I begin to kiss him harder, my tongue entering his mouth and meeting the resistance of his quickly. It’s with this touch that Nico can no longer be passive. His hands slide behind my back and he pulls me into him, turning me away from the gate and walking me backward to the large concrete pillar at the center of the bridge. My back against the coolness of it, Nico moves forward until he has one foot resting on either side of both of mine, his body pressed against me, his hands sliding down my hips, inching slowly until they finally grip my ass.
My breath hitches as his fingers clutch at the fabric of my dress, bringing it up only an inch or two with the raw hunger of his need. He lets go, sliding his hands up my sides, his thumbs running over the curves of my breasts, coming close to places I’ve never been touched, but suddenly desperately want to be. His fingers trace along my bare shoulder, and his head dips down, his mouth taking my neck, tasting my collar bone, the rough edge of his teeth scratching against my bare skin. His hands trail lower, along my arms, until he reaches my wrists, and he grabs them in his hands, lifting them and holding them above my head against the concrete as he leans into me and kisses my mouth raw. He holds me there for a few seconds before letting go and moving to cup my face again, letting me free from the wall and pulling me to him until we’re standing in the center of the bridge, the only light from the cars below and the sliver of moon above.
When he releases me, I’m dizzy and breathless, and I let my head rest against his chest.
“I have never been kissed like that,” I say.
“Me neither,” Nico says, his mouth coming down to the top of my head.
Somehow, I didn’t believe that to be true, but I let him get away with it. I let him because it makes him happy to make me happy, and that thought—the idea that I’m his girl, the girl for him? That makes me deliriously happy.
18
We pull onto my street with exactly eight minutes to spare. I think Nico was watching the clock all along to be sure he delivered me home early. He confirms my suspicion when his car clears over the hump of the curb and he shifts it into park, turning to me and says, “Brownie points.”
My smile meets his, and for a moment, we sit in the quiet of my driveway staring at one another—nothing but a night full of football, dancing, and kisses between us. Tonight…it was a perfect fairy tale. But all tales have villains. Ours is ruined the moment my eyes realize the other cars in our driveway—two parked on the street. The cars…they’re familiar.
“Did your parents have a party or something?” Nico asks, twisting in his seat and looking around us.
“It’s the board,” I say.
I slump back into my seat. I don’t want to go inside, because I know.
I know.
“Like, for Cornwall?”
Nico still pivots where he sits, glancing from the two cars in front of us to the few parked near my favorite tree. I take in a deep breath, and as I exhale, I let my eyes fall shut, remembering all that was good tonight—before everything fell apart.
“Why would they be here?” Nico asks. I open my eyes on him, the wrinkle of confusion set deep in his brow.
“You have the fifty-seven…we live with the board,” I say, and his head cocks to the side. I watch as realization washes over him, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding in a breath, his eyes moving toward defiant.
“Why would they want to meet with your dad now?” Nico says, his hand on his door. He’s out of the car before I can answer, running to my side to open my door for me.
“I don’t know,” I say, even though in the pit of my stomach, I have a suspicion. The board doesn’t make house calls unless they want to take care of something they perceive as a problem. Noah’s indiscretions perhaps. My mom has already been let go of her post. The only other thing would be my father.
Nico grips my hand as I step up from the car, and we take a few steps toward my front door just as it swings open. Men and women—all dressed as if they’re heading to Sunday school—spill from my home. A few of them laugh together, as if they’ve just left a business retreat and are excited to be heading to the bar. The others behind them have more somber faces. I recognize Thomas Loftgrin, my brother’s now ex-girlfriend’s father; he makes eye contact with me.
I know.
Nico steps to the side while nearly a dozen people leave my home, and as they head to their cars, we look toward the open front door they left behind. My parents didn’t see them out.
I swallow as we walk up to the house, and when we step inside, my mom is standing behind her sitting-chair by the fireplace, her hands on the high back as if she’s using it to protect herself from something bad. My dad sits across from her, his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He’s still wearing his deep-blue polo short, still tucked in to his khaki pants, his belt still tight. I bet he had just gotten home from reviewing the game, from talking with his coaching staff.
I bet they were here, waiting for him.
My mom’s mouth falls open, and she begins to greet Nico and me, but her words never come. She pulls her mouth into a fake, tight smile, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She’s trembling, and I know she is near falling apart.