Kissing Ted Callahan (and Other Guys)(47)

He follows me into the backyard where I get fumbly with the keys before I manage to let us in. Technically, I don’t think I’m supposed to have people in here alone late at night, but the United Front has never specifically said so, so I’m not breaking any rules. Technically.

There is no time for the drums now that we’re here, though, and I don’t even know who kisses who first, and I stop keeping track of anything along those lines.

Ted is kissing me with urgency, with his hands holding my face, skimming around my waist, tracing lines down my back. It’s like there’s no more oxygen, and all I can breathe now is Ted and him me. Our teeth keep getting mixed up with each other’s lips, and I am kind of shocked at myself, how I could devour Ted Callahan. I’m sure I was good at stuff before, but I am great at stuff with Ted.

We keep finding new spaces to lean against while kissing, like there aren’t enough places to contain this to. Ted pushes me against the wall, I’m leaning him into the door, we’re maybe not leaning on anything but each other because it’s like the world will end if we can’t line up every inch of ourselves with one another. Finally I’m tired of these balancing acts and pull Ted to the floor with me, and it is a first, this thing where I’m lying down and kissing a guy who is next to me, and then under me, and then over me. Who knew that a guy who could start out so timid would end up kissing you with this intensity like he’d been thinking about it for as long as you have.

“Do you want to stop?” I ask, because I feel like I’m supposed to check in with him at some point.

“No,” he says automatically.

It is the best no I’ve ever heard.

“Unless you do. Do you?” He’s already sitting up. “We can stop.”

“We can’t,” I say, because it is the best line I can think of, and also because the feelings that buzzed through me all the times I dreamed of this happening are so much stronger now that it actually is.

I get up and shimmy out of my jacket before throwing my iPod into its dock (not that the silence was bad). Ted takes off his hoodie, too, and then it’s like the barriers have given way for clothes needing to stay on. My shirt off, Ted’s shirt off, Ted’s pants off, my skirt and tights off, pow. Ted is like all the boys in dumb books about teenagers and can’t figure out how to get my bra off, but I’m well versed in that, so we’re fine.

Ted starts laughing, which, despite how much I love Ted’s laugh, is not exactly what I want to hear when I am PG-13 naked. “What are you wearing?”

It is obvious I did not think this night would turn into This Night, because I am wearing Day of the Week underwear printed with cartoon frogs, and also, they’re not even the right day. They are Tuesday.

“What do frogs even have to do with Tuesdays?” he asks.

“Frogs love Tuesdays, duh,” I say, and we crack up.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks. I feel like exclaiming to the heavens, “Ted clearly wants to do me right now!” but I don’t because it’ll be way better if instead of talking about it, it just happens.

And.

It.

Just.

Happens.

In movies, there’s always soft lighting and cuddling right after, but we are on the floor of a dark, unfurnished guesthouse. Also, I think we’re both surprised about what just went on. I’m surprised, at least, and in the moonlight Ted’s eyes look very wide.

“You should go home,” I say. “I mean, because it’s late. Not because I want you to—”

“Yeah, curfew, exactly,” Ted says.

“Ted,” I say.

“Riley,” he says, like we’re doing a bit.

“That was, like, a new thing.” IT IS THE WEIRDEST WAY TO REFER TO SEX EVER.

“Yeah,” he says. “For me, too.”

I want to tell him so much, like that I’m so glad it was with him and that for him it was with me, and that there’s so much about him that’s cute, and that I had condoms in my purse because I got them free at a booth I walked by at a health fair, not because I was out on the prowl for dudes.

Actually, I guess I’ve been out on the prowl for dudes for a while. It’s just that Ted is one specific dude who matters.

But I don’t say any of that because in my brain it’s scattered enough. If I try to verbalize it, who knows the torrential downpour of words that might rain from my mouth. And I don’t want to ruin this super-perfect nice moment. Also he must know! Well, not specifically the health fair part, but the rest.

We get dressed and walk outside, and I drive him home and park where there is no motion detector light, so we spend a few minutes in the car kissing. It’s soft and slow again, which is funny that we could end up back here after what just happened.

I’m glad we can.

“See you Monday,” Ted says. “I’m working tomorrow. But you can come by if you want.”

“I’ll totally come by,” I say, and not just because Ted in his uniform is a glorious vision. “See you then.”

“See you, Riley.”

On my way home I crank the CD in my stereo and sing along, even though after screaming at the concert I shouldn’t have much of a voice left. I am a girl who’s had sex. This changes everything. At home I even look in the mirror because a thing like this should be apparent. I even stare myself down like a master supervillain in one of Mom and Dad’s beloved spy movies.