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"Am not."
"All right, you're not."
"You're cute, you know? I mean, really cute. Why do you spend all your time with me? You should date," she said matter-of- factly as she brushed the hair out of his hazel eyes. They were the kindest eyes she had ever seen, she thought. She would always feel safe with Oliver.
"Yeah, me, date." Oliver laughed. He put his arms around her waist.
"Why not? It's not unheard of."
"Yeah?" Oliver asked.
"Uh--" But Schuyler didn't finish, because Oliver was putting a warm hand on her chin and drawing her toward him, and soon they were kissing. Soft, tentative kisses that turned more vigorous as they opened their mouths to each other.
"Mmm..." she sighed. So this was what it was like. Kissing Oliver. It wasn't anything like she'd imagined. It was better. It was as if they were made for each other. Schuyler pressed herself against him, and Oliver put his hand through her hair. This was new. This was a turning point. Then she started kissing his chin and his neck.
"Sky..."
"Mmmm?"
Suddenly, Oliver pushed her away, took her hands from behind his back, and abruptly shoved her off his lap.
"No," he said, panting heavily. His cheeks were aflame with embarrassment.
"No?" Schuyler asked, not understanding. It seemed like it was going well--this was what was meant to happen, wasn't it?
"No." Oliver stood up and started pacing. "The Sacred Kiss means something. It did to your mom. And you know what? You'll have to find another guinea pig. I'm not going to do it out of obligation."
"Ollie."
"Don't, Schuyler."
He never called her Schuyler unless he was really mad. Schuyler shut up.
"I'm going. I can't be with you...You're not yourself."
Oliver said, putting his coat on and slamming the door of the hotel room as he stormed out into the night.
;
The Mercer had been Oliver's idea. He'd nixed Schuyler's room or his, thinking it would be too weird to do "it" in the same place where they had spent so many innocent hours reading magazines and watching television. So he'd booked a suite at the downtown hotel.
He had convinced her to have a few drinks with him in the library bar before they went up to the room. "You might not need a drink, but I definitely do," he'd said. Schuyler watched patiently as Oliver downed one Manhattan after another. Neither of them said much. The library bar was off-limits to non-hotel guests, and the two of them sat in a private corner. The only other patron was a movie star giving a magazine interview across the room. The movie star had her feet on the couch and she was laughing too loudly, while the reporter looked nervous and starstruck. A small silver recorder sat on the cocktail table between them.
"All right, let's do it," Oliver said, pushing away his half- finished third drink.
"God, you look like I've asked you to go to war," Schuyler said, as they walked toward the elevator.
The one-bedroom suite had a stunning view of downtown, and was decorated with a hip modern edge: dark Makassar ebony furniture, lamb's wool throw pillows, black epoxy floors polished to a high gloss, an onyx bar that glowed from within, a flat-screen television, and stainless steel walls that looked cold to the touch but actually felt smooth and warm, like butter.
"Cool," Schuyler said as she sat on one edge of the king- size bed, while Oliver sat on the other.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Oliver asked, sitting forward and putting his face on his hand.
"Ollie, if I don't, I'll pass out in a coma and I won't ever wake up. This morning I couldn't even get out of bed."
He gulped.
"I hate to ask you this--but it's just, I don't know, I don't want my first time to be with someone I don't even know, you know?" She'd told him about what had happened to Bliss in Montserrat. "And you're my best friend."
