Dance Away with Me(73)

“I’m ready,” Connor boasted.

“Me, too,” Psycho said.

“Really?” She pointed the slips of paper at them. “Then why haven’t any of you asked about birth control? Or maybe you want to be teenage fathers.”

That got their attention.

She began doling out the basics of birth control and STDs, along with bringing up some of the finer points the girls had mentioned including hot tubs, oral sex, and—without looking at Ian—anal sex.

Imani’s Anthony leaned forward as she talked, his arms braced on his thighs. Ava’s Connor slouched into the couch cushions looking sulky. Psycho seemed like he wanted to take notes, and Noah started chewing his nails.

She made another pitch for waiting to have sex, then went back to the basics. “If you ever tell a girl you don’t want to use a condom because it doesn’t feel good or tell her that she doesn’t really love you if she makes you use one . . . If you do any of that it means you’re a total asshole who only cares about himself.”

With a cocky smirk, Connor splayed his arm across the back of the couch. She was developing a hearty dislike for Ava’s good-looking boyfriend.

“There’s something else none of you have asked me about,” she said. “It’s called consent.”

She started to say more and then had a better idea. She turned to Ian. “Ian, maybe you could talk about this. From a man’s perspective.”

Instead of backing away, he came over and sat next to her. “That’s easy.” He shot them straight in the eyes. “‘No’ means ‘no.’ ‘Maybe’ also means ‘no.’ Let’s say a girl is drunk . . . You back off. Because if she’s drunk and you keep at it and she wakes up with regrets, you’re going to feel like a real shit, and you also may end up in jail.” Tess resisted the urge to applaud, but Ian wasn’t done. “Some guys tell themselves a girl is playing hard to get, and that means they can get rough. That’s called rape. Women aren’t afraid to speak up, and here’s the thing. . . . Walking away from a situation will make you more of a man than trying to fuck every woman you see.”

Blunt and perfect.

She rose from the couch. “Would you all please talk to your parents? I know it’s embarrassing, but try waiting until you’re driving with them in the car. That way you won’t have to look at them.”

Only Psycho seemed to be considering the possibility.

As the boys unfolded from the couch, she glanced at Noah, still chewing fingernails already bitten to the quick. He alone hadn’t spoken. “One more thing. We’ve only talked about girls tonight, but this can be a confusing time for teenagers. Maybe some of you or some of the guys you’re friends with— Maybe they already know they like boys better than girls.”

They hooted at that, the loudest hoot coming from Noah. Without making eye contact, she said, “Being gay or being trans isn’t nearly as big a deal as it used to be, but it’s still really hard for teens trying to figure everything out. If anybody wants to talk to me about it, I’m not that hard to find.”

Ian poked her hard in the ribs and then shocked her by saying, “Me, either. I don’t have much patience with intolerance. It makes life too small.”

After she’d closed the door behind them, she sank down on the piano stool. “All I ever wanted to do—or used to want to do—was deliver babies. Not keep them from getting born.”

He picked up the slips of paper with the boys’ questions and began thumbing through them. “You know there’s going to be hell to pay for this, right?”

“I know.”

He held up one of the paper slips and cocked his head at her. “Point of information. How many times can you jerk off without being a pervert?”

She laughed then rose from the piano stool as the baby monitor picked up Wren stirring. “I need to feed her.”

“You do that.”

*

The next morning, she put Wren in the sling and walked down to the cabin. After everything Ian had done, he deserved to have his privacy back, and she needed to get the cabin ready so she and Wren could move in.

The place was empty, the curtains still drawn. It was also warm. Too warm. She should send Kelly a note telling her to turn off the heat when she left.

Maybe she was making a mistake by letting this situation with Kelly go on, but right now, home invasion was the least of her problems. She was a lot more worried about her complicated relationship with Ian and her fears that the Dennings would still refuse to let Wren go. She gazed around the dim, depressing interior. No sparkling white beadboard walls and cornflower-blue paint, no shiny dark wooden floors and brimming bookshelves. Somehow she had to turn this into a real home.

She carried Wren upstairs to park her in the middle of the bed, away from the cleaning fumes, while Tess gave the bathroom a fresh scrub. But as she entered the bedroom, she froze. The bedspread was rumpled, one pillow dented, the other on the floor.

Goldilocks had been here, too.

“Damn it!” Tess stomped into the room. It was bad enough having Kelly sleeping on her couch. This was too much.

A board creaked behind her. She whirled around to see Kelly trying to sneak downstairs. “You could at least have made the bed!”

“I was . . . I was checking the property. The . . . roof used to leak.” Kelly hurried down the stairs.