“A few months later, Mom and I went back to freshen up the flowers on her grave. Shauna had the most beautiful gravestone. It was so her it took my breath away. Her mom splurged on a real piece of art. A granite angel embracing a heart. It made me think. Personalized gravestones are a great way to pay your last respects to someone, you know? We live in a world where everything is customized to us: our clothes, our mattresses, our cars. Why not design something that’s unique? Something that represents the person who was laid to rest?”
“What do you do with your designs?” Joe isn’t showing any signs of distress. I’m fairly sure his creep-o-meter is broken. But, more than likely, this is just another way we are alike.
“I mostly keep them to myself. You have to consider people’s personalities to make gravestones for them, and thinking about the people you love passing away is . . . well, next-level psychotic. So I design them for late celebrities and stuff like that. A few people have heard about what I do through the grapevine and asked about pricing. I gave them the designs for free. I don’t know if there’s a market for what I do . . . I just know that it feels right to do it.”
Joe tugs at the hem of my dress, just for the physical connection. “People are always in the market for fucking awesome.”
“What if I’m not fucking awesome?”
“You are,” he says, sure as the morning sun. “If you were mediocre, you wouldn’t be running circles in my head.”
I think about the words from his novel.
He should’ve run after her faster.
He should have told her she was perfect.
The dull beat of the music coming from the party makes the earth quake beneath us. My body feels in tune with his, and I can anticipate the next time he’ll move. I feel his breaths in my own lungs.
“So.” His knee brushes against mine.
“So.” My elbow bumps against his.
“Did you ever use that condom?” he asks.
I bury my face in my hands. My skin is hot with mortification. I shake my head, peeking at him from between my fingers.
He tries to catch my gaze, tilting his head down. “Is that a no?”
“Why’s it important?”
“Knowledge is power.”
“It’s a useless piece of information.” I’m drunk on the idea that he cares but also embarrassed that I didn’t go through with Pippa’s dare.
“Don’t limit my fields of interest, missy. I’ll have you know it’s a matter of great interest. Books will be written on the subject. Books, I tell ya.” He shakes his fist in the air.
To this, I full-blown laugh. “This is not normal.”
“What’s not normal?”
“You. Me.” I wave my finger between us. “This.”
There’s nothing much to say, really. Which leads me to my next question to fill in the silence.
“Did you use any condoms while in Spain?”
“Promise not to be disappointed?” He sighs. I nod, but I already am. It shouldn’t feel like he’s cheated on me. It does, anyway.
“No,” he says. “I didn’t use any condoms.”
Punching his arm, I groan, “Then why did you tell me not to be disappointed?”
“To see if you were jealous, of course.”
This time, there’s no point denying that I was.
From the distance, “Boys of Summer” starts. It’s the Ataris’ cover, my favorite. People raise their arms in the air and sing. Dawn breaks above the surface. The waterline shimmers rose gold. Our time is almost up.
“Where were we?” I ask.
“Spain,” Joe provides. “And on the subject of condoms, specifically.”
“It’s not too late to use one.” I lick my lips. “A condom, I mean.”
“Hmm.” He leans back, bracing on his forearms. He is kind of ripped.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I bite down on my lower lip.
His throat bobs. “Yeah. And there’s plenty of water to fill the condom with.”
Before I have a chance to laugh, he leans forward and kisses me.
At first it’s just a kiss. A sloppy exchange of saliva between two teenagers, greedy with unbridled passion. Our tongues meet and swirl together. Dancing, teasing, testing. He tastes like ocean spray, summer, and cigarettes.
Then his fingers wrap around the back of my neck, and the kiss stops being a kiss and becomes a war. Joe devours my mouth. It’s ruinously raw. With teeth and moans and gasps. We’re ivy, coiling around one another. I touch his hair, his corded arms, the rock-hard ridges of his abs under his shirt. He lowers me under the palm tree, cups the back of my thighs, and presses his erection against my center. It twitches between us. I’m breathless, and my heart is racing, and now I get it. I get it, I get it, I get it. The term boy crazy. Because Joe is a boy. And he drives me crazy.
My back hits the sand, and sweet oblivion, I want him inside me. To fill every inch of me. For us to fuse together. This is how I like to be touched. Sean pawed and squeezed my breasts like he was trying to milk me. Joe flicks my nipple through my bra with his thumb while his hot kisses lower to my neck, then my chest. He unclasps my bra. Sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth teasingly.
“Ever.”
I knot my legs over his waist. We ride each other through our clothes, enjoying the friction and the feeling of our teeth sinking into new skin. Our scents swirl together, creating a unique and heady combination. Then Joe produces a condom from his wallet and holds it between us in question.
“Don’t feel pressured.” His voice is raspy, strained. “This can stop right here, and I’m still going to end the night feeling like the luckiest bastard alive.”
I know he means it. I know he won’t be mad if I decide I don’t want to. Unlike Sean, who booked the Ritz-Carlton with the expectation—the silent agreement—that sex was a part of the package. Probably why I broke it off a week later, citing long distance.
“I’m sure.” I tear the condom wrapper open with shaky hands, hoping I haven’t damaged the actual product.
I reach between us and roll it over him clumsily. He is bracing himself on top of me, his sculpted arms two columns bracketing my shoulders. We both watch my unsure fingers with fascination. It takes me four attempts, and even though we are both frustrated, neither of us says anything about it.
“Is it rolled all the way?” I ask.
“Feels good to me. Are you ready?” He catches my gaze. His eyes, dark blue with silvery dots, are his best feature.
“Yes.” I’m already quivering. “I’m ready.”
He presses home. For the first few seconds, we just hold each other, staring at one another. I think we’re both stunned.
“Is it always like that?” I whisper.
He knows exactly what I’m asking, because he shakes his head and says, “No, Ever. It’s never like that. This . . .” He dips his head, kissing the shell of my ear. “This is heaven. This is worthy of death.”
Our bodies get in sync. We move to the same soundless song. I’m tingling everywhere. Joe’s skin is a blanket of goose bumps. We’re lost in each other in what feels like forever. A gust of wind sweeps my hair across my face, and he blows it away, kissing me again and again and again.