LENA
Amos handed me a cup with a brownish liquid that didn’t really look like beer.
“It’s vodka and Coke. I mixed it myself,” he explained.
“Thanks,” I said, raising my cup to him and taking a drink, all while Wolf stared at us confusedly.
“Hey, man, nice to meet you. Amos,” he said, stretching out his hand.
“Wolf.”
“Wolf?” Amos asked, leaning in to make sure he’d heard right while I stared at the two of them, quietly sipping my drink, trying to hide a smile.
“So…you two are together?”
“Yes. Yes, we are,” Amos replied before I could say anything.
Poor Wolf.
I hid my smile behind my red Solo cup.
“What the hell, Lena? Why didn’t you say so? You let me kiss you.”
“You kissed him?” Amos asked in a distressed tone, his voice almost thundering over the music. When Wolf turned my way, however, I noticed Amos was on the verge of laughing. He was joking.
“I did,” I replied, keeping up the charade. “Please don’t get mad,” I pleaded, caressing his arm. He winked at me and then looked over to Wolf, who was slowly turning green. I thought he’d have scrammed by now, but he hadn’t.
Amos landed a heavy hand on Wolf’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, buddy. It’s all forgiven. You didn’t know, just as you didn’t know Lena is not a student here, or anywhere else. She’s much too old for you.”
“Hey!” I protested. “You don’t get to decide if he’s too young for me.”
“What? What do you mean? How old are you?”
“Thirty-two—not that it means anything,” I said, poking Amos in the arm. Then, I caressed Wolf’s face and placed a not-so-chaste kiss on his cheek.
“If I weren’t with him, I would have come upstairs with you,” I told him with a wink.
“I almost had an older woman in my room?” he asked excitedly.
I looked at Amos over my shoulder.
“See? Not too old.”
I nodded in Amos’ direction and we started to leave so Wolf could spend the rest of the evening putting the moves on girls his own age.
“Wait, Lena!” he called back, and I turned around. “If you two break it off and you’re ever in town, hit me up! My Snapchat handle is iamthewolf!”
I gave him a thumbs-up with my free hand.
“Noted! Bye, Wolf!”
Amos and I walked out of the house laughing, hardly able to contain ourselves.
“That poor kid! You had him in the palm of your hand.”
“I didn’t do anything. He was the one going full speed—I was just playing along.”
We stayed on the porch for a while, drinking and talking, keeping to ourselves, staring at younger versions of us passing by. The deejay inside started playing a tune I recognized, and at the same time, Amos stood up and offered me his hand.
“Put your cup down. Come with me,” he ordered.
I frowned at his serious tone then downed the rest of my drink and took his hand.
Inside, Billy Idol’s “Dancing With Myself” was in full swing. A few people were dancing in the living room, and Amos pulled me closer and started dancing with me, mouthing the words of the song.
Surprisingly, I went along with everything, and pretty soon I was even singing with him.
I had never seen Amos like this before.
I liked it.
In fact, part of me started thinking I had been missing out by staying away from Amos St. Clair. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept him at bay.
We seemed to get along great, we had the same weird sense of humor, we liked to play pranks on innocent college kids, and we both had an appreciation for ’80s music.
But, there was a reason I kept people away. I was trying to guard my heart. Only, that night, there was something in the air that went hand in hand with the promise of spring. There was a small voice within me that kept telling me to go for it.
There was also a naughtier voice that said I had already sampled some of the goods. I knew how he kissed, and I was a firm believer that great kissers only made even better lovers.
After Billy Idol’s party anthem, the deejay played a Pixies song. After that, “Modern Love” by David Bowie came on. It was, without a doubt, the “vintage” portion of the night. We danced together, with just a few inches between us. I loved seeing this wilder, looser side of Amos. I kept my eyes closed most of the time, but when I opened them up, I found him staring at me more than once.
It should have bothered me, but it didn’t. I kept hoping he’d place his hands around my waist and kiss me just the way Wolf had a little while ago.
When “Modern Love” ended, a slower song came on, one I didn’t recognize.
I was waiting for a hint from Amos. Part of me wanted to wrap my arms around him and slow dance to the song, but I resisted my impulse and waited for a cue from him.
And then I got it. He placed his hands on my hips, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. We swayed together and I rested my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, strong and steady.
We were overheated and out of breath. As we moved back and forth, I listened to his breath slow down, just as mine was. I felt an unfamiliar sense of calm in his arms, felt safe, protected. I hardly ever felt safe with someone I didn’t know well, but for some reason, Amos St. Clair had that effect on me.
His hands grabbed my hips just a little tighter, and I fought the impulse to look up. My senses were suddenly on high alert, my body tense, my lips begging to be kissed.
I wanted to kiss him—very, very badly—but I was afraid of what would happen next. I had run away from him once. If I kissed him, I feared I was going to pass the point of no return.
If I kissed him again, there would be no going back.
If my lips touched his, I would be free falling.
I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. I feared surrendering to Amos would mean not only give him my body—which I was capable of—but would also mean surrendering my whole self to him.
I wasn’t sure my heart could open up to him and give him what he needed from me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of heartbreak. I had been disappointed way too many times in my life. I refused to subject myself to the pain inflicted by human relationships.
Still, part of me wanted to believe Amos wouldn’t hurt me.
It was the same part that firmly believed I shouldn’t have ever pushed him away.
As if on cue, something blossomed inside of my chest.
A small hope, rising like a tiny rosebud in the early spring.
The slow song ended, and just like in a fairy tale, the enchantment was over. His grip around my hips loosened. We looked at each other for a few seconds, his gaze wide and alarmed, while my eyes begged him to kiss me.
In that moment, something shifted in me.
My mind was made up. I was going to do it. I was going to let him in.
I was ready for his mouth to devour me, but it didn’t. He didn’t kiss me.
Instead, he looked away, as if looking for an out.
He took a deep breath, brushed his hair to the side, and finally looked my way again.
“It’s hot in here. Do you want to head out?”
I nodded, unable to say anything.
We left campus and headed back to the hotel. We chatted, but our conversation was strained, not easygoing like it had been all night.
At first, I thought it must have been because we weren’t sure how to handle what was going to happen next, but then I realized something had shifted in him. There was a bit of uncertainty in his eyes, and he avoided my gaze every time we spoke.
We’d been having so much fun all night.
I wondered what had changed so suddenly.
An uncomfortable silence dominated our elevator ride. Amos looked down at his shoes, hands in his pockets, avoiding any eye contact with me.
He let out a frustrated, restless sigh, as if he were fighting some sort of internal battle. Was it because I had rejected him before? Was he trying to put some distance between us after what had happened at the party? Did he feel it, too? Did he feel the same pull I was now feeling and felt ready to give in to?
Was he shutting me down because he thought I would push him away again?
I didn’t know what had changed for me, but for some reason, I finally felt ready to go all in.
Maybe we should have given things a try. I was dying to kiss him again, and I was dying to find out if he fucked the way he kissed.
I needed to let him know I wanted him.
The elevator doors opened, and we walked toward our rooms.
“I had fun tonight,” I told him in a tone so chipper, I almost didn’t recognize my own voice.
He gave me a long, uneasy look, his lips curled in a small smile.
“I did too,” he replied, the tone of his voice low and gravelly, capable of sending shivers down my spine. His smile stretched bigger across his face, and butterflies fluttered around my stomach.
Tell him you want him, Lena.
“This might sound dangerous and incredibly irresponsible,” I said in a light, flirty tone, “but I have a bottle of whiskey with me. Are you in for a nightcap?” I asked, hoping my words were enough to make my intentions clear.
I didn’t pussyfoot around with men, never had a problem making my intentions clear. When I wanted a man, I let him know, but I felt I had to be careful around Amos for more reasons than one. He was my coworker, first and foremost.
I knew we had history, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I felt I had to be careful about what I said. I prided myself on generally knowing how to read men, but when it came to Amos St. Clair, my skills seem to vanish into thin air.
Thirty minutes before, I’d been convinced we were going to kiss and start making out on the way to our hotel.
Now, I wasn’t so sure. I almost regretted inviting him in.
My words were still suspended in the air, and I wished I could take them back.
He still hadn’t replied and by that point, I knew he was trying to figure out how to let me down easy.
We stopped in front of the door of my room.
He gave me a long look and frowned as I waited for his answer.
Oh no. Bad sign.
He scratched the back of his head—another bad sign.
Oh man, I’m making a fool of myself.
This was not me. I was smooth, sexy. I knew how to seduce a man.
I didn’t get rejected. I didn’t know rejection, at least when it came to fooling around. My heart sank in my stomach. I had to fix this. I had to do something.
“Listen…forget I said anything. It was a stupid idea.”
“No, Lena, it’s not that.” My heart rose from its pit of misery and I met his eyes again, hopeful. “I can’t come in for a drink because…I promised my girlfriend I would call her.”