Ryan laughed. “You are a lesson in patience, Mia. I hope you know that.”
I lay down next to him on the bed. “Just slow down a little. Tell me about your summer.”
Ryan draped a hand across my stomach and started talking.
We’d never had a conversation like this before. We’d talked, but not about things that mattered: how he didn’t like his mom’s new boyfriend or his older brother’s decision to stay at college all summer. It wasn’t why he’d brought me here, but it was nice.
“Was it all bad at your grandparents’ house? I’m glad your grandfather’s doing better.” He picked up my hand and kissed the palm.
I stroked his cheek, tracing the creases of his dimples as he smiled at me. “Thanks. I’m glad to be home. How’s your job? Is it Baywatch come to life?”
“Hardly. For every hot girl there’s three old men and five moms with insane kids. When are you coming down to make my Baywatch dreams come true?”
Each time he asked about me, I deflected. I relaxed under his stories and warmed under his fingers as they made slow circles on the skin below my belly button. Ever lower circles.
Finally he ran out of stories and I’d run out of questions. He lowered his lips to mine and rolled toward me, keeping his hand where it was: dipped below the waistband of my shorts and just brushing the top of my underwear. “Is this okay?” He pulled his lips off mine enough to breathe the words.
“Yes. So far.” As long as he kept his hands away from my port and out of my fragile hair, I could pass for a thinner, paler version of the girl from June. Except his words had flavored the kisses: I wasn’t hooking up with a hot guy from school; my lips were against Ryan’s, the boy who missed his older brother and dreamed of his own escape to college.
His hand skimmed along the top of my shorts. It stopped at the button and unfastened it in a moment. He paused again—his pinky just edging down my fly—and looked in my eyes for confirmation. There was hesitation; he read it and moved his hand back up to my stomach.
Was he as frustrated with me as I was with myself? I couldn’t figure out if I wanted him or wanted reassurance he still found me attractive. Was I hesitating because I wasn’t ready? Or because I didn’t want to reveal my illness? I needed a sign.
My cell rang. I looked away from Ryan and saw it on his bedside table beside his alarm clock. It was 5:13, my lucky number combined with the unluckiest number. What did that mean?
“It’s my mom,” I groaned and reached for the phone.
“Let it go to voice mail. You’ll call her back.”
“I can’t.” With the old me, that would’ve been fine. Now? She’d dispatch the police and an ambulance if I didn’t pick up. The thought of Gyver’s mother walking in motivated me to wiggle out from under Ryan and answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Are you okay? You sound out of breath.”
“I’m fine.”
“I want you home. Your dad read an article and he has me all freaked out about public places and germs. You’ve seen your friends. You can still see them tomorrow, but come home now so I can stop worrying.”
“Okay.” I would’ve been more annoyed if I wasn’t so exhausted. I shut off the phone, slipped it in my pocket, and buttoned my shorts. “I’ve got to go.”
He’d been watching me with heavy-lidded admiration, but his eyes blinked into sudden focus. “What?”
“Sorry.”
“You’ll come back over later though? After dinner?”
He looked so confused. It hurt to disappoint him. “I can’t. I really can’t.”
“When did your parents get strict?”
“Long story.”
“I liked it better when you had no curfew.” He sat up and reached for my hand, pulling me to stand in front of him.
“Me too.” I gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll try and come see you at the beach. If you come home again, call me.”
“Don’t get mad, but can I ask you something?”
“Okay.” I tugged my hand, not quite wanting him to release it.
Ryan stared at the floor. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, what are we doing?”
“What?” The unexpected question had me flustered and blushing. “You think that’s the only the reason I’d be here with you? Is that the only reason you wanted me here?”
“No.” He squeezed my hand but didn’t look up. “I like talking to you; you listen to me. And you’re smart and nice and hot. But I do want to sleep with you.”
I tried not to melt from embarrassment. Why couldn’t I be confident about this stuff like Hil or tactless like Lauren? “Ryan, I like you. I’m just not ready for that.”
“But you’ll be ready eventually, right?” His blue eyes met mine and I felt equal parts mortified and attracted.
“I’ve got to go. We’ll talk soon.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me—did he know how sexy that was? “Talk or … ?”
He knew.
“Talk,” I repeated. I leaned in and kissed him good-bye. The type of kiss he’d remember when he was in his lifeguard stand and a bikinied girl romped by. Then I pulled my hand free and ran for my car.