“I must say, Cassie, we’re very excited about the project.”
“Well, thank you. I’ve worked very hard on it.”
I try my best to swallow all my nervousness and sound grateful and professional. Despite my insistence that we should keep everything confidential until the project is done, Madison pitched it to a select group of journalists—strictly embargoed, of course—on Monday. Which is why I’m out here hiding behind the trees by the lake at seven in the morning on a Wednesday, mud soaking into my shoes while I try to sound like I’m awake enough to follow what Karen, a New York journalist, is saying.
“I know you’re probably mulling over a lot of offers for the exclusive. But we are the place for feminist news on the internet, as I’m sure you know, and I will make sure your story is right at home.”
“That’s really great,” I say. “Thank you so much for your interest. I’ll have to speak with the people at the Stevenson Fund and my faculty adviser, be—”
“Oh, right! Eva Price. Tell me, is it just amazing working with her?”
“It is. It really is, Karen.”
In all honesty, I’ve barely seen her this semester, and we’re weeks in. But that’s expected when she’s off saving the world.
“You’re so lucky.”
“I really am.”
Mostly. I hate that I have to hide out here like some kind of criminal, some traitor.
But I guess that’s exactly what I’ll seem like to the guys if they ever find out. I mean, when they find out.
“I’ll keep in touch, Karen. Nice talking to you, bye.” I tap the red button and push back my hair, which is sticking to my sweaty face. Lovely.
It’s unusually hot today, but luckily I’m up three hours earlier than I need to be and have time to shower before class.
Ten minutes later I’m heading down the hall, pink robe cinched around my waist, towel and shower caddy in hand, my flip-flops squeaking, when I stop dead in my tracks.
A few feet away, Jordan is standing in front of his door in nothing but a towel he’s holding around his waist with one hand. I take in his smooth skin, strong arms...and those abs.
But it’s when we lock eyes that really gets me.
A week of quiet burning glances stolen from across the room, of going crazy not being able to kiss or hold hands or even really touch around the rest of the guys, of text messages, sweet and dirty, sent under the table, of wishing we could be alone, comes rushing back.
“Hey.” My cheeks must be fire red, but I don’t giggle. None of this is really funny anymore.
“Hey.” His voice is breathy and even lower than usual.
“You, uh, you going to shower?” I ask.
“Um, yeah. You?”
“Yep.”
I guess this is pretty obvious, but I didn’t know what else to say.
“I like your, um, robe,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say, very aware I’m not wearing anything under it. I wonder if he is, too.
My flip-flops slap against my feet as we walk down the hall.
We reach the bathroom, and he opens the door.
“After you.”
“Thanks.”
The shower curtain makes a screeching sound as I pull it closed. Taking a deep breath, I stare at the white plastic for a second before slipping off my robe.
I reach around the curtain to hang the robe on a small metal hook as the water in the stall next to me bursts on.
I turn on my own.
“Soooo, how was your morning so far?” he asks over the sound of the water.
“It’s been good.” I clear my throat. My voice sounds unusually high.
“That’s good.”
“Mmm.” I lather soap on my body and I think of him. His hands on me. Slipping over every curve. Pulling my hair.
“I, um, I’m really liking my classes this semester,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Cool.”
“Yep.”
“Okay, fuck this.” His water cuts off, and within seconds he’s slipping around my curtain.
I step forward out of the spray.
A smile playing on his lips, he tilts his head down, eyes soaking in my body, wet from the shower.
I bite my lip. Electricity runs through me just from the thought of his eyes on me.
“God,” he breathes.
His eyes flicker back up to mine, shining.
We step toward each other at the same time, and he slips his hand behind my neck, fingers weaving through my wet hair as his lips brush mine. We stumble backward into the water. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him toward me.
His hands slide down my body, and we crash into each other, bodies, arms and legs intertwined.
He traces kisses down my neck. A sigh escapes my lips.
His lips return to mine, this time urgent. He pushes me against the wall, and I moan against his lips, pulling him closer and closer.
I’m overwhelmed by sensations, from the heat of the water to the heat between us. My head spins; I’m high off the taste of his lips.
He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him.
The bathroom door opens with a bang. We both look up.
I look down at the curtain. There’s a foot of space between the bottom and the floor.
I hold one finger to my mouth in a shushing gesture and then point to the gap.
Jordan nods and continues to hold me up by my butt, a position that’s a lot more awkward when instead of kissing we’re trying to keep completely still. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck.
“Dude, do you have a pink robe?”
Jordan clears his throat. “Yeah. I, uh, lost a bet and had to buy one.”
“Okay, you do you, I guess. I was gonna take a dump, but I guess I’ll come back later.”
“Thanks, man.”
The door slams again.
I laugh as Jordan sets me back on my feet.
“Sorry about that,” he says.
“No, it’s fine. Adds to the romance.”
“Oh, yeah, thinking about Dave’s bowel movements always gets me in the mood.”
I laugh and then stretch up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He wraps an arm around me.
I lean my head against his chest. “We should go somewhere.”
“What?”
“SF or the beach or something. For the long weekend, just both say we are going home?” We had a Friday off in a few weeks.
He exhales. “Cassie, I’m sorry. I want to, really want to, but I just can’t afford—”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“What?”
Since the scholarship covers the full cost of attendance and fraternity dues, the few thousand dollars I’d made from my last summer job had become disposable income. Plus they gave me five hundred dollars for books, and with buying online instead of from the bookstore, I was able to pocket half of that.
I nod. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
“I can’t let you—”
I place my hand on his chest. “Listen, just let me get a hotel. I really do not want to lose my virginity in a frat house.”
“You—you want to...?”
I nod.
“Are you sure?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
“Because you know I’m totally chill with whatever we do, and we should only do...it when you want to, because—”
“Shh.” I place my finger over his mouth. “I want to.”
I know that too soon there will come a day when he finds out the truth and I lose him. And I know that life is complicated, and even without the secrets I’m hiding, there’s no way we can promise each other forever. And that losing my virginity isn’t going to be like a teen movie.
But him and me, in this moment: it’s pretty perfect. I trust him, and I care so deeply about him. And I want to do this with him. Even if I’m not sure what the future holds, I can promise him right now. And that’s more than enough.
He kisses me, and I actually feel weak in the knees. Luckily his arms are wrapped tightly around me.
I weave my fingers through his hair, and everything gets kind of heavy and slow, like the rest of the world is falling away.
We break apart. “But not in the house?” he whispers.
I smile against his lips. “Not in the house.”
“Okay, I respect that.” He kisses me again. “This is okay, though?”
I laugh. “This is okay.”
The bathroom door swings open.
I jump up, and he holds me like a bride being carried over the threshold. Frozen, we listen to someone pee.
When the door closes again, he sets me down, both of us laughing.
“Yeah,” he says. “Definitely not here.”