Undecided(81)

I tug his sweatpants and briefs down as I kneel, urging him to sit, then slowly press his knees apart, hoping I don’t look as nervous as I feel. I’m excited too, but having just come from painting over the names of twenty-five girls who might have excelled at this very thing, I can’t help but fret.

“You all right?” he asks, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

“Yes,” I say softly, leaning forward to take him in my mouth. I’m instantly rewarded with a sharp groan and the tensing of his thighs against my shoulders. He strokes my hair and mutters my name and a bunch of other incoherent things, and though I know it’s not perfect, he seems to like it. He murmurs praise and pleas in equal amounts, and before he comes he pulls out and grabs a tissue from a box conveniently located nearby, finishing in his hand.

His head falls forward and he sighs, then weakly reaches down to tug up his pants. I sit beside him on the bed, quiet, and look over when I feel him turn. He smiles faintly and reaches over to brush my cheek, pulling back to reveal a quarter pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Ta da.”

“You’re a master magician.”

He leans in to kiss me. “Thank you.”

“I’m never saying it again, so enjoy it.”

He laughs. “Not for the compliment, Nora.”

I bite my lip, pleased and still slightly embarrassed. “No problem.”

He smiles and bears me back onto the bed, deftly opening the buttons on my top. “What are you doing?” I ask, stilling his hand.

“You said it yourself,” he says, working his hand free and resuming his task. “I’m a master. And now I’m going to show you some of my other tricks.”

“I said you were a master magician.”

“You also said you wouldn’t say it again, so you can’t be trusted.”

I laugh until he slides his rough hand over my stomach and under the waistband of my jeans, right into my panties. “Crosbie,” I breathe.

“Master,” he corrects.

I snort with laughter. “Fuck off.”

He kisses me again. “All in good time.”





chapter eighteen


On Saturday afternoon I’m at home, studying on the couch with Crosbie to make up for our lack of studying the other night. Kellan’s in the kitchen cooking up a storm—a potentially dangerous one—as he tests recipes for next Sunday’s post-Thanksgiving pre-Christmas dinner party. A venture I have been unsuccessful in derailing.

“All right,” he says, holding up a spoon, steam rising from its contents. “Whose turn is it to try?”

Crosbie slants a look at me. “Yours,” he says in a low voice.

“I went last time!”

“My tongue is still burnt!”

“All the more reason for you to test it!”

“Just go over there, Nora!”

“No! You go.”

“This is hurting my feelings,” Kellan calls. “I can hear you. I’m not that far away.”

“How many variations on gravy can there possibly be?” I moan, shoving to my feet. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t think I ever want any more gravy.”

“Relax.” Kellan holds out the spoon for me to taste. “This is the last batch.”

“Thank God.”

“Next up: stuffing.”

Crosbie groans from the couch. “I can’t believe you came up with this dinner party idea, Nora.”

“Marcela came up with it,” I point out, “and you seconded it.”

He closes his textbook and joins us in the kitchen. “Speaking of Marcela, why isn’t she here suffering? I mean, sharing in the fun?”

Kellan glares at him. “She has plans.”

“For a girlfriend, she seems to have an awful lot of plans that don’t involve you.”

“You both know she’s not my girlfriend. She’s like, my beard, except I’m not gay.”

There’s a moment of startled silence, then Crosbie and I both burst out laughing. “What?” I exclaim.

Kellan scowls. “Look. I started feeling weird in October, but I put off going to the doctor. I knew the news wouldn’t be good, so I stopped hooking up.”

“That’s why you didn’t sleep with Miss Louisiana on Halloween!” Crosbie crows. “I knew it wasn’t out of concern for me.”

“It was out of concern for you,” Kellan snaps. “And also Miss Louisiana.”

“You’re a gentleman.”

“Anyway, I have a reputation to keep up and I didn’t want people to talk and Marcela wanted to make that guy you work with jealous—”

“Nate.”

“The point is, we’re helping each other.”

Crosbie’s face is red with glee. “So she’s your gonorrhea beard?”

Kellan smacks him in the arm. “It sounds gross when you say it out loud.”

I gag a little bit. “Trust me, it’s gross even if you just think it.”

“Both of you shut up and try the gravy.”

Crosbie and I both sigh, then carefully taste. If I’m being honest, Kellan’s had more hits than misses today, I’m just really tired of being a guinea pig.