Cherry (16 page)

“It just sounds like another line.”

“It's not a line,” Oliver insisted. “I mean, of course, yeah, I've kissed more girls than I've slept with, but I still
think kissing is
bigger
than that . . .” He trailed off, finally sounding unrehearsed. “I'm not saying sex
isn't
big. But it's . . . like, at some point, all the attraction takes over, and it's . . .
biological
. But when it's just kissing? I don't know, but that feels like something I can control. Like it's a choice I have to make. It's more intimate, maybe? Whatever it is exactly, I just know I have to feel it.”

“So basically you
feel
like your tongue is more precious than your penis?”

“Oh, hell no. My penis is way more precious.”

Alex laughed.

She didn't really want to, but she couldn't help it.

“Maybe what I'm really trying to say is that I have way more control over what I do with my tongue,” Oliver said as he leaned in closer to Alex. His face was only a few inches away from her, but he was already all the way inside her head. At this moment the only thing Alex could think about was Oliver's tongue and all the things he was saying with it—and then all the things he might be able to
do
with it . . .

After dinner Alex and Oliver spent a couple hours running around the arcade, playing as many games as they could. Alex was particularly good at Skee-Ball and Whac-a-Mole. Oliver racked up tickets on the basketball shot game. It was all fun and playful, and more or less innocent. They had their flirty moments, of course. And, as always, there was a lot of sexual tension between them, but they managed to make it all the way back to Oliver's car without so much as a kiss on the cheek.

Oliver drove them home, winding his car along Mulholland Drive. The radio played softly, filling the silence between them as Alex replayed all the moments in her head where they had
almost
kissed. She counted seven just on the golf course alone . . .

Then her thoughts wandered and she noticed that Oliver's right hand was resting on top of his right leg, while his left hand steered the wheel. Alex suddenly had the urge to slide her hand over and slip her fingers into his, but if Oliver thought
kissing
was intimate, she couldn't imagine how he'd feel about holding hands.

He would probably prefer a hand job, she thought.

Of course he would . . .

But then she couldn't help but think that maybe she'd prefer that too.

If she held his hand, that would raise all sorts of intimate questions. A hand job would raise his blood pressure, but then it would be over. It felt like that might just be simpler. Not that Alex was
actually
trying to do either one. The truth was, she didn't want to hold Oliver's hand
or
give him a hand job, but she couldn't stop thinking about both options.

Without warning, Oliver veered off Mulholland and pulled to a stop at one of the lookout points with a glistening view of the San Fernando Valley down below. He turned off the car.

“What are we doing?” Alex asked.

“I have something for you,” Oliver said.

“And you want to give it to me here? Now?”

“What'
s wrong with here and now?”

“I thought the whole point was to hang out somewhere
besides
your car . . .”

“We did that already.”

“Oh, okay. I get it.”

“You get what, Campbell?”

“You spent the whole night putting all of your charm points into my kindness machine, and now you're done and . . . expecting sex to fall out.”

“I don't know what a kindness machine is”—Oliver smirked—“but I think it's fair to say that I'm hoping more than expecting.”

“I think it's fair to say that's not how it works,” Alex smirked back.

“I know, I know. I swear that's not what I'm doing. You brought it up, not me. I just . . . I know you're nervous about breaking the state record,” he said as if they'd talked about it before. They hadn't. They'd barely even talked about the record itself, let alone all the pressure that came along with trying to break it. “But I want to say I believe in you. And I think you're going to do it.” Oliver pulled a small box out of his glove compartment. He handed it over.

“I almost don't want to open it,” Alex said, trying not to sound emotional. She couldn't help but feel like the thoughtfulness of the box would be better than whatever was actually inside. But she knew Oliver wasn't going to let her get away with that. She took a moment to breathe before pulling off the lid. Inside was a small silver star charm.

“It'
s for your shoes,” Oliver explained. “You're always lacing them up in here in the morning and sometimes you even remember to bring two of the same shoe . . .” He trailed off for a moment. “I don't know. I just figured you could put it on your laces, and then we'll both know it's there when you break the record like the . . . star that you are.” Oliver waved his hand toward the windshield as he said the word “star,” gesturing to the view as if to say:
See, this is why we're up here in my car. It's so we can see all the stars.

“Are you gonna say something?” Oliver asked after a quiet moment. For the first time all night, Oliver seemed unsure of her answer.

“I love it. Thank you. I just . . . I had no idea that you were such a giant cheeseball.”

“Campbell. No. Take that back now.”

“It's cool. No one will believe me anyway . . . ,” Alex said, finding Oliver's gaze. His eyes actually looked sincere. Alex could hold his eye contact for only so long before she had to look away. She knew if they looked at each other any longer they would start kissing.

“Is that your way of saying you don't want to kiss me?” Oliver asked, totally inside Alex's head again.

“I didn't say that . . .” She could feel his gaze practically burning a hole in the side of her head. “You were right,” said added. “Kissing is more special.”

“Too special?” Oliver asked. It sounded like he was hoping for a no.

“I'm not sure yet,” Alex said truthfully.

“So . . . just sex, then?” Oliver teased.

“Ah yes. That
is
what you were hoping for after all . . . ,” Alex teased back.

“Can you blame me?”

Alex shook her head no. Then, she couldn't help but ask, “How many?”

“What?”

“How many girls have you slept with?”

“Oh, okay . . . ,” Oliver said as if he expected they'd get here sooner or later.

“You don't
have
to tell me—”

“Two.”

“Really?” Alex asked, trying to hide her surprise. That was about ten fewer girls than Alex had been expecting.

“I told you not to believe everything you hear,” he said, smirking. “Your turn . . .”

“Well, speaking of not believing everything you hear . . . I actually
haven't.
”

“At all? What are you waiting for?”

Alex was surprised Oliver didn't make a joke. He waited patiently as she considered her answer:
The right person
sounded corny.
The right place and time
sounded lame. Anything else she could think of to say felt like it would be a lie . . . until the truth snuck up on her. “I have to feel it,” she said, taking Oliver's words about the intimacy of kissing and using them as her own.

It was a simple thought, but entirely true: Alex was waiting to feel it.

LAYLA
did not understand why Alex hadn't just kissed Oliver in his car.

I can feel the sexual tension all the way from here
, she texted The Chat the next morning.

That would've ruined everything
, Alex texted back.

She attempted to explain that there was a delicate power balance between her and Oliver. She texted that she couldn't let him get the upper hand or everything would be ruined. Layla wanted to text and ask what
exactly
it was that would be ruined (since it wasn't clear what was going on between Alex and Oliver anyway), but that seemed like too practical of a question.

How blue were his balls?
Layla asked instead.

I dunno. I didn't look
, Alex texted back. After a few seconds she added,
Do you guys want to go to Trevor's party with me tonight?

Layla didn't really know Trevor except that he was the
starting center on the basketball team. The party would probably be a lot of athletes and those sorts of kids she didn't really know. Layla still might have gone anyway, but she already had plans to see a movie with Logan.

Emma texted that she had a family dinner but would try to meet up when she was finished.

Zoe said she was in. Actually, she texted
We're
in
—the “we” being herself and Austin, of course. Apparently they were a package deal now.

  *  *  *  

ALEX
's mom dropped her off at Zoe's house around eight o'clock that night.

“Be home by midnight,” Alex's mom said, as always, as if she were going to turn into a pumpkin or something if she didn't make curfew. Alex wasn't worried about that. She was glad to have someone to go to Trevor's party with. Oliver had invited her to come, but that didn't mean he wanted to go
with
her. He wanted to see her there, which meant she had to show up with someone else. Someone who wouldn't mind being ditched almost immediately. Zoe and Austin were the perfect wingmen. Zoe even found them a ride to the party since her brother Joey was home from college for the weekend and already planning on going. A bunch of his friends from the track team would be there too. He offered to be the designated driver.

Alex walked up the front lawn toward the Reeds' front door, but she made it only as far as the forest green Ford Explorer sitting in the driveway, because Joey was already
in the front seat and ready to go. He was fiddling with the rearview mirror.

“Well, look who it is,” Alex said.

“Hi, Lexi,” Joey said, breaking into a grin.

Alex rolled her eyes. “No one calls me that anymore.”

Back in Joey's junior year, when Alex was a freshman on the track team, some of the older guys had taken to calling her Lexi—as in
sexy
Lexi—because that rhymed, and teenage boys can be really clever like that sometimes.

“That's a shame,” Joey teased.

“All the boys who thought I was sexy must've graduated already . . .”

“Oh, I'm sure
that's
not true . . .”

“How's the bay?” Alex asked, changing the subject.

“The best. I'm sorry to hear you're going to school on the wrong side of it, but I imagine you'll manage.” Joey ran his fingers through his reddish-brown hair as he launched into a whole love letter to college. As he spoke, Alex watched him closely: the way his lips moved and his deep brown eyes sparkled, the sweet way he pushed his thick plastic glasses back up onto his nose whenever they slipped down. Joey's glasses were round and teal, and Alex couldn't help but think that he was the only person on the planet who would look good wearing them.

The truth was that Joey didn't just look good, he looked
effortlessly
good.

Back in high school his features had been softer. His face was rounder and his cheeks were fuller. His chubbiness was adorable, but now, all of his baby fat had given way to a
more angular jawline and a longer, thinner face. It was as if he'd grown into his own appearance, like he'd gotten rid of the parts of his body he didn't need. Now, Joey managed to look hot and also completely comfortable in his skin and his clothes and even his glasses without being cocky about any of it. And as a bonus, Joey's good looks matched his sparkling personality.

“What's happening, guys?” Zoe asked as she walked out of the house.

Alex realized that Zoe meant the question rhetorically, but the truth was she wasn't entirely sure of the answer. Honestly, something was happening between her and Joey. Alex was leaning up against the car listening to Joey talk about life and college and everything, and she felt like she could've existed in that moment for the longest time. If Zoe hadn't walked outside, and they didn't have a party to go to, Alex couldn't imagine why she would want to do anything else.

  *  *  *  

ZOE
wasn't oblivious to the situation.

And she certainly wasn't an idiot. She saw the matching grins on Alex's and Joey's faces. But, rather uncharacteristically, they didn't concern her.

In the past Zoe might've been insecure about her brother flirting with one of her best friends, but not anymore. She couldn't blame him for looking at Alex that way—boys always did. And she couldn't blame Alex, either. Zoe imagined that's what she probably looked like whenever she looked at Austin. She felt funny admitting
it, even only to herself, but the whole boy-girl attraction thing made so much more sense now than it had even just a few weeks before.

Zoe jumped in the backseat of the car and let Alex sit up front next to Joey. They were going to stop at Austin's house in a couple of minutes to pick him up, so it made more sense for them to sit in the back together.

“Zo, you have the shortest little legs,” Joey said, adjusting the settings on the driver's seat.

“Oh yeah. Thanks for letting me use your ride.”

“I'm just glad the car's still in one piece,” Joey teased.

Zoe was a decidedly bad driver and avoided getting behind the wheel as much as possible. Normally, she rode the bus to school, but every day this week—ever since Sunday night when Dylan showed up on her doorstep and sat on her bed and handed her a mix CD—she'd been ­driving Joey's car instead. Her laptop didn't have a CD drive, and she didn't want to listen to Dylan's mix on her parents' desktop computer in the living room, so the Ford Explorer was her only option.