If I were Carlos, I’d flip her onto her back, strip her dress off the rest of the way, and kiss every inch of her body. She probably misses his mouth and his hands and all the things he did to her three days ago. He already has more of a hold on Zoe than I do, and I’m afraid that if I don’t cooperate right now, I’m not going to be allowed to keep her. If touching her and losing her are the only two options, I’m sure I can swallow down my discomfort. I love her, and she’s done everything she can to make me happy. I owe her this.
Zoe sits up a little and takes my hands again, and this time I let her put them where she wants them. Her breasts are a little fuller and heavier than mine, but they basically feel the same, and I tell myself I can handle this. I trace the outer curves with my fingertips, and she closes her eyes and makes a little humming sound that tells me I’m doing something right. Before I can think too hard about it, I brush my thumbs over her nipples, and she sucks in her breath and arches her back. It makes me feel incredibly powerful, like the night I traced her tattoo, but this time all I want to do is put some space between us. That night in my bed didn’t feel sexual at all, somehow; it felt like a wordless way of discussing how we felt about each other. There was no end goal, just a wash of tingly warmth and closeness and magic. But what Zoe’s asking me for now feels totally different.
I move my hands down to her sides, into safer territory, hoping she’ll notice something is wrong. But instead, she grabs one of my hands and moves it to her inner thigh, way up under the tulle lining of her skirt. Her skin is as hot and damp as a feverish forehead. She reaches down and starts undoing the buttons on my shirt, and I reflexively start to sit up. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think, silly?” She pushes the fabric out the way with one finger and exposes my bra, which is light blue with darker blue polka dots. It’s not sexy at all, but this isn’t what I expected to be doing when I put it on this morning.
“Ooh, cute,” she says.
I pull my shirt back into place. “Zoe…I don’t…”
She sits back, the tulle under her skirt scratching my legs. “What’s the matter?”
“I just…I don’t think I can do this right now.”
“Of course you can.” She moves toward me again and presses her hips against mine. “Come on, Brooklyn. Can’t you tell how much I want you?”
“I mean, I…I don’t feel ready, I guess.”
Zoe deflates a little. “I’m not trying to have sex with you,” she says. “I’m trying to take your shirt off. It’s not a big deal.”
“I know, but…I don’t know. It feels like too much.”
“Really? We’ve been hooking up for two weeks, and all you’ve really let me do is kiss you.”
The things I’ve done with Zoe feel so momentous to me that it’s weird to hear her belittle them like this. “You know I’ve never been with a girl before,” I say. “I need to go slowly.”
“Carina had never been with a girl before, and we were doing a lot more than this after two weeks,” Zoe says. “And you’ve done all kinds of stuff with guys, right? So I don’t get why it’s different.”
It’s true; if she were a guy, my shirt would be in a crumpled heap on the ground right now. “I don’t know why it’s different,” I say. “It just is.”
“Are you not into me?” It sounds like a challenge, but Zoe’s face looks vulnerable all of a sudden.
I touch her cheek. “Of course I’m into you,” I say, but even as the words are coming out of my mouth, I start to doubt them. I love her, and she’s beautiful, and I want to tell her everything and be with her all the time, but that’s not really the same thing, is it? I don’t need to touch her at all for those things to be true. I definitely don’t need to put my hands up her skirt.
“I’m really sorry, but can we put this on hold for right now?” I ask. “I worked for fourteen hours today, and I’m kind of drunk, and I’m so tired. I don’t feel like myself.”
It’s a total cop-out, and I know it, and I’m sure she knows it, too. But she says, “Okay,” climbs off me, and pulls her dress back on. It’s embarrassing how much better I feel once she’s covered up.
“I didn’t mean to ruin everything,” I say, and it comes out choked.
“You didn’t,” she says. “It’s fine.” But instead of lying back down with me, she stands up and starts packing up the leftover food.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though she’s really the one who should be asking me.
“Yeah. It’s late, though. We should go back.”
“Probably.” I start blowing out the votive candles, and once we’re in the dark and she can’t see my face, I let a couple of stray tears escape. I thought it might ease the tightness in my chest to get them out, but it doesn’t help at all.
We’re silent all the way back to Ramsey. Zoe and I each have a free hand, but she doesn’t reach for me, and I don’t reach for her, either. When I come back to the room after brushing my teeth, she’s lying in her own bed for the first time in weeks. I want to tell her she can still sleep over here with me. Curling up together, warm and safe, doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all. But I know I’ve hurt her, and the least I can do is leave her alone to lick her wounds.
I pull my blanket up over me and switch off the light, and we lie there in the dark, awake but separate. Neither of us even says good night.