“Want to come to my house? You allowed to fraternize off-site?”
I tell him to wait two minutes while I ditch the uniform.
When we get to the Garretts’, it is, as usual, a hive of activity. Mrs. Garrett’s breast-feeding Patsy at the kitchen table, quizzing Harry on the names of various rope knots for sailing camp. Duff’s on the computer. George, shirtless, is eating chocolate chip cookies, dreamily dipping them in milk and leafing through National Geographic Kids. Alice and Andy are in an intense discussion over by the sink.
“How do I get him to do it? It’s just killing me. I’m gonna die.” Andy scrunches her eyes shut.
“What are you dying of, dear?” Mrs. Garrett asks. “I missed it.”
“Kyle Comstock still hasn’t kissed me. It’s killing me.”
“It shouldn’t take this long,” Alice observes. “Maybe he’s gay.”
“Alice,” Jase objects. “He’s fourteen. Jesus.”
“What’s gay?” George asks, his mouth full of cookie.
“Gay is like those penguins we read about at Central Park Zoo,” explains Duff, still typing away on the computer. “Remember, sometimes the boy ones mate with other boy ones?”
“Oh. I rem’ber. What’s mate, I forget that part?” responds George, still chewing.
“Try this one,” Alice suggests. She walks up to Jase, shakes back her hair, casts her eyes down, walks her fingers up his chest, and then toys with the buttons of his shirt, swaying slightly toward him. “That one always works.”
“Not on your brother.” Jase backs up, rebuttoning.
“I guess I could try that.” Andy sounds doubtful. “But what if he sticks his tongue in my mouth right away? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
“Eeeew,” squeals Harry. “Barf. That’s rank.”
Feeling my face warm, I shift my eyes to Jase. He’s blushing too. But he quirks a little smile at me.
Mrs. Garrett sighs. “I think you should just take this at a slow pace, Andy.”
“Does it feel really gross, or nice?” Andy turns to me. “It’s so hard to imagine, even though I do try. All the time.”
“Samantha and I are going upstairs to, uh, feed the animals.” Jase grabs my hand.
“Is that what they call it now?” asks Alice languidly.
“Alice,” Mrs. Garrett begins as we hurry upstairs to the relative quiet of Jase’s room.
“Sorry,” he says, the tips of his ears still pink.
“No problem.” I pull the elastic out of my hair, toss it back, flutter my eyelashes and, reaching out, walk my fingers dramatically up his chest to unbutton his shirt.
“Oh my God,” Jase whispers. “It’s like I’ve just gotta…I can’t help myself…I—” He hooks his index finger into the waistband of my shorts, moving me closer. His lips descend on mine, familiar now, but more and more exciting. In the past few weeks, we’ve spent hours kissing, but only kissing, only touching each other’s faces and backs and waists. Jase, who takes his time.
Not like Charley, who was incapable of meeting my lips without reaching for more, or Michael, whose patented move was to thrust his hands up under my shirt, unclasp my bra, then groan and say, “Why do you do this to me?” Now it’s my hands that slide up under Jase’s shirt, up his chest, while I lower my head to his shoulder and breathe in deeply. All our other kisses have been slow and careful, by the lake, on the roof, potentially not so alone. Now we’re in his bedroom, and that feels both tempting and wicked. I move my hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging up, while part of me is completely shocked that I’m doing this.
Jase steps backward, looks at me, intent green eyes. Then he raises his arms so I can slip the shirt off.
I do.
I’ve seen him without a shirt. I’ve seen him in a bathing suit. But the only times I got to touch his chest it was dark. Now the afternoon sun slants into the room, which smells earthy and warm with all the plants, quiet except for our breathing.
“Samantha.”
“Mmmm,” I say, trailing my hand over his stomach, feeling the firm muscles tighten.
His hand reaches out. I close my eyes, thinking how embarrassed I’ll be if he stops me. Instead, his fingers close lightly on the hem of my shirt, sliding it up, while the other hand curves around my waist, then moves, touching my cheek, asking a silent question. I nod, and he eases the shirt entirely off.
Then he pulls me close and we’re kissing again, which feels much more intimate when so much of his skin is touching mine. I can feel the thud of his heartbeat and the rise and fall of his breathing. I bury my hands in the waves of his curls and press closer.