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He pops the cork while I try to remember where she keeps her wine glasses. Luck is with me tonight, because they are on the second shelf in the same cupboard where the drinking glasses are.
“Here,” he says, when I stand on my tiptoes trying to reach them. “I’ve got it.”
“I’m not much of an entertainer, am I?” I say.
“No bother,” he says, pouring us both wine.
I don’t drink wine except on special occasions with my parents. Christmas and holidays, stuff like that. But I think I can pull this off.
“Cheers,” I say.
He smiles and says, “To meeting you. I thought for sure this night was gonna be awful, but this… this makes up for that board meeting.”
“Awkward.” I laugh, then realize I sound like a teenager. “I mean, I’m glad it worked out for you.”
“Oh, it’s working out,” he says, taking a sip of his wine and putting it down. “Now what should we do?”
Jesus. Is this how one-night stands go? Do people discuss things beforehand? Because my only experience with a one-night stand is with Lawrence Ballenshine at summer camp two years ago. And even though I tell people I had sex with him, I’m not really sure he actually put it in. I just know it kinda hurt and then there was sticky white come all over my legs.
My point is, Larry and I didn’t talk about it. There was no, What now? He just started groping me behind a tree and I groped him back, and then… sticky white come.
“Um… so what do you do, Mr. North?”
“Mr. North,” he says. “That’s cute. You can call me Ryker, if you want.”
Ryker. Holy shit. That’s hot. “OK, Ryker,” I say, feeling the back of my neck prickle with heat again.
He shakes his head at me, probably because I’m blushing and guys like that, right? “I’m a real-estate developer.”
“Oh, I did hear that,” I say, trying to make myself act normal. “They were talking about it in the meeting before you got there.”
“Yeah, well. We get a bad rep. But we’re not all evil.”
“Are you one of the good ones, then?”
He nods, then taking a step and closing the short distance between us. “I am,” he says, taking my glass and setting it down. “And you are very, very pretty, Aria.”
He does that knuckle thing across my cheek again and I die a little inside. That throbby thing starts happening between my legs, my skin flushing as my hands get all sweaty.
Please don’t take my hand.
He takes my hand. “Am I making you nervous?” he asks. “Your palms are all sweaty and your face is all red.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just… this is just so… and I don’t normally… and yes,” I admit. “You are. I really didn’t mean to imply anything when I asked you over. I’m just…”
“Very”—he lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers—“very”—he kisses them again—“sweet.”
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Yes. That’s right. I’m sweet.”
As in inexperienced. Because I have no idea what to do right now and I really think he needs to just leave. And I don’t know how to say that except… “I think you should leave.”
“What?” He laughs.
“I’m sorry. I just have an early morning tomorrow and… well, I have to go to bed now.”
He glances at the clock on the wall. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“I know, early, right? Early to bed, early to rise—“
“Are you OK?”
“Fine. So fine. Better than fine. I’m great. And you’re great. And sexy.” I giggle. “Too sexy, I think. Way too sexy. And older. So…”
He looks at me pointedly. “You’re not twenty-five, are you?”
I nod my head yes, but at the same time I say, “No. I lied. I’m seventeen. I’m sorry! This is my sister’s apartment and I’m cat-feeding and school-going, and I’m just in her studio to do a Photoshop class!”
“Holy fuck,” he says, working his jaw a little.
“I’m really sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to lie! I swear. I just—”
And then he kisses me. He takes my face in his hands, and leans down, and opens his mouth and sticks his tongue right inside me.
And I’m not sure what to do except the same.
Because Larry and I didn’t do much kissing back behind that tree at summer camp and the only other boy I’ve kissed is Matt Manning at the Valentine’s Day dance last month and he did not open his mouth or stick his tongue inside me.
So that’s it. My only option is to do to him exactly what he’s doing to me.
“When will you turn eighteen?” he whispers into my mouth.
“Sunday,” I whisper back.
“Two days from now?” he asks, still kissing me.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I mumble back, thinking if this is kissing I should’ve started doing it sooner.
He pulls away, a pained look on his face. I know he’s going to leave. Right now. He’s going to yell at me for deceiving him and walk right out my sister’s door.
