“There ain’t no sin and there ain’t no virtue. There’s just stuff people do.” - John Steinbeck (From The Grapes of Wrath).
Hey. I just wanted you to know you did nothing wrong last night, and there is no reason to regret anything that happened...like I know you are. But don’t sweat it. We could have done so much more. I know the right thing to do now is probably apologize for not stopping you immediately when you drunk kissed me. Except I’m not sorry at all. It was...amazing. Really, don’t sweat it. Everything will be okay. Just take care of yourself. Drink the whole glass of water and don’t take more than three pills. If you need anything, call.
N. G.
I soaked in his phone number he’d scribbled in at the bottom of the page, memorizing it even as I commanded my eyes to look away.
But, oh wow, he’d left me a sweet, considerate letter. And his words actually worked. The panic I’d been experiencing a split second after waking up unwillingly drained from my system.
We hadn’t done anything that bad after all. Or had we and he just wanted to sugarcoat it? Shit, I couldn’t remember much of what had happened, but Noel seemed to think we were still in the clear, so I refused to get worried.
Except all day long, little puzzle pieces of my memory kept returning, reminding me of some of the things I’d said to him. I seriously couldn’t believe I’d squeezed his arm at the bar and asked if women liked to clutch his muscles while he had sex with them. No, I must’ve dreamed that one up. I don’t care how wasted I’d been, I would never say—
Oh, God. I had, hadn’t I? This was so horrifying. How was I supposed to show my face in class again? How could I even step foot on campus?
As Sunday progressed, I kept biting my fingernails and glancing at the phone, just knowing some university administrator was going to call and fire me.
Then another memory would plague me, like the one where Noel Gamble had picked me up, and I’d wound my legs around his waist while he’d kissed me senseless against a wall. Or when he’d rubbed me through my panties. My stomach heated and thighs turned rubbery. Even as vague and blurry as the memories were, they had the power to stir me until I was a hot, wanton mess.
I knew I should be utterly embarrassed and scandalized. I’d just thrown my code of ethics and morals out the window, and I’d chosen one of the biggest playboys on campus to do it with. I was appalled at myself. Kind of. All the flattery kept choking out my honorable thoughts, though, because I was utterly thrilled that Noel Gamble, the guy who turned me on like no one else, the man who’d charmed me with his literature essay and entrusted me with his biggest secrets had actually wanted me. He could have any girl on campus—prettier, younger, and more fashionable with a personality much more lively than mine.
Wait. Noel Gamble could have any girl he wanted. So why had he chosen me? I wasn’t all that and a bag of potato chips.
With a dreaded gulp, I pressed my hand to my chest and tried to combat the sinking feeling dropping heavily into my gut. This didn’t have anything to do with that essay he’d written, did it? Because he now had insurance that I would never spill his secret to university administration. I’d be fired for sure if anyone found out I’d fooled around with a student. There wasn’t any such regulation for students. Just for faculty. If I even thought about telling anyone about his false high school GPA, he could wave this in my face; it would get me kicked out of Ellamore just as surely as if I’d had sex with him.
And smart Gamble, he hadn’t even had to lower himself to go all the way with me.
God, was that messed-up thinking or what? Was I honestly insulted because he hadn’t taken complete advantage of me in my inebriation? What was wrong with me?
Probably that note. He hadn’t sounded like some conniving bastard who only wanted to cover his bases. He had sounded like he cared. That note had been sweet and concerned, trying to help me through my guilt. He knew exactly how I felt, and I loved that.
But crap, wouldn’t any guy who wanted to play into my good graces, say something sweet and seemingly concerned like that?
Okay, I had to stop thinking about this. It was driving me crazy. And all it was, was speculation. There were no good, hard facts to prove any part of last night had been genuine. Or false.
But thinking about them just being an act was depressing because the parts I remembered had been so amazing. I’d gone to that bar hoping to connect with someone, have a decent conversation, and if my stars aligned right, maybe have a decent make-out session. And I had. I’d gotten all of that.
It’d just been with the wrong guy.