A Midsummer's Nightmare(33)

“Oh, Christ,” I gasped. I pulled myself out of the bathroom as fast as I could, but it didn’t keep me from seeing everything. The door slammed behind me, and I hurried to the guest room, trying to shake off the weird daze.

Technically, I’d seen Nathan naked before.

I’d just forgotten how hot he was.

I ran my hands through my hair as I paced—pointlessly, I might add—around the guest room. Nathan and I had barely spoken since the morning after Wesley’s party. Dinners were civil but stiff. I was sure he was still mad at me about Bailey and the drinking, and I was busy seething about what he said that night and the fact that we’d be going to school together in the fall, not to mention trying to forget I’d slept with him.

There was no way I could forget now.

Graduation night, which had come back to me in bits and pieces, flashed through my mind again, as it had more and more over the last few weeks. His breath mingling with mine, his lips by my ear, his hands on my skin. Dear God, his hands made me go crazy. They had that night, and they had when he’d helped me put on the aloe vera a few weeks ago.

I shook my head. I had to stop thinking about this. I tried to think of something else, something disgusting. Anything that would be a major turnoff.

Like dead kittens.

Or spinach.

Yeah. None of that worked.

And it only got worse a few seconds later when the door swung open and Nathan—still wet, but with a pair of blue jeans covering his lower half, at least—walked into the guest room. The door clicked shut behind him. I could only assume he didn’t want anyone overhearing whatever he was about to say.

“You know,” he said, “you could knock.”

Well, that was kind of anticlimactic.

“Well, you could lock the door.”

God, I wished he’d thought to put on a shirt.

He rolled his eyes. “Look, there are three of us sharing a bathroom now. I know it’s probably hard to get used to, but it’ll make both our lives infinitely less awkward if you would just be the slightest bit consider—”

“Whatever,” I interrupted. “Are you done in there? I need a shower.”

He sighed. “Yes. I’m done in the bathroom.”

“Good.”

I walked past him as he turned around. We both reached for the doorknob at the same time, his hand landing right on top of mine as I moved to twist it. I looked up at him to say something mean, to insult him, to express my annoyance in some way—the things I did best.

He was looking down at me, his hair still soaking wet, his shoulders still glossy.

Hormones.

They’re real troublemakers.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I had Nathan pinned to the wall, both our hands letting go of the doorknob at once. I didn’t even realize I was kissing him until I felt his tongue slide between my lips. Well, at least this wasn’t one-sided.

His hands were all over me. I pressed myself against him, my fingers twisting in his drenched hair. He was a better kisser than I remembered. Graduation night had been great, but I quickly figured out that sobriety improved Nathan’s performance.

He was fiercer this time, too. Before, he’d been slow and hesitant, but this time Nathan took control. It wasn’t long before he started urging me backward, toward the bed. He pushed me onto the blankets, moving on top of me an instant later. It was very aggressive—insanely hot, but not what I’d expected from Nathan.

He kissed me hungrily, his lips occasionally moving to my neck to give me a chance to breathe. Cool water dripped from his hair and skin, soaking into my T-shirt. It was the most excitement I’d had all summer.

And then, just like that, it was over.

He was off of me. Off the bed. Before I could even sit up, Nathan was all the way across the room.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless.

“Whitley, we can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

Yeah, I did, but I didn’t want to think about that.

Seriously, though, something had to be wrong with him. He totally could have had me, again, and he was just going to walk away. What the hell? No normal eighteen-year-old boy would do that… right?

“Are you gay?” I asked.

He snorted. “No.”

“You sure?” I pressed. “Because if you are, Harrison would totally be willing to give you a shot.”

“I’m not gay, Whit.”

“Then what the hell is your problem?” I demanded, my voice cracking more than it should have. “Don’t you want to?”

“I want to,” he said, reaching for the doorknob. “But I’m not selfish enough or stupid enough to do that again.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Nathan just shook his head. Then he was gone, closing the door firmly behind him.


That night at the Nest, I made out with a guy who had dreadlocks.

I thought I would hook up with him. I planned to. But we’d barely made it to the backseat of his car when I pushed him off of me and said I had to go. I’d forgotten something. I had to be somewhere. And I left him, shirtless and swearing, in the car.

The truth was, the whole time Dreadlocks was kissing me, I was thinking of Nathan. I couldn’t get his voice out of my head, or the taste of him off my lips.