Sloppy Firsts_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [49]
Cal carried me about a tenth of a mile to a water hazard designed to look like a natural lake. Fuzzy stars rippled in the water. He took off his suit coat and put it on the grass for me to sit on. But sitting was no easy feat in my dress, so I had to lie flat on my back. Cal plopped down beside me, propped on his elbow, his hand holding his head mere inches from mine. I kept my eyes on the sky. I could still hear the band’s bass player, thumping and bumping like an irregular heartbeat.
"It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?" I said, finally.
Cal inched closer. "Yer bee-yoo-ti-full."
I laughed and looked up at the Big Dipper. "Thanks, Gladdie."
"I meannit, yer beautiful," he said softly.
I giggled and bit my lip. All this tension. All this buildup. "You don’t have to say that."
"I know," he whispered.
That’s when I finally looked at him looking at me. And we both busted out laughing. Again. When we calmed down, Cal said, "How can I kissya if we keep crackinup?"
I liked that he got it out in the open like that. So I pushed myself up so we were face to face. And then I closed my eyes. Next I felt his mouth on mine. We were kissing.
Kissing him didn’t make my skin crawl. I liked it. To be honest, I really liked it. I could taste the whiskey on his tongue, and feel the heat of his breath on my face. As our mouths got warmer and wetter, he rolled my body on top of his. His hands in my hair, against the nape of my neck, over my shoulders, on the small of my back …
Well, Cal’s below-the-belt brain must have picked up on my passion. He suddenly stopped kissing and slurred something in my ear.
"What?" I asked.
"I hafa condom."
"What?!"
Cal just smiled at me.
"Was that what I think it was?"
"Uh?"
"Were you telling me that you have a condom so I could do it with you?"
"Uhhhh …"
"So we could have sex?"
"Uhhhh …"
I pushed him away and straightened up my dress.
"We kiss once and you think you can have sex with me?"
"Uh … I thought …"
I couldn’t believe it! Who did he think I was?
Duh! He knew nothing about me. He didn’t know that I cracked 1500 on my PSATs. He didn’t know that I run a five-twenty mile. He didn’t know that I eat Cap’n Crunch for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He didn’t know that I can’t get enough of the "new classics" or The Real World. He didn’t know that my best friend moved away and I hate everyone else. He didn’t know I had only recently made a brief foray into the law-breaking underworld.
No. He didn’t know any of these things. As far as he knew, I was just a ho-bag who makes a habit of screwing random guys on golf courses.
"You don’t even know me!" I shouted.
He softly stroked the inside of my arm with his fingertips.
"I know ’nuf boutya t’know I wanna know more boutya …" he mush-mouthed. He was so drunk he was looking through me.
Jesus Christ! Could he be any sleazier? Or cheesier?
I pushed away his hand and stood up.
"I know you’re supposed to be a genius and all, but you’re a real idiot if you think I’m going to fall for a line like that."
And then I quickly stomped back toward the sounds of fun going on without me, ruining my once-in-a-lifetime shot at losing my virginity at my sister’s wedding.
What a nightmare. I guess this is my penance for pushing Scotty away and inviting almost-perfect strangers into my life.
July 4th
Hope,
What better place to celebrate the birth of our nation than the Sleazeside Heights boardwalk? And what better way to spend this day of Independence than in minimum-wage slavery, serving artery-clogging confections to fatty boombalatty bennies?
I hate them. Those greasy goombas plunking down an obscene number of quarters to win prizes for their girlfriends—tacky ’80s throwbacks whose Aqua Net–shellacked