Afterparty(57)

Which is when I notice my ability to go from zero to sixty in ten seconds alone with him.

How one minute, it’s a kiss, and how all I want is more lips and more tongue and more heat, and one minute later, I’m inside and my blouse is on the floor.

As is his shirt.

How sentences like “I’m not ready” and “Let’s wait” and “Let’s slow this down” and “I’m not sure yet” and the whole array of things good girls say (sentences I was pretty sure I would one day be saying, back when we examined all those sentences in detail during all-girl It’s Your Choice day in Modern Living) don’t seem relevant to modern life or human life or, more specifically, to my life.

Dylan says, “You want to? Not that we have to—”

“I want to.”

The compass rolls under the bed as Dylan reaches for the button on my skirt.

I blurt, “I’ve never done this before.”

“What?”

This kind of breaks the mood, Dylan standing there in boxers, holding a wrapped condom, looking seriously confused, as if virginity were an alien concept.

I pull the sheet up to my chin. “Yeah. First time.”

He says, “So you never . . .”

“First time,” I say. “Wait. Aren’t guys supposed to be happy about this kind of thing? Yay, a virgin. Like that?”

“Sorry.” Dylan sits down beside me on the bed. “I get it.” He is looking at me as if I’m breakable. “Does this entail bleeding?”

“Bleeding! There’s a romantic thought.”

“Not that you have anything to compare it to,” he says. “But that was a very romantic question.”

“For a vampire.”

He moves in closer. “Vampires have nothing on me.”

“Yeah, prove it.”

He does. He pushes my hair back behind my left ear and starts kissing the ear very gently. “This, over here, would be your earlobe.”

Who knew that ears could even do that. Oh God.

“And this is the back of your neck.” More kisses down toward the side of my neck. I have returned to an advanced state of urgency and, all right, it’s romantic.

“And oh look, those are toes. Let me make sure.” Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“And this is the back of your knee.”

“That tickles!”

“Then I’ll stop that.”

“Do not stop that!”

He doesn’t.

“And hey, look over here, what’s this?” Oh God!

And there’s no blood.

? ? ?

So it was all about romance with maybe some lust thrown in, but in one afternoon, I have vanquished a large section of my to-do list. Not only the actual list, but the things that I wanted that I didn’t even dare to put on the list.

And all it took was a complete failure of impulse control, and proximity to Dylan Kahane.

Protracted eye contact with Dylan Kahane: check.

Find out if I’m so repressed by my bizarre upbringing that I fall over, maybe hitting my head on the way down and sliding, dead, to the floor, in the presence of a naked boy. Well, I’m not: check.

Sex with Dylan Kahane. In Dylan Kahane’s bedroom. On Dylan Kahane’s bed. Following a long conversation with Dylan Kahane during which he acts as if he is sincerely—I’m not even slightly exaggerating—crazy about me: check.

Lie there with Dylan, acting like I own his room because we both know I’m going to be back there.

A lot.

Check.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


MY DAD SAYS, “HOW DID the homework go?”

I am an unfortunate cross between Dylanesque smirking and panic. “Good.”

So good.

My dad is looking at me. And I think, Oh God, my blouse is on backward, my makeup that he doesn’t even think I’m wearing is wrecked, my sweater is inside out and I’m wearing my bra over it. But when I glance down, I am, in fact, dressed like a normal person.

My dad says. “You really like this boy, don’t you?”

Say yes, and he really will chain me to the piano.

I say, “Is that lamb stew?” He makes great lamb stew. With rosemary and mint and wine.

“It is lamb stew.”

“I love lamb stew. See how cooperative I am when you let me out of my cage?”

“I’m doing the best I can,” he says. He puts his arm around me and gives my shoulders a little squeeze. “And you seem to be turning into a pretty solid citizen, so I can’t be blowing it too badly.”

And I think, Damn, I really am a bad person.

The compass, for once in complete agreement, says, Yes. You are.

Dylan: U OK?

Me: Exponentially beyond ok. Stratospherically super-ok. You?

Dylan: Not bad

Me: NOT BAD???

Dylan: Also super-ok. OK?

Dylan: Tomorrow?

Me: Food bank.

Dylan: Friday?

Me: Shabbat dinner. Early sundown. Guests at 5:30.

Dylan: U want to take Lulu to the dog park before?

Me: Totally. Right after school.

Me: What about Saturday? I’ll say I’m shopping or something.

Dylan: Saturday, study marathon with eunuch. And Emma, you might want to go out the front door all the time soon. This is getting ridiculous.