The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(64)

I laughed a little, too, breathless, and then groaned. “Please hurry. Do you know how to put it on?”

“If I lie and say no, will you help me?”

“You’re awfully cheeky for a virgin.”

“I told you, Bex. You bring out the best in me. Oh, don’t do that. It’s too good. Move here.… Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

“Jack…”

“I…”

“Oh…”

“My God. Am I hurting you?”

I pushed back in answer.

“You feel so good,” he whispered.

“Please don’t stop.”

“You either.”

Near the end, I turned my cheek to the rug because I was overwhelmed and afraid to let him see me lose control. He bent his head to my neck and whispered breathy encouragements until neither one of us could say another word.

The night breeze flowing through the open doors turned brisk. Tucked against Jack’s side, I huddled closer, but even his hot skin couldn’t drive away the chill.

“Cold?” he asked, rolling toward me to wrap himself around my body.

“Sort of. But I also don’t want to move. Like, ever again.”

“We can stitch our clothes together and make a blanket.”

“Collect rainwater in our shoes.”

“Harvest cypress needles off the treetops for food,” he suggested.

“Or fashion a trap out of books and lure seagulls to the balcony.”

“Mmm, raw poultry,” he said. “I renounce my vegetarian ways right this second.”

I laughed and clung to him with both arms and legs, inhaling the scent of his balmy skin. “You make me so happy,” I murmured against the steady drum of his heart.

“I think I’ve been waiting for you all my life,” he murmured back.

And then we did it all over again.

We finally abandoned our nest in the attic around midnight. And after he’d fed me some crazy good corn chowder and cheesy muffins he’d picked up from some takeout place (my chowder had chunks of ham in it, which, as I informed him, was the ultimate romantic gesture), he locked up the main house and we spent the remaining six hours of stolen freedom in his warm and cozy room out back. Mostly naked.

We took a shower together and tried to have superhot sex standing up, but after nearly breaking both our backs trying to find a good angle—the short girl, tall boy thing wasn’t exactly practical—we ended up in his bed. He let me read his comic book (Jack’s humor and storytelling skills were a little better than Andy’s drawings) and formally introduced me to his betta fish, Sashimi 3. (Both her predecessors had been given full funerary rites and buried near the guesthouse.)

But after another round of sex in a very interesting position he’d learned in his book, I couldn’t stay awake any longer. So we spooned together, napping until his alarm went off and he had to drive me home.

Saying good-bye to him that morning was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. I cried a little. I couldn’t help it. If we were older, he’d have his own place, and I could just stay over. Or I’d have my own place, and he could just stay over. It wasn’t even the sex. I wanted to sleep with him and wake up with him. I wanted the whole package. I wanted more.

“One day,” he promised.

He held me on the sidewalk in front of my house until we couldn’t delay it any longer, and then I watched Ghost’s red taillights disappear into the fog.

The light in the front window was on. Maybe Heath had forgotten to turn it off. I hoped Mom hadn’t come home for a midnight lunch and noticed I wasn’t in my room. The dozen steps up to my front door felt like Sisyphus’s doomed hill, and when I jabbed my key inside the deadbolt, the mythical boulder rolled back down: It was already unlocked.

I pushed the door open with the tips of my fingers and stood in front of my worst nightmare. A two-person firing squad awaited me, consisting of both Heath and Mom, the latter sitting on the living room sofa with her arms crossed and fire in her eyes.

26

I didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. Mom did all the talking.

“Have a seat, Beatrix,” she said in a strained voice.

In a daze, I sat on the sofa under the living room window, as far away from her as I could get. The floor lamp shone in my eyes like a spotlight.

“Not answering your phone anymore?” she said. “Because I’ve called it about a dozen times.”

Crap! I hadn’t looked at my phone when I was at Jack’s—probably the longest I’d ever gone without checking it. Guess I was distracted.

When I didn’t say anything, she demanded, “Where have you been all night?”

I quickly considered my options. Oh, that’s right: I had none. I was exhausted and had just spent the last ten hours, give or take, breaking my Howard Hooper sex record with Jack in a single night.

“I was with Jack,” I admitted.

“Where?”

“At his house.” Should I say we fell asleep, or would that clue her in to what we were doing? I couldn’t decide, so I didn’t elaborate.

“And his parents were fine with you staying there until seven in the goddamn morning?”

Oh, boy. “They weren’t home.”

“That’s wonderful, Bex. Just wonderful. You’re sneaking around behind everyone’s back, then?”