He takes the red Solo cup from me and tosses it in the trash on our way out.
Our walk back to my house is pretty quiet, except for the sound of the ocean waves. I don’t think either of us knows what to say, because whatever is wrong between us, we both know it wasn’t John Ambrose McClaren, or the carrots.
As we make our way down the street, I hear Peter’s subdued voice. “Are you still mad about last night?”
“No.”
“Okay, good,” he says. “I saw the carrots you bought in the fridge. Sorry I didn’t eat your French toast.”
“Why didn’t you? I know it wasn’t because of your diet.”
Peter rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know what my problem was. I’ve just been in a weird mood.”
I look over at him; his face is obscured by the dark. “We only have a little bit of time before I leave for Korea. Let’s not waste it.” Then I slide my hand in his, and he squeezes it.
The house is completely empty, for the first time all week. All the other girls are still at the party, except for Chris, who ran into somebody she knows through Applebee’s. We go up to my room, and Peter takes off his shoes and gets in my bed. “Want to watch a movie?” he asks, stretching his arms behind his head.
No, I don’t want to watch a movie. Suddenly my heart is racing, because I know what I want to do. I’m ready.
I sit down on the bed next to him as he says, “Or we could start a new show—”
I press my lips to his neck, and I can feel his pulse jump. “What if we don’t watch a movie or a show? What if we . . . do something else instead.” I give him a meaningful look.
His body jerks in surprise. “What, you mean like now?”
“Yes.” Now. Now feels right. I start planting little kisses down his throat. “Do you like that?”
I can feel him swallow. “Yes.” He pushes me away from him so he can look at my face. “Let’s stop for a second. I can’t think. Are you drunk? What did Chris put in that drink she gave you?”
“No, I’m not drunk!” I had a little bit of a warm feeling in my body, but the walk home woke me right up. Peter’s still staring at me. “I’m not drunk. I swear.”
Peter swallows hard, his eyes searching mine. “Are you sure you want to do this now?”
“Yes,” I say, because I really, truly am. “But first can you put on Frank Ocean?”
He grabs his phone, and a second later the beat kicks in and Frank’s melodious voice fills the room. Peter starts fumbling with his shirt buttons and then gives up and starts to pull my shirt up, and I yelp, “Wait!”
Peter’s so startled, he jumps away from me. “What? What’s wrong?”
I leap off the bed and start rummaging through my suitcase. I’m not wearing my special bra and underwear set; I’m wearing my normal every day cappuccino-colored bra with the frayed edges. I can’t lose my virginity in my ugliest bra.
“What are you doing?” he asks me.
“Just wait one second.”
I run to the bathroom and change out of my old bra and underwear and put on the lacy ones. Then I brush my teeth, look at my face in the mirror. This is it. I, Lara Jean Song Covey, am about to lose my virginity to Peter K.
Peter calls out, “Is everything okay?”
“Just a sec!” Should I put my clothes back on or just come out in my bra and underwear? He’s never seen me in just my underwear before. Well, I guess he’s about to see me without any clothes at all, so I might as well.
I step out of the bathroom, carrying my clothes in front of me like a shield, and Peter does a double take when he sees me and quickly takes his shirt off. I can feel myself blush. I stuff my bra and underwear in my suitcase, and then dig around inside until I find the packet of condoms. I take one out and then climb back into bed and get under the sheets. “Okay, now I’m ready.”
“I like your bra,” Peter says, peeling the sheet away from me.
“Thank you.”
He moves closer to me and kisses my eyelid. First the left, then the right. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“We don’t have to do anything tonight, Covey.”
“No, I want to.” I hold up the condom, and Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “From my dad’s kit. Remember, I told you he made me a contraception kit?”
Taking the condom from me, he kisses my neck and says, “Can we not talk about your dad right now?”
“Sure,” I say.
Peter rolls on top of me. My heart is thrumming in my chest, the way it does whenever I am close to him, but now even more so, because everything’s about to change. I’m going somewhere with him I’ve never gone before. He’s careful to keep his weight on his forearms, to not crush me, but I don’t mind the weight of his body on mine. His hand is in my hair the way I like; his lips are warm. We’re both breathing fast.
And then he’s suddenly not kissing me anymore. I open my eyes and he’s hovering above me, his brow furrowed. “Is this because we had a fight last night? Because, Covey—”
“It’s not because of the fight. I just—I just want to feel close to you.” Peter’s looking at me so intently, and I can tell he’s waiting for more, for me to give him some grand reason. It’s pretty simple, really. “It’s not all of a sudden. I want to have sex with you because I love you and I want it to be you.”
“But why me?”
“Because—because you’re my first love, so who else would it be?”
Peter rolls off me and sits up; his head is in his hands.
I sit up too, pulling the sheet up around me. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t say anything for what feels like forever. “Please just say it.” I’m starting to feel sick to my stomach.
“I don’t want to do this right now.”
“Why not?” I whisper.
He can’t look at me. “I don’t know. . . . I just have a lot on my mind. Between lacrosse, and my dad not showing up at graduation, and now you’re leaving for the summer.”
“Not the whole summer. Just July. I’ll be back at the end of July! Why are you fast-forwarding the whole summer away?”
Peter shakes his head. “It just seems like you’re leaving and you don’t really care.”
“You know it wasn’t my choice! My dad surprised me! You’re not being fair, Peter.”
He looks at me for a long beat. “What about UNC? Are you even planning on transferring to UVA anymore? When it was William and Mary, it was a given, and now it doesn’t seem like it.”
I wet my lips. My heart is pounding out of control. “I’m not sure. Maybe? But maybe not. UNC feels different to me.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s obvious.”
“Don’t make it sound like a bad thing! Would you rather I go somewhere and be unhappy?”
“Temporarily unhappy,” he corrects.
“Peter!”
“Come on, Lara Jean. Do you really think that shitty of me?”