“You don’t get to decide what I want,” I snap. “I’m sorry I’m not worth suffering through a little gossip at parties. Not that I give a shit about those things.”
He looks out his window. Through the front windows of my house, all you can see are green grass and lush trees. From Ezra’s windows, you get asphalt.
“If you didn’t want this,” I say, “why have you been hanging around? Meeting me for coffee?”
“I told you… I was lonely.”
“Then why don’t you go make new friends at your construction site?” My voice is mean. Rage-y. He deserves it.
I tug on my shirt and try to button it as quickly as I can, but my fingers are shaky and feel clumsy, like bloated sausages. When he sees I’m having problems, he helps me. His fingers make quick work of the buttons.
Angry as I am, I can’t help but tell the truth. “Ez, I don’t care what people think. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
“But you were with Ben.”
“Because I was heartbroken after I thought you hooked up with Mindy.”
“Still, you were into him.”
“Yes, I was, but I’ve always wanted you, Ezra.” My words make his lips part. I set my hands on his bare waist. His skin is soft like satin. I find his eyes. “Honestly, I can’t say I want a relationship right now either. It’s not smart after what happ—” I shut my mouth quickly.
Ezra’s eyebrow shoots up. “After what happened?”
How could I be so stupid as to almost let the truth slip? I regroup. “Breaking up with Ben was hard, and I told myself I wasn’t going to get involved with anyone else…but I care about you.”
“I care about you too.” He leans his forehead against mine. “You’ve really always wanted me?”
I can tell he’s scared, that he doubts himself thanks to his parents. That’s why he tried to push me away. “Yes, I want you more than anything. Now don’t make me beg.”
A smile edges on his face. “Why don’t we see where this goes?”
“Finally.” I reward him with a long, slow kiss. Then, “Can I see your room already?”
“Sassy.”
He leads me there by a hand. His bed is neatly made with a comfortable, navy-blue quilt, which we promptly mess up in a kissing storm of the century, and later, when we’re cuddling between his sheets, I whisper to him, “Thanks for telling me what happened that night.”
He links his pinkie with mine. “I trust you. No more secrets between us, okay?”
I freeze. “Okay,” I say quietly. Another lie.
They keep piling up.
But it’s too late to tell the truth about Ben and the pills.
? ? ?
Friday morning, as I’m getting dressed for school, I’m still in a smiling daze thanks to Ezra.
All I can think about is when I get to kiss him again. Maybe this morning, at Donut Palace? What if we start and can’t stop and I skip school and he misses work and we end up back at his place, messing up his bed again—
Someone bangs loudly on my bedroom door, distracting me from my daydream.
“Taylor!” Mom shouts. “Your father and I need to see you downstairs right now!”
What in the world? My hairbrush clatters when I drop it on my vanity in a rush. I hurry down the stairs and to the breakfast nook where my parents are sitting in front of untouched plates of eggs.
“What the hell is this?” Dad asks in a low tone, shoving a newspaper at me.
The front page features a picture of me at school, standing in front of the Swamp. It was taken yesterday. The headline reads: Lukens’ Daughter Says Drug Use ‘Not a big deal!’
“But that’s not what I said.”
“You know you should never speak to the press,” Mom says. “Never! How many times have your father and I told you that?”
“They wouldn’t let me get into my car. I was angry.”
“You never show emotion to these people, Taylor,” Dad says. “You know better than this. You don’t speak to the press without media coaching from my publicist.”
I crush the newspaper between my hands. “This isn’t what I said at all! I said that what I did isn’t a big deal compared with what’s happening in Yemen and with veterans’ affairs. They took it out of context.”
“That’s what the media does,” Dad says, his voice suddenly gentle. “It’s happened to me before.” Dad’s cell phone rings, and he answers. “Randy?” He listens for a moment before hanging up. “Polls went down by two points.”
Mom scowls at me. “We’ll be lucky to salvage this election thanks to you. Two points!”
She storms out of the kitchen. Part of me wonders if she’s taking this harder than Dad. It wouldn’t surprise me. His political career is her whole life too. I don’t blame her for being upset though. My actions are messing up our family’s reputation.
Dad packs his laptop into his briefcase and leaves the house without another word.
I cover my eyes with the heels of my hands. Mom always said Ben wasn’t good for me; if she found out the truth, she’d rub it in my face for eternity, and I don’t think I can handle any more shame.
I’ve already made a mess of Dad’s campaign. The situation is way past me not wanting to be a snitch. If I tell the truth now, it would only hurt my family more—the press would skin us alive: Antidrug Senator’s Daughter Covers for Drug Dealer Boyfriend.
? ? ?
I’m so jittery, caffeine is probably the last thing I need, but I get in line at Donut Palace anyway. I keep my head down in case somebody recognizes me from the paper this morning and check my phone as I wait to reach the counter.
My sister sent me a text: get your shit together. My brother told me: you need to lay low for a while.
Damn.
I inhale deeply. The smell of coffee always soothes me.
“Hey, Tease.” Ezra elbows me.
“Hey,” I reply softly.
“I saw the news. Those people are bastards.”
I try to smile, but my lip quivers instead. When he sees, he sweeps me into his arms and hugs me in front of the entire coffee shop.
“Thank you for not yelling at me,” I say.
“Huh?”
“That’s all anyone has done so far today.”
With a concerned look, he touches my cheek. “I’ll get your drink. Go grab us a seat, okay?”
I sit down in our usual booth, the one overlooking the cornfields.
Once he has our coffees, he slides onto my bench, bumping his hip against mine. Our thighs touch.
I lift an eyebrow at him. “We’re going to be those people? The ones who sit on the same side of the booth?”
“Well, yeah.”
I lean to my left so I can reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pass him the handmade coupon from his birthday gift: One coffee on me!
He laughs when he sees it, seeming so much happier and lighter now that we talked about our past. He pushes my coffee in front of me, then opens Miss Brady’s daily envelope.
“My guidance counselor takes her job waaaay too seriously.”
Ezra pulls out the slips of paper and gives me a few.
I read the first one. “What is your favorite memory?”
“What we did last night,” he says with no hesitation.
My cheeks heat up. And don’t even ask about the lady parts.
He holds up another of Miss Brady’s papers. “What does your perfect day look like?”