His room is cleaner than I’ve ever seen it. All the DVDs usually strewn on the floor everywhere are stacked against the wall. Some of the posters that were half falling off the walls are taped on properly, and his bed is neatly made. I feel honored that he picked up for me, and then I feel nervous that he picked up for me, and then I don’t knowhowI feel, but my heart beats an unsteady staccato against my ribs.
I put my bag on the table, which is full of books and camera equipment.
“You know,” Zach says when I turn around again, “we don’t have to do anything tonight.” I can almost feel the heat drifting off his face; his cheeks are a warm red. “We can just, like, watch movies. Or…”
While he’s trying to think of another suggestion, I press my lips against his. He looks caught off guard but recovers quickly and kisses me back. We back up until his legs hit the bed. He lies back against the mattress, with me on top of him, our lips never losing contact.
We kiss like we don’t have enough time in the world. He’s out of breath and I kiss him, filling up his lungs, and then I’m out of breath and we volley the tiny amount of air in this room back and forth and back and forth and somehow it seems to be enough.
When we stop to catch our breath, I sit up, my legs on either side of him, and he props himself on his elbows while I try to take off his shirt.
He helps me yank it over his head and then he flicks it away. His lips move all over my neck as he tries to undo the zipper of my dress.
“Son of a bitch,” he hisses after a few unsuccessful attempts. He pauses for a moment, concentrating hard to get it down, and I laugh.
He gets it halfway and his hands are like fire on my bare back.
I climb off his legs and take a step back; he stands, unbuckling his belt. We watch each other as my dress falls past my hips and hits the ground and his jeans fall past his hips and he steps out of them.
I feel warm everywhere just from his eyes. I feel their fingers travel the length of my body, from my head to the tips of my toes, to my ears and neck and everywhere.
His face is flushed, too, and I think, I hope, I’m having the same effect on him.
Zach frowns, looking away suddenly. I crawl into the bed, still in my underwear, while he searches for his wallet on the ground and comes away with a small silver packet.
He crawls under the covers now, too, and we’re facing each other, breathing on each other’s lips but not kissing.
His voice hitches like it’s hard to swallow when he says, “You’re beautiful.” And I believe him, because he looks at me as if I am.
We kiss again, and seconds later, he is on top of me, all our clothes gone now. Nothing between his skin and mine.
He props his elbows on either side of me.
“Have you ever, um, done this before?” he asks, even though we’ve already talked about it. I mean, he knows he’s my first real boyfriend; I guess he just wants to be sure.
“Tons of times,” I joke, and we laugh despite our trembling. Both of us a lot smaller, more fragile, without our clothes on. Zach was with Lindsay for two years, and I know his answer to this question.
“There was Stu. Kindergarten. He pulled my hair, so that’s one,” I continue, even though I just want to be quiet so this can happen.Shut up shut up shut up,a voice screams in my head, but I’m a prisoner to whatever is happening to my mouth, which won’t stop moving all of a sudden.
“And then there was, in seventh grade, Grant. Acrobat-Tongue Grant. He had the tongue of a serpent,” I say.
Zach rumbles on top of me as he laughs, but he’s still holding himself up, leaving only inches between our bodies.
“There was also Eric Johns and he got to second base and oh God I don’t know why I’m still talking.” I cover my face with my hands.
Zach laughs and kisses the center of my chest. “I’m not sure I like this Eric Johns.” He looks up at me again. “And afterthat?”
The air in the room has shifted again, more serious and so still that I feel like I can hear both our hearts beating.
“It’s all you,” I say.
Zach nods and kisses me gently. He is careful and keeps asking if I’m okay, if this is okay, if I’m still okay, and I bite my lower lip, nodding yes, when the truth is that we’re both trembling.
AFTER
January
“It makes zero sense,” I say, “that you are sitting right here and we can’t work out anything else about you.”
