Puddle Jumping (11 page)

I whispered hello and he smiled in the limited lighting, his fingers sweeping across my shoulder like he was memorizing every inch with his fingertips. Over the tree branches branded into my skin and lower to graze my fingers. I didn’t flinch when he touched me. I welcomed it.

I told him again I loved his present and he kissed the side of my mouth in response.

“I hoped that it was an appropriate Christmas gift. My mom said she thought you would like it.”

“Your mom was right.”

“I’ll tell her that.”

It wasn’t too soon for me to tell him I loved him. I knew it wasn’t. But I was so damn afraid, you see. Because I wasn’t sure how that worked with him.

Instead, I kissed him as softly as I could, hoping he would feel it there instead of me saying it.

Things heated up pretty quickly and soon we were wrapped around each other. We were pros at it by then. Touching. Kissing. Exploring without hesitation. By then almost all of our clothes were off, and even though we’d mostly just done a little stuff and kissed, it almost happened. Because kissing can lead to touching and touching can lead to shorts being tugged and then you’re right there and you’re almost doing it. IT.
The
IT.

Not to be confused with The It I was touching while we were naked.

It was the first time we’d been that way. The first time we’d actually put our hands on anything other than over the shirt and pants and stuff.

So I, once again, had to stop it from going further than we were ready for. I mean, I don’t know if he was ready or not. I wasn’t. It was when
he
realized we’d been so close to doing something major that he jumped off the bed, his eyes wide and hands in his hair again before he bee-lined for the bathroom.

I think a cuddle would have been better than falling off the mattress as he slammed the bathroom door.

But it is what it is.

W
e stayed in separate rooms that night. I figured maybe it would be best to have our space. He seemed to agree. It was easy between me and Colton when it came to things like that.

Opening presents with his mom and dad wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. And their gift to me made me blush and smile because I knew what it was for. They had purchased two tickets to the Museum of Art in downtown Philly. All access, or whatever they were. Year round. Every exhibit.

One part of me was thrilled.

Another part of me gave Mrs. Neely the side eye because I thought maybe she was relieved not to have to go all the time herself.

Though, I’m sure after years of listening to the same facts about painters, it could have gotten a little old for her.

Not me, though. Everything about Colton was magical and I wanted as much time as possible to soak him up.

My parents returned that evening and I left Colton’s house feeling lighter than air. As soon as I got there, our painting went up on my wall.

Due to what had happened in the guest room Christmas Eve, I had a brief thought that maybe I needed to talk to someone about birth control. Because if we had gotten that close as fast as we did, who knew if the actual thing would happen if we got carried away.

I tried to get the courage up to talk with my mom about getting put on the pill.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

By the fourth time I started to open my mouth to ask, I got so flustered I just ended up leaving room and I swear I heard my dad say something about ‘freaky teenage girl hormones’.

He had
no effing idea
.

I went to Harper. And Marissa. Even Quinn. Because, with as cool as Mrs. Neely had been about sticky towels and things, I wasn’t about to ask her about condoms.

Harper was predictable, wanting to know about the experience itself but I was embarrassed to tell her I wasn’t prepared for the actual act because touching him had freaked me out. Why had she never told me that the skin
moved
?

She should have told me that, at least.

Marissa was way more helpful.

“Wait. You said he won’t wear gloves on his hands because of his ‘sensory’ issues, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

She shook her head like I was as shallow as they came. “So, if he won’t wear rubber gloves on his hands, what makes you think he’ll wear one
there
?”

Why the hell didn’t I think of that? He was my boyfriend. I knew enough about his ‘specific nature’ that condoms, much like gloves and balloons, were probably not going to be something he would touch, or allow to touch him. Especially in that very sensitive . . . region.

I was screwed without being screwed. A virgin looking for birth control for sex that wasn’t going to happen yet.

Inevitably, I had to go to Quinn. She had some hook-ups at the Planned Parenthood office and she also did some volunteer work at the hospital twice a month. I guess . . . she never really said . . . but I think she stole samples. She had essentially taken a year’s worth from the hospital, handing them over to me like it was no big deal. I just needed to remember to take them every day.

I noticed weird things within the first month. My skin looked amazing. Also, I was a cranky, crazy bitch. Like being a teenage girl wasn’t bad enough. Lastly, my boobs were huge.

No joke. My bunny slopes turned into Mount Vesuvius practically overnight. I had to buy new bras but used the excuse my old ones were just ratty. My mom never even asked. I just told her up front they were gross so she wouldn’t pry.

Colton certainly didn’t seem to mind the changes in my body. In fact, he would become so engrossed in my chest I would have to steer him in another direction to be able to proceed with anything else.

We spent a lot of time studying and my GPA went up a whole point. So did Harper’s. I guess it rubbed off on her, too. But I think it freaked her out because she was used to being the pretty girl and the easy girl, but she never thought about being the smart girl.

In time, she started to see herself as more than a pair of boobs in heels and I think hanging out with our group of friends made her a little more discerning with the guys she hooked up with.

Well, that and one of the girls on the Pep Squad got Chlamydia on her cheek because she laid the wrong way in a tanning bed and everyone started rumors about Chlam-eyes and Chlam-face. So who knew how many degrees of separation there were and if you’d somehow end up with it, too?

* * *

I worried about graduation. Because Colton was so much more acclimated at that point, and having to start something new could have been harder on him than most. It was only a few months before he was supposed to turn eighteen, and he’d already started to blend in more, while still standing out for being gorgeous and smarter than most of our classmates thanks to his tutors and his focus.

I found that, while Colton couldn’t always catch on to my attitudes through body language or certain phrases, much less sighs and annoyed huffs, he could pretty much get what kind of mood I was in by paying attention to the music I would listen to. It was just another way we could communicate without talking about stuff, because, well, we’re teenagers and terrible communicators to begin with which only meant another hurdle to overcome.

On the drive to school, I could play certain songs and he would perceive I was in a good mood or a cranky one. The good ones were always from him, so he never had to worry about that. But he was always a little unsure of what to say or do if I was upset about something. School. My parents. Homework. A little fight with Harper. He found it strange, like whatever was making me irritated or moody was just unnecessary. Sometimes it helped to put things into perspective. Sometimes it made my head hurt. Sometimes I would get exasperated over it all.

But then I would talk to my other friends and I realized that pretty much all boys are like that. None of them really get why girls are upset over petty and stupid drama, so it made me feel like maybe our relationship was as ordinary as they came.

That was, until that horrible day in February.

You know which one I’m referring to.

That one.

I loathe it.

I think Valentine’s Day is when my cynicism started to rear its ugly little head.

V-Day. Heart Day. Love Day. St. Valentine’s Day.

Don’t those two words alone just make you want to cut a bitch? Like, as if it’s not bad enough the mascot for the day is a baby in a diaper with wings and a weapon . . . it’s a day when the entire universe is pretty much required to purchase pink and red Dollar Store gifts and proclaim their love for everyone . . . everywhere. So, that morning I was playing some angsty girl rock when I went to pick Colton up because I just knew school was going to be an explosion of flowers and candy and I was going to be the Valentine’s Day Gretchen Wieners, sitting in class while Glen Coco got sugar cookies and carnations handed to him, and I didn’t.

My old boyfriend hadn’t made a big deal last year, but we had exchanged cards. It just wasn’t the same because I was actually in love with Colton.

I’m not the girl who falls in love and gets excited over girly things and wants flowers or public declarations of love. But . . . maybe with Colton I did want those things.

Because I thought I couldn’t have them.

I was bracing myself for it.

Imagine how surprised and guilty I felt when I knocked on his front door that morning and he met me with a bouquet of wildflowers. Pink . . . blue . . . purple . . . held tightly in his fist and pretty much pushed into my face as soon as I walked into the foyer.

“These are for you.”

I mean, it was obvious Mrs. Neely had purchased them. Colton looked like he had no idea why he was handing them over to me anyway. Wooing and courting were my area, not his, so I didn’t take any offense. As girls, we always have these ridiculous expectations anyway. It’s no wonder guys are so confused all the time.

Sheila hugged me and wished me Happy Valentine’s Day before presenting me with a red envelope that held dinner reservations at Taste, this super upscale restaurant downtown inside of the museum. I knew it would probably mean we would get the food to go, but the thought was still there. The heart . . . Mrs. Neely’s heart . . . was still there in the gift.

She tried so hard to overcompensate for what Colton didn’t get. As did I.

We bent and bent and bent until we were pretzels because we loved him.

“Dinner at six,” she whispered and gave me a smile. “You’re welcome to come back here and watch a movie if you’d like. Rick and I will be going to dinner, too, but our reservations aren’t until eight or so. We’ll be home late.”

And there it was. Like she was telling me, without telling me, that we would have the house to ourselves for a while.

But that she would definitely be coming back.

Mrs. Neely was the coolest mom on the planet.

I thanked her and she kept the flowers for me to pick up later in the evening and, suddenly, I was really,
really
into the Valentine’s Day spirit.

Colton smiled from the passenger seat and took my hand as he always did. “Are you happy with the dinner tonight?”

“I am.”

“And you liked the flowers.”

“I did.”

He nodded and leaned back to relax a little in the seat. “Will you stay over?”

I laughed a little and squeezed his hand. “I’m not sure your mom would be okay with that. But I’ll definitely stay for a while.”

“I’d like that.”

My parents had been good about me spending the night with Colton over Christmas, but this would be a whole separate issue that I wasn’t willing to push.

Valentine’s Day was rapidly becoming my very favorite day of the year. And I was pretty sure I wanted to finally go all the way with him that night.

In the span of a day, all of it had been decided. It was going to happen.

I raced home from school, stopping just long enough to drop Colton off at his house with a quick kiss before rushing to my room to grab my clothes, leaving a note for my parents that I had dinner plans, then hauling ass to Harper’s to get ready. I was a sweaty mess, full of nerves and excitement, only half listening to her as she talked me through it all. She was giving me weird pointers and telling me things I couldn’t comprehend because I’m more of a visual person and some of the stuff she was describing sounded like they couldn’t physically be accomplished with gravity working against us.

By the time she was done with me I looked . . . well, I looked really, really pretty.

Harper gave me a hug, smacked me on the ass and sent me on my way, yelling “Good luck!” as I drove off.

In my head, I was moving toward my destiny.

But the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, as I would find out firsthand.

Colton looked amazing, so that wasn’t an issue.

I was in a dress for God’s sake. That wasn’t the problem.

We enjoyed the ride down to the museum together, listening to music and holding hands. I’d ask questions and he’d respond. We talked. In my mind, I kept trying to plan out exactly how things would go for the rest of the evening. But that was probably where it started to unravel. Anything my mind could have come up with would not have been what Colton would have been thinking as soon as we cleared the doors to the museum.