Because I didn’t feel this way about her.”

“What way?” I push, because I need to hear him say it.

“Like I’m already doing the math on how much gas will cost to get from Poughkeepsie to Lennox when the summer’s over. And I’m wondering how much I can set aside in phone cards so I can text you.”

“I’ll send you cards,” I rush to say, my heart swelling as I shift onto my side so I’m facing him, our noses pressed together. “And I’m getting a car in the fall, so I can come out to see you, too. Every weekend. Or almost every weekend. I don’t know. I’ll try.”

“Your parents are going to let you do that?”

I burrow in closer, until we’re touching from our noses all the way to our toes and my arm is curled around him. “I don’t care. I’m coming.”

He presses his lips to mine. “I’m crazy about you, Piper.”

“I’m so crazy about you, Kyle.” I think I’m in love with you. The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, wanting to leap off.

He reaches up to stroke my hair off my face. “We’re not going to let things go too far tonight.”

“We’re not?”

“No. Shane said he’s going home next Saturday, too. There’s no rush, and I want you to want to.”

“I do want to,” I’m quick to say.

Kyle smiles softly. “I want you to be totally ready.”

I can’t answer as quickly. Maybe because I know I’m trying to convince myself more than him. I do want to be with Kyle but maybe I need more time. The fact that my body relaxed the second he said that confirms it.

It has only been three weeks. Three of the best weeks of my life, but still, only three weeks.

“So what are we going to do, then?”

“I was thinking we could start with this . . .” He gently pushes my shoulder until I’m lying on my back again and then leans over to press his mouth against mine, his tongue sliding over the seam of my lips until I allow him in.

I could get lost in Kyle’s mouth for days, the way he kisses—with such focus, as if he’d be satisfied going no farther—intoxicating.

And at the same time frustrating, as my body begins to ache for more.

“Can we pick up where we left off last Saturday?” I hear myself ask.

He answers by working my T-shirt up over my stomach, over my chest. I lift my arms to help him slide it over my head. He’s yanking his shirt off seconds after, tossing it in a heap on the floor.

I’m more excited than nervous as I reach up to push the clasp in the front of my powder-blue lace bra. It pops open and Kyle makes a soft sound.

“Wear more of this kind,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth over a nipple, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers down my stomach.

Steeling my nerve, I unfasten my shorts and work them down over my hips and legs, shaking them off my ankles.

Kyle’s breath catches as he peers down to regard my powder-blue panties. “Have I ever told you that I have a thing for matching underwear?”

I giggle. “No.”

“I do.” He shifts back to my mouth, to smile against it as his hand travels down over my abdomen, slipping beneath the elastic band. “Anything you want, I’ll do it.” His lips press against mine at the same time that his fingers skate over me, pulling a gasp from my lungs.

This time, there is no loud camp director shouting at us.

No annoying friend jumping off the cliff.

Nothing to interrupt me from experiencing my first time falling apart beneath a boy’s touch.

And when my ragged breathing has subsided, when I’ve come down from the clouds to Kyle’s mouth pressed against my neck, I reach over, gingerly unfasten his zipper, and push his shorts down over his hips.