For The One(47)

Mia frowns, looking at him between narrowed eyes. “You’d better change that pronoun, mister. And quickly, unless you want damage to your most favorite body parts.”

“Hey, they’re your favorites, too. Okay, how about….that’s what you said?”

Mia laughs, snorting through her nose. “Much better. All right, let’s take this game in a nonsexual direction…”

“That’s no fun,” says Jordan, who is elbowed by his girlfriend, April. She still seems flushed and angry from the previous round, when Jordan was the only one who had to drink to, “Never have I ever been in a threesome.”

We end up playing three more rounds. Jordan’s challenge, “Never have I ever kissed my step-cousin,” elicits a lot of swearing and rude gestures from a now fully intoxicated Adam.

Just as I’d predicted, I end up the only sober person at the end of the game. I’m silently gloating about it, and I don’t even care.

Afterward, everyone sits around, either talking or continuing to drink until they pass out (Heath), or trying to sober up by making coffee (Adam). I end up going back into Jenna’s room to get my shoes and stop short when I find her curled up on her bed, crying.

It’s not loud sobbing. In fact, there’s hardly any noise coming from her, and the noise that does come out sounds like a kitten. She doesn’t even notice I’m here. Do I grab my shoes and leave, or do I try to comfort her? I have no idea how I can comfort her, and I could end up making it worse. I’m frozen with indecision until she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand and sighs. I perceive that she’s no longer actively crying.

I sit down on the bed next to her and, without understanding why I’m doing it, I stroke her hair…like I’m stroking a kitten. She rolls over and looks at me, then sniffs loudly. “Turn off the light and come back here,” she whispers.

I do as she asks and then feel my way back to her bed. She reaches out, grasps my wrist and tugs. I think this means she wants me to sit on the bed again. I do so, but she tugs again. “Would you lie down next to me? I just need to be with someone right now.”

Someone? Just anyone? Or…me?

In spite of those questions whirling around in my brain, I lie next to her. But I try not to touch her. In seconds, she has scooted over, resting her head on my shoulder, pulling my other arm around her.

I’m so tense that I’m sure she can feel it. She shifts her head, settling closer against me, and I can smell her hair again. That same smell. It fills me with…something. Makes it seem as if my blood is speeding up, rushing through my veins faster. And it’s hard to swallow, too.

“Relax, Wil. Take a deep breath. Or does this bother you? Would you rather not be touched?”

I inhale a deep breath and let it go. She adjusts her head to look at my face, though it’s dark so I can’t imagine what she can see. I can’t see her very well, either, but I can definitely smell her. The cloud of her scent enveloping me. It’s enough to cause vertigo. And it really does feel like the room is spinning.

I clear my throat. “Why are you crying, Jenna? Are you sad about your tiara?”

She shakes her head and is silent for a long time, then she sniffs again and swipes a hand across her cheek before leaning into me. “I get like this sometimes when I drink too much.”

“Drinking makes you sad?”

“Only if I’m sad before I start drinking. It just amplifies it.” I picture a microphone echoing in a loud room, screeching, hurting my ears. Her sadness is hurting her like that?

“Then you shouldn’t drink when you’re sad.”

She lets out a quiet, gentle laugh. “Impeccably logical, Wil. You should have been a Vulcan.”

“I’ve been told that before. Why are you sad?”

She’s suddenly still and very quiet, then she shrugs. “Just a long day…got off to a bad start. I’ll be okay once I sleep it off.”

I turn my head but just slightly. Her hair is tickling my nose, so my choices are to turn away so I no longer feel it or press my face more firmly into her hair. I chose the latter. I’ve heard of people talking about a “head rush” before—this must be what they’re describing.

Jenna’s hand is moving across my chest. It’s a light, fluttery touch, and I hate that it makes me uncomfortable. I capture her hand under one of mine to stop it.

“Do you not like that?”

I take a moment to think about the question and how I want to answer it. “I don’t like light touches. It feels like my skin is crawling.”

“So you don’t like to be touched at all, or…?”