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He took my face in his hands. “Six months ago I was fucking miserable. And then you showed up. When I’m with you, I don’t feel the need to be somewhere else or to be someone else. I can be in my own skin without it hurting so fucking badly. That’s a gift, Willow. One I can never repay you for.” He brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “So stop looking at me like you owe me something. You don’t.”
I clenched my jaw and sniffed. “Don’t make me cry over my first orgasm,” I said. “But don’t you want… How long will you be satisfied with just…?”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” he said.
I crossed my arms.
“I mean, I do,” he said, laughing. “God, of course I do. But you’re seventeen.”
“So?” I asked, my tone huffy even as relief slipped into my chest, calming my electrified nerve endings.
“We should wait until you’re eighteen. Or whenever you’re ready, but at least eighteen.”
“Age doesn’t make a difference.”
“Yeah, tell that to an angry father.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” I traced my fingers along his chin. “You won’t get frustrated waiting?”
He shook his head. “I feel like I’ve waited my entire life for you, Willow. I can wait a little longer.”
Tears filled my eyes and I swatted his shoulder. “Now you’re doing that on purpose.”
He kissed me softly. “Never doubt.”
I shook my head. “Never.”
Willow
In Paulson’s English class the next morning, I slid into my desk beside Angie’s. Today’s T-shirt read Don’t read my shirt. She mimed pulling down a pair of eyeglasses to peer at me.
“You look different,” she said. “Bright and shiny. In fact, if I had to choose an adjective, I might say you look…orgasmic.”
The blood rushed to my cheeks and her eyes widened.
“Noooo,” she breathed. “
Did you?”
“Shh.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “With Isaac?”
“No, with Chef Boyardee,” I said. “Of course with Isaac. But we didn’t have sex. We did…other things.”
Angie clapped her hands under her chin. “Oh honey, I’m so happy for you. And other things are underrated. Nash and I did other things for a year before the deed, and it was amazing. Like extended foreplay.”
“Angie…” I glanced around.
She shrugged. “C’est la vie, ma chère.”
“So…” I bit my lip. “You and Nash waited an entire year?”
“Not all guys are assholes,” she said. “In fact, most guys are distinctly not assholes.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “Of course, there are guys in between who don’t think they’re being assholes. But that’s because society has failed to educate them on what constitutes being an asshole.” She sat up straighter and rummaged for a pen. “I should write that down for my blog.”
I shook my head, laughing. “You’re going to save the world, Angie.”
“True fact,” she said. Her eyes gave me an up-down and squinted. “Christ, Holloway, you’re practically glowing.”
