I had no recollection of this, but I’d also been in the middle of a three-page essay in French, so I may not have heard.
“Thank you again.” I smoothed my pristine tennis whites. It was the outfit she’d been wearing when we played last week. I wouldn’t let her buy me one, so she’d given me hers and bought a new one for herself. The thought that maybe she didn’t want to be seen with me in the old one had crossed my mind, but she was my friend, and anyway, my mother taught me you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, so I put it out of my head.
“If you don’t wanna do it, I can take you back,” she offered. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s fine.” Thunder rumbled overhead. “It’ll be fun.”
The song on the radio switched to our latest Madonna favorite, and she turned it up. “It’s a sign: You’re frozen.” She sang along, and I joined in, trying to force myself to relax.
The first fat drops of rain were just beginning to fall as we got out of the car at Silver Creek; after dashing the hundred yards from visitor parking to Ryan and Tyler’s apartment, we were drenched.
A clap of thunder cracked as Ryan swung open the door. We darted inside, dripping all over the carpet.
“Sorry,” I said, shivering in the air-conditioning.
“Tyler, towels!” Ryan shouted over his shoulder.
I wrapped my arms around my chest, acutely aware that my soaked tennis whites were now completely transparent. Summer was unfazed, giving Ryan a kiss on the cheek as though she hung out at her teacher’s apartment every day of the week.
Tyler emerged from the back with towels, and I immediately remembered why I agreed to this. He flashed a lopsided smile and wrapped me up in a big towel, lingering with his arms around me. He smelled of Drakkar Noir. I could feel his muscular chest and strong arms, the scruff on his chin roughing my forehead. None of the guys in my class had strength or stubble like that.
“So I guess we’re not playing tennis today,” I said stupidly, looking up at him.
“Guess not.”
“I ordered pizza,” Ryan offered.
“And we have beer and bourbon,” Tyler added.
“Perfect,” Summer said. “I’m usually more of a Scotch girl, but a shot of bourbon sounds like just the thing to warm me up. Who’s with me?”
I, for one, was definitely in need of a drink to loosen up.
“Nice,” Tyler said, and we followed him through their sparsely decorated living room to the kitchen. He grabbed a half-empty bottle of bourbon from the top of the refrigerator and poured generous shots into four red Solo cups.
“We don’t believe in dishes.” He winked. “Bottoms up.”
Summer promptly downed her shot, shivering as it slid down her throat. Tyler watched with admiration, Ryan with something bordering on apprehension.
Tyler raised his cup to me, and we threw back our drinks simultaneously. The alcohol hit me like a ball of fire. I’d never actually had bourbon, and in that moment I discovered that I did not like it.
“Yech,” I blurted. “Ohmygod.” I grabbed Tyler’s open beer and gulped, desperately attempting to wash away the taste.
Tyler laughed. “I take it you don’t like bourbon?”
“That was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted!”
“But I bet you’re warm now,” Summer added.
And she was right. I was. I’d just had what must’ve been about three ounces of bourbon and half a beer on an empty stomach, and I was feeling much warmer. So warm, in fact, that I noticed I’d dropped my towel on the floor.
“You guys wanna throw your clothes in the dryer?” Ryan asked. “We have sweats you can wear.”
“Or, of course, you don’t have to put on clothes if you don’t want to,” Tyler chimed in with an exaggerated wink.
“Sweats sound great.” Summer turned to Ryan. “Why don’t you show me where they are?”
She followed him to his bedroom, and I heard the click of the door as it shut behind them.
“You want me to get you some dry clothes?” Tyler asked.
It did sound great to be dry, but the outfit I was wearing had a built-in bra, and my push-up pad was wedged under righty. I didn’t want to be braless and lopsided in whatever T-shirt he handed me. “No, I’m okay.” I picked up my towel and draped it over my shoulders. “This fabric dries fast. I’m almost dry.”
“Okay.” He cracked open a fresh beer and handed it to me. “We could watch a movie in my room, or . . .”
I perched on the arm of the brown La-Z-Boy couch. “Isn’t the pizza gonna be here soon?”
“Yeah, but whatever.”
He swigged his beer; I stared up at the framed Texas flag over the couch. “You from Texas?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” I sipped the beer, trying not to wince. “This is good.”
“Yeah, it’s cheap, but it’s my favorite,” he agreed. “And you can drink a lot of it and not get too full, you know.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, studying my beer. I literally had no idea what else to say to him. What did grown men like to talk about? I didn’t know anything about sports, cars, or hunting. The boys I’d dated all knew the same people I did, had the same teachers. But this was a whole different ball game. I looked up to see him gazing at me. I gave him a nervous smile.
“You’re really pretty when you smile,” he said.
A flush of heat rushed to my head. “Thanks,” I mumbled, caught off guard.
He held my gaze, his eyes a soulful muddy brown. My stomach flipped. He reached for my face and pulled me into a kiss, his face rough against my skin as his tongue pried my lips apart, reaching into my mouth with fervor.
The scent of his cologne was thick as he pulled me off the arm of the couch into his lap, his arms encircling me, his hands all over me. I wanted to enjoy it, but he kept thrusting his tongue into my mouth like he was digging for something, and it wasn’t as pleasurable as I’d thought it would be. His tongue was big and in there so deep for so long that I had to pull away to breathe, and when I did, he buried his face between my boobs and made an animal-sounding grunt as he pulled my hips forcefully in to his. “Oh God, I just want to eat you.” He bit my arm.
He wasn’t biting hard, but still it kinda hurt, and I didn’t want to be eaten. I wanted to be caressed. But now I wasn’t sure I wanted to be caressed by him anymore. Was this how sex was supposed to be? Maybe I was just naive. The farthest I’d gone was dry humping with fumbling high school boys. I’d never been with someone experienced. His tongue again. By this point I was trying hard to like it, but it didn’t feel like he was interested in me at all; he just wanted to ravage my body.
He kept his eyes trained on my boobs as he threw me down on the couch, lying on top of me, and I didn’t feel what I thought passion should feel like; I just felt squashed and claustrophobic. One hand shot up my top, groping my boob, while the other pawed at my bodysuit.
“Okay.” I tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. I was in the corner of the couch with a two-hundred-pound man on top of me. “Hey.”
He was clawing at my hips, trying to get my panties off, but thankfully my tennis outfit was a one-piece, so finally he just gripped the crotch of it and pulled it aside while he pushed his gym shorts down with his other hand.