“Andrew!”
“Hey, Gracie.” Oh Andrew. He didn’t even sound upset. Grace wasn’t sure whether that should make her more or less worried.
“Did you talk to Dad?”
“Nah, I was in class, but he left a message. Sucks, huh?”
“Sucks? Uh, yeah, it does. Andrew, the house.”
“I know. Hey, Gracie, I can’t talk right now, okay?”
“What? Why not? But you called me! How can you not talk to me right now?”
“I just, I wanted to make sure you were okay, but I’ve got to finish something right now. But you guys are getting here tomorrow, right? So I’ll see you soon, okay?”
八
Phoenix, AZ
ANDREW PRESSED the end call button on his iPhone and looked at it again to make sure that he wasn’t somehow still connected. He dropped the phone on top of his jeans, which were puddled on the floor of his dorm room, then picked it up and placed it on his desk, where no one could step on it accidentally. A second later he reached over and checked again, just in case he’d pocket-dialed someone when the phone landed on the floor.
He had to do all of that with just one arm because the other arm was trapped under Emma Lerner’s breasts. They were great breasts. “A great rack,” Howard Stern would have called it. Yes, Howard would definitely think that Emma had a great rack, and he’d be even more impressed because they were 100 percent real. Why was Howard always talking about boobs on the radio where no one could see them? He should have gotten himself a TV show instead of that satellite gig, although he probably wouldn’t have been able to show naked racks on TV either. Unless he was on cable.
Emma wiggled in place next to him, face hidden in the pillow, and pretended to snore, then raised herself up slightly and brushed her nipples along his arm. Phone forgotten, Andrew flung his free arm and leg over her and pulled her in tight, burrowing through a mess of blonde hair to kiss her perfect pink cheeks.
“Hair in my mouth again!” he teased.
“Better than a hair up your butt.”
“You’re going to get something else up your butt!”
Emma flipped over to face him, grinning. “Really? And what’s that, hmm? Look at you, you’re blushing already!”
Andrew rolled his eyes at her. Sex talk plus beers before noon equaled red cheeks for him and Emma knew it. She loved teasing him about his Asian flush even though he tried to make it clear to her that his family was actually descended from ancient Manchurians who rode wild horses and were nothing like the engineering geeks on campus. Unable to think of a comeback, he pounced on her instead, catching her wrists in his hands and attacking her neck with half bites.
Hot. If only she wasn’t so freaking hot. With those plush lips and the little freckles on her nose and that beach volleyball body. And now her red-and-pink-striped panties—panties! Andrew loved that word!—and his black boxer briefs were the only barriers keeping him from everything he’d ever wanted. Sliding his hands down her upstretched arms and slipping his tongue between her lips, Andrew tried to stop himself from pressing into her too much. But just a little. And a little more, and more, and, oh, another torturous bit. Just enough to feel exactly how they’d fit together, so easily.
“Andrew,” she whispered, breathing out on the first syllable. “C’mon. Let’s.” She tugged at the waistband of his underwear and then slid her hand inside, reaching for him.
“Emma.” One warm hand around his penis.
“Oh Andrew. Come on. You’re leaving. Let’s just . . . let’s.”
He felt the rest of his body tighten and his erection loosen a bit in response.
“Em, you know. We talked about this.”
“I have condoms in my bag over there.”
“Look, I think you’re amazing, and you’re so, so hot. And not just hot, you’re beautiful, too.”
“But you don’t love me.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Dude, I don’t care! Who cares! I’ve had sex with tons of guys I don’t love! I mean, not tons, but a few. A couple.”
“And that’s okay!”
“Is it because you think I’m a slut?”
“No! No, no, no. I don’t even like that word.”
“Stop being such a feminist, Andrew, it’s gay.”
“I’m not gay!”