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Hugo smiled to himself. Here he’d been worried about the girl meeting up with trouble on her way back to Stephensgate, never suspecting that she was sharing the same concern for him.
“Here, what are you smiling at?” the girl demanded, and to his regret, she slid down from his back and prodded him, none too gently, in the side with a sharp toe. “Sit up, now, and stop sneering. There isn’t anything amusing about me abducting you, you know. I know I don’t look like much, but I think I proved back at the Fox and Hare that I truly am the finest shot with a short bow in all the county, and I’ll thank you to remember it.”
Sitting up, Hugo found his hands well tied behind his back. There was certainly nothing lacking in the girl’s knot-tying education. His bonds were not tight enough to cut off the circulation, yet not loose enough to give way.
Lifting his gaze, he found his fair captor kneeling a few feet away from him, her elfin face pale in a halo of wildly curling red hair, hair so long that the ends of it twined amongst the violets below her knees. Her lawn shirt was untucked and sticking to her still-wet body in places, so that her nipples were plainly visible through the thin material.
Quirking up an eyebrow, Hugo realized that the girl was completely unaware of the devastating effect her looks had on him. Or at least, aware only that naked, she made a fetching distraction.
Monday, May 1, 7:45 a.m., limo on the way to school
I got up this morning when the alarm rang (even though I hadn’t slept a BIT, wondering if Michael had read my book—I KNOW!!! All I could think, all night, was, “Has he read it yet? What about now? Do you think he’s read it now?” And then I’d freak out, going, “What do I care if my EX-boyfriend has read my book? Pull yourself together, Mia! It doesn’t matter what HE thinks! What about your CURRENT boyfriend?” and then I’d lie awake freaking out about J.P. Had HE read it? What had HE thought about it? Had HE liked it? What if he hadn’t?), and pulled Fat Louie off my chest and staggered to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth, and as I was staring at myself in the mirror (and the way my hair was sticking up in funny clumps—thank God I finally got more phytodefrisant), it suddenly hit me.
I’m eighteen.
And a legal adult.
And a princess (of course).
But now, thanks to the information Tina gave me yesterday, I’m pretty sure I’m basically the only virgin left in this year’s Albert Einstein High’s graduating class.
Yeah. Do the math: Tina and Boris—lost it this past summer.
Lilly and Kenneth? Obviously, they’ve been having sex for ages. You can just tell by the way they fondle each other in the hallway (which, thanks: I so want to see that on my way to Trig). So inappropriate.
Lana? Please. She left her virginity behind back in the days of one Mr. Josh Richter.
Trisha? Ditto, although not with Josh. At least, I’m pretty sure, unless he’s an even bigger dog than any of us suspect (likely).
Shameeka? The way her dad guards her like she’s all the gold in Fort Knox combined? She told me last year she busted out in the tenth grade (not that any of us ever suspected, she was that discreet about it) with that senior she was dating, what’s-his-name.
Perin and Ling Su? No comment.
And then there’s my boyfriend, J.P. He says he’s been waiting his whole life for the right person, and he knows that person is me, and when I’m ready, he’ll be ready, too. He can wait for all eternity, if he has to.
Which leaves who?
Oh, yeah. Me.
And God knows I’ve never done it, despite what everyone (well, okay, Tina) apparently seems to think.
Honestly? It’s just never come up. Between J.P. and me, I mean. Except for the whole J.P. being willing to wait for all eternity thing (such a refreshing change from my last boyfriend). I mean, for one thing, J.P. is the epitome of gentlemanlike behavior. He is completely unlike Michael in that regard. He has never let his hands drift below my neck for so much as a second while we’re kissing.
Truthfully, I’d be worried he wasn’t interested if he hadn’t told me that he
respects my boundaries and doesn’t want to go any further than I’m prepared to.
Which is very nice of him.
The thing is, I don’t really know what my boundaries are. I’ve never had a chance to test my boundaries out. With J.P., anyway.
It was just so…different, I guess, when I was going out with Michael. I mean, he never asked about my boundaries. He just sort of went for it, and if I had any objections, I was supposed to speak up. Or move his hand. Which I did. Frequently. Not because I didn’t like where it was, but because his—or my—parents or roommate were always walking in.
The problem with Michael was that when things started getting going, in the heat of the moment, and all, I often didn’t want to say something—or move his hand—because I liked what was going on too much.
That’s my problem—the other thing—my horrible, terrible secret that I can never tell anyone, not even Dr. K:
With J.P., I never feel that way. Partly because things never get that far. But also because…well.
