We stay like that for a while.
Then all of a sudden my mouth is on hers. Her hands are under my shirt. Then my shirt’s off. And then her shirt’s off and my hands are on her smooth back. She’s pulling me down on the bed, on top of her. And before I know it we’re making love. I’ve always hated that term, “making love.” I mean, it sounds gross, right? But there’s no better way to accurately describe what we’re doing. It’s slow and it’s intense and I’m reveling in every moment, every touch, every sound. I want to consume her. I can’t touch or taste or feel her enough. My heart beats in rhythm to our rocking bodies. I focus on the sensation of her cheek brushing lightly against mine, the way her legs wrap around me, the taste of her neck on my tongue. And the connectedness—her eyes, the look in them. This isn’t just physical; I mean, the physical is beyond anything I’ve experienced, but it’s so much more than that.
It’s not until after we finish that I realize the magnitude of what’s occurred. I’ve just had sex with someone I’m pretty sure I’m in love with.
THIRTY
I wake up curled into Jordyn. Early morning sunlight streaks across the mess of Mom’s photos on the floor. I pull myself out of Jordyn’s arms and slip down to gather them up and place them back in their home with the razor. I pause as I’m about to lock the metal box. There’s really no need to lock it or even hide it. In this house it’s safe from anyone trying to destroy its secrets.
I stand next to the bed and look at Jordyn, the way the sheet’s barely covering one of her perfect naked breasts and her shiny black hair is fanned out over the pillow. She looks so peaceful, so content. I, on the other hand, look awful, as I soon discover in the bathroom mirror. My eyes are sunken, my cheekbones sharp. I’m way too thin. I don’t even look like me.
When I return from the bathroom, Jordyn’s awake.
“Hey.” She pats the bed next to her.
I sit down and she wraps her arms around my waist, curling into me. Her hair smells like jasmine. I breathe her in. This is the first time I’ve ever had sex with a girl and stuck around for any significant amount of time after, let alone the whole night. And yet it feels like the most comfortable thing in the world.
We both have to work at the studio today, so I don’t get to enjoy it for very long. Or anything else that might come of sitting in bed naked together.
? ? ?
After work, Jordyn and I decide to grab something to eat— Jordyn’s treat—to give Henry and Kelly some alone time. They’re not around when we get home, though both of their cars are in the garage. I don’t even want to think about what they’re probably doing.
Jordyn seems to have the same thought, because as soon as we get down to the basement, she says, “Gross, right?”
I laugh.
We settle on the couch and flip through channels until I stop on an old episode of Friday Night Lights.
“So what’s going on with Stanford? Have you checked or anything since—”
“What’s the point?” I say, sighing.
She pulls herself out from under my arm and turns to face me. “The point, Tyler, is so you can make something of yourself and get as far away from your prick father as you can. I know you could do something amazing if you had half a mind to.”
“How are you so sure? And anyway, I’m not playing this year—they’ve probably pulled my scholarship alre—”
“It’s called financial aid. I mean, look at your grades. They can’t only be interested in you because of football.”
“Trust me, they can. And . . . I don’t know. What’s the point? What if I just end up giving up, like . . .” I trail off. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
She leans in so I’m forced to look her in the eyes. “You’re not like her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Tyler, you’re stronger than she is. You will get yourself out of a situation that makes you feel you don’t have a choice before you ever get to that point.”
I stare at the TV, not really seeing it.
She squeezes my leg. “You miss it, don’t you?”
“What?” I practically whisper because I know.
“Football, stupid.”
I’m not sure how, but she’s managed to make me smile.
“Well?”
“I guess I do. Sometimes. But whatever. It kept me from her when she needed me.”
“I get that. But you know it has nothing to do with what happened, right? I mean, you do know it wasn’t your fault. Or football’s. Don’t you?”
I shrug.
“Tyler, look at me.”
I do.
“It. Was not. Your. Fault.”
I nod. But it still feels like it was partly my fault.