Once and for All(48)

He looked me for a second, half-smiling, then turned back to the machine. Again, I could feel Ambrose staring at me.

“She likes a man in plaid,” he said eventually, under his breath. “Noted.”

“Please shut up,” I whispered back. Then I concentrated on listening to Phone Lady, now going on about her first husband, until our drinks were done and Lumberjack brought them to the counter and rang us up.

“Twenty-two eleven,” he said. I slid the cash in my hand across to him, then filled another drink carrier, handing it to Ambrose. After I collected my change, he grabbed a napkin and scribbled something on the back, then handed it over as well. “Well, if you need any help with the bet, let me know. I’m competitive, too.”

I looked down at the napkin: LEO, it said, with a number underneath. “Um . . . okay.”

“I protest,” Ambrose said. “The rule about the dating bet is you don’t talk to dates about the bet.”

“We never made that rule,” I told him.

“I’m making it now.”

Someone cleared their throat behind us. “Let’s go,” I said, then looked at Leo. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, then smiled at the next customer who stepped up, already giving their order. As we wound past the remaining line, I felt clumsy, so thrown off by what had just happened that I had to steady the drink carrier with my other hand. When I was with Jughead, Anagram, and any of the other boys Jilly had dragged me out with, I’d just felt like I was going through the motions, holding up my end of a bargain I didn’t really even remember agreeing to. But this, an unexpected boy taking me by surprise, was both different and familiar at the same time.

“Attention,” Ambrose announced, as he pushed the door open for me. Stepping through, I heard Phone Lady still talking, and wondered if she ever got tired of her own voice. “Like I said, it means everything.”

Everything was a lot to deal with, though, when you had gotten used to nothing. I needed increments: a few somethings, maybe an anything first. I looked down at the napkin, which I realized I was clutching in my hand, the neat block print, the number in blue ink. If I texted, how would he respond? If we spoke, what would his voice sound like on the other end of the line? Again, too familiar. I slid it into my back pocket, and tried to do what I did best, and forget.





CHAPTER


    13





“WHAT TIME is it?”

“You’re not supposed to ask that. Remember?”

We’d made this rule around four a.m., when it was dark and we still had a while until daybreak. Now, though, two hours and change later, the sky was turning lighter and pink, the stars fading even as I tried to keep track of them. Morning was here.

And we were where we’d started, just below the hotel, on the sand. After finishing our pie and coffee, we’d walked back along the boardwalk, then the narrow main road of Colby, passing a couple of blinking streetlights and only a handful of cars. When the hotel sign had appeared in front of us, bright in floodlights, I’d wanted to keep walking, going as far in the other direction as we could. But Ethan’s dad was leaving at eight a.m. sharp for the long drive back to New Jersey. So instead, we went to the beach, where we found a row of folded chaise lounges, took one, and curled up together.

I’d never felt so close with anyone, ever. Maybe this was because of what had happened earlier, beneath the pier. My lips had been sticky with fruit and chocolate, Ethan’s breath sugar-sweet coffee as he eased me back into the damp, cool sand. I’d expected to be nervous my first time, and never would have thought it would have happened like this. But as he slipped my dress off my shoulders, then eased up the skirt, I’d found myself arching up to meet him as if I’d known every move ahead of time and had only to do them. He’d asked if I was sure so many times after sliding on the condom that I finally covered his mouth with my own to silence him. It hurt a bit, which I’d expected, and I’d cried after, which I had not. We stayed there for a long time, the wind blowing sand across us now and then, my knees pulled to my chest, my head on his shoulder. For the first time in hours, we didn’t talk, and in that silence I heard everything else I needed to.

Now, in his arms, facing the water, I could smell salt on his shirt and beneath it the slight tinge of his cologne, as well as sweat. It would only be a matter of time before someone came along, walking with their dog or kid, making it clear that the beach, and the night, were no longer ours alone. Thinking this, I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, again willing time to stop. Like the game Ethan played with his friends, striking a deal—I would have given anything for a few more hours.

A gull called overhead, swooping. Somewhere a car horn beeped.

“Ten hours,” Ethan said, right above my ear. I turned, looking up at him. In daylight I was noticing new things: the freckle on his chin, a scar above one eyebrow, the little bit of stubble already coming in. “That’s how long a drive it is to Brownwood from here.”

“Half a day,” I said. “That’s not so bad.”

“When you come,” he told me, shifting, “I’ll take you to Spinnaker’s, where they have the best pretzels and limeade. And to the town bell, the largest in the state, which is pretty much the only other exciting thing around.”