Prologue #3
He twisted, and somehow we were horizontal.
My back hit the soft wool of the rug, and he hovered over me, supporting his weight on his elbows.
He looked down at me with a softness that almost hurt.
A piece of his hair fell forward on his face, and I reached up, finally, to push it back like I’d always wanted to do.
His eyes closed, and I pulled him down to me and kissed him with everything I had.
I felt his body shudder, and it made me bolder.
My legs wrapped around his waist again and anchored him to me.
His hands slid up my sides, fingers splayed, greedy for skin.
He hooked the strap of my dress and ran his thumb along my collarbone, and I felt my whole body light up.
Every nerve was on fire. His mouth found my neck, my shoulder, the space just above my heart. I wanted him to keep going, to never stop. I arched my back, granting him access, and he seemed to lose himself.
His hand found its way between my thighs, and he made a sound so vulnerable, so unguarded, I almost didn’t recognize it as his.
He didn’t rush, just cupped me through the thin fabric of my underwear, squeezing gently, then tracing his fingers along the line.
I gasped, and he must’ve liked that because he did it again, slowly and with more pressure this time.
I was wet and aching and desperate for more, but terrified, too, that this would all slip away if I wanted it too badly.
He kissed down my neck, each one hotter than the last, until he reached the top of my breasts. His hand was under my dress now, inching upward, and my whole body followed. I felt my own hands moving, too, up under his shirt, over smooth, warm skin, mapping the muscles I’d only dreamed about.
He groaned as his fingers found their way under the edge of my panties, and he touched me, skin to skin. I gasped and bucked up against him, every nerve alive and screaming. He grazed his fingers gently, and I felt myself unraveling, building toward something wild and sweet and terrifying.
He kissed me everywhere, his mouth never far from mine, but always coming back to it like he needed reassurance that I was still there. I was. I’d never been more there in my life.
A swirling pressure was building low in my belly when plates or glasses or something shattered outside. The clatter was loud, and the spell broke in one clean slice.
Adam froze. He paled, and his expression went from hungry to haunted in an instant.
His jaw set, like he’d just witnessed a car crash.
He was still panting as he pushed off of me onto his feet with ninja-like speed, face flushed, and hands shaking.
I barely had time to blink before he mumbled, “Fuck, I’m sorry,” then bolted for the sliding door.
The glass rattled as he tugged it open, the cold night air sucking in hard around my bare legs and burning cheeks.
I scrambled to sit upright, reeling. My dress was still bunched at my hips, and the top was twisted so I tugged it down and fixed the straps.
The party noise outside was still going, but everything in the pool house was silent except for my frantic heartbeat and the distant echo of the crash that had sent him running and the soundtrack of my heartbreak playing.
I called after Adam, my voice catching. “Wait, can you just—” But the door slid shut, and I was left with my own breath, fogging in the sudden chill.
I stayed there, frozen in place, thinking he might come back, waiting to hear footsteps returning. Instead, the only sounds were the muted whoop of laughter and the steady tick of the pool house clock.
After a minute or five, I stood, straightened myself once again, and followed him out.
I half expected to find him leaning over the porch rail, head in his hands, or pacing the edge of the pool, working up the nerve to return and finish what we’d started or at the very least talk.
I scanned the yard for his wide-shouldered frame and messy hair but didn’t see him.
The backyard was a different planet from the steamy cocoon of the pool house.
The twinkle lights were glimmering under the dark night sky.
People milled by the dessert table, licking frosting from their fingers.
No Adam. I rounded the patio and checked by the pool, the garage, and even the side yard, where Mr. Knight usually stood smoking when he thought no one noticed. Empty. He was gone.
I went inside and up to Adam’s room, he wasn’t there. I pulled out my phone, hands nearly useless with adrenaline and embarrassment, and messaged him.
Billie
Are you okay?
Billie
Where’d you go?
I pressed send twice, then regretted double texting. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, wondering what I could possibly say next to lighten the mood. I tried to come up with something funny, something casual, but every draft sounded either desperate or deranged. So I sent nothing else.
He didn’t answer. Not that night, not the next morning. Three days later I found out from his dad he’d enlisted in the Navy and was gone.
I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter. I told myself that it was better this way, that at least now I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t angry. Not just at him, but at myself.
I thought the most I was risking was a little humiliation, if I’d known I was going to lose my best friend that night, I would never have kissed him.
But was he even my best friend if a kiss could scare him away?