Purity (9 page)

I inhale and let my fingertips slide forward toward the nape of his neck and stiffly touch the tips of his hair. Daniel tenses for a moment, then leans backward slightly. He turns his head toward me.

“Wait… what are you doing?”

“I, um…” This is the death trap I was afraid of. If I say, “I just need to have sex with you once, that’s it,” then he’ll likely say no. If I pretend that I’m interested in getting back together, then I’m a horrible human being.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I just… there are some things about our relationship that I miss.”
Ooh, good one. Nice and vague.

“Okay…” Daniel says slowly, but even as he does, his head sinks farther back, until my fingers are fully entwined in his hair. Truthfully, it feels kind of gross. He should probably wash it more often.

Shut up
, I tell my inner voice. You’re not after him for the hair. You just need to have sex with him. It’ll take, like, a minute, probably.

I lean over and tug on his arms, urging him to join me on the futon. In a tangle of arms and legs involving a lot of “Oh, sorry” and “Hang on, let me move my arm/leg/hip/foot,” he does so, and a sweet five minutes later we’re lying side by side on the futon. The musical number ends in the background.

“So, was this the only real reason you came over? Because you missed… um… me?”

I pause. “Something like that. Well…” Maybe honesty will work? Or something close to honesty, I mean. “I haven’t dated anyone since you, and I was just thinking maybe we could… do this for a while…” I let a hand run up his thin chest as I say it, and he gets chill bumps.

“Right,” he says, breathing heavily. His breath smells like Cheetos, but I kiss him.

It’s just like I remember—not a bad kiss, but not a great one, either. He could put a little more force behind his lips, I think, and I wish he’d shaved before I came over; the speckling of facial hair scratches the skin around my mouth.
Whatever—I pull him closer to me and don’t protest when he puts a hand on my lower back, underneath my shirt. We kiss for a while longer, and finally I decide I’m going to have to take some initiative here. I sit up and pull off my shirt, leaving only the camisole and boring, nonlace bra underneath. He doesn’t seem wowed. Damn the girls who wear these thin little shirts as real clothing, desensitizing the male population! I inhale and pull the camisole off.

Daniel has seen my bra before, even had his hands under it, but we never got so far as actually removing it. To be honest, the prospect of it is a little frightening. I bite my lip and try to quell my nerves, then lie back down to kiss him again. Finally, the Cheetos smell has dissipated. Daniel moves to pull his shirt off, displaying a level of pale skin that rivals any white powder makeup he has in his collection.

Stop being a bitch, Shelby. You dated him. You put him at the top of the list.
I press my boobs against his chest. He shudders, but I take it as a good sign and kiss him again. Halfway there, I tell myself.

“Whoa,” he exhales, grinning. “It’s been a while….”

“It has,” I say. Should I take off more clothing? Probably. I lean forward and kiss him again, and while I do, I unbutton my pants. I try to think sexy thoughts.

Daniel seems both bewildered and thrilled that I’m removing my pants, and before I can do much else he unbuttons his own, revealing boxers with shamrocks all over them. I look away. Not quite ready for clover underwear, I don’t think.

We kiss again, but God, I’m ready to stop kissing and just get this over with. Simple act, it’s just sex, it’s no big deal. Daniel grabs one of my boobs the way someone might catch a baseball. Jonas would probably point and laugh at Daniel’s ineptitude; I pretend to like it and reach into my pocket for a condom before twisting out of my jeans entirely.

“What are you doing?” Daniel asks under his breath as he grabs my other boob. Sexy, man. Way sexy. I smile in what I hope is a seductive fashion and hold up the purple condom wrapper. Grape-flavored, apparently.

Daniel’s face falls. “Wait, what?”

“Come on,” I whisper, slinking one of my legs around him. I press the condom into his hand.

“Wait, Shelby,” Daniel says, his voice loud and filled with surprise. “I can’t have sex with you.”

My mouth drops and my breath escapes. He doesn’t want me. What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with
me
?

I jerk away from him, and he falls to the floor in surprise.

“Wait—look, sorry, but—”

“What?” I drop the condom. “I’m good enough for second base, but not a home run?”

“Jesus Christ, don’t go all crazy. I just don’t want to have sex.”

“Why not?” I snarl as I stand up and button my pants, trying not to look at the happy rainbows on my underwear.

“I don’t know,” Daniel mumbles as he grabs his shirt off the futon. “God help me if you got pregnant. My mom would kill me.”

“Hence the condom!”

“I don’t know, I just… no. Come on, we can make out, maybe even do some other new things….”

“No,” I say flatly. Boob squeezing and Cheetos aren’t going to get me out of being a thirty-five-year-old virgin, thank you very much. “You know, it’s not that big a deal, Daniel. It’s just sex.”

Daniel looks taken aback for a moment; then angry surprise sweeps over his face like a wave. “So what are you, some kind of slut now?”

“Not hardly,” I growl. I grab my purse and leave the condom lying on the floor, where I genuinely hope his mom finds it. I storm out of his room, down the stairs, and toward the front door. I feel stupid, silly, embarrassed, like a failure. I knew this was crazy but—

“Wait!” he yells from upstairs. I freeze. Did he change his mind? “You forgot your DVD.” He appears at the bottom of the stairs with the case but doesn’t hand it over. “What was this really about, Shelby? You break up with me because you don’t like my hobbies, then come over for the first time in ages and want me to have sex with you?”

I sigh. I never explained the Promises to Daniel, and I’m not about to now, much less explain the LOVIN plan. Instead, I settle on, “I just was hoping to lose my virginity finally. You know, I figured I’m getting older, it’s about time—”

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Daniel asks. “So… I was your booty call?”

“Sort of,” I say. “Forget it. I’m going home.” I spin on my heel, but Daniel catches my arm.

“Look, Shelby, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” I say. I can hear myself sounding like a bitch, but I’m too frustrated to rein myself in. Daniel opens his mouth again, but I turn and dodge his attempts to stop me. Five minutes later, I’m trudging down the dark street alone. I open up my cell—Ruby has called four times while it was on silent. I dial her back.

“You disappeared! How did it go? Did he argue about the condom? ’Cause guys are sometimes dicks like that, no pun intended.”

“He argued about the condom, all right. But then he also argued about the sex in general. So instead of having sex, I’m just walking home.”

“What? How is that possible! Did you wear the right panties?”

“Apparently he’s still a virgin, and he’s not interested.”

“Wow. Have you told Jonas?”

“No.” I cringe. “And so far the only other guy on my list is Ben Simmons….”

“Is he a Ridgebrook guy?” Ruby asks.

“Yep. Drama kid.”

“I think I’ve heard of him before. Nice guy, kind of sleeps around?”

“That’d be Ben.”

“Huh. Kind of ironic, isn’t it? That when you were dating Daniel and maybe able to have sex, you weren’t really
interested, but now that you’re interested, it doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks, Ruby. Being willing but not able is exactly the problem I wanted to reflect on.” I sigh.

“Sorry,” Ruby says. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that life always seems like that—the minute you want something, you can’t have it.”

“I guess,” I say. “Anyway, call you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, Shel. Don’t worry about it too much, okay?”

“Right.”

I trudge down the main road. It’s wide enough to walk on, and I’m too irritated to get nervous when cars drive by. Not my safest move, but right now I don’t care. I’m too focused on Ruby’s words.
Willing but not able.
Such a simple, primal act, and I’m not able to do it. It seemed way easier when losing my virginity was just an idea, a something-that-might-eventually-happen thing instead of a plan. I look up at the moon.

Maybe it’s God.

The thought comes to me like a flash, something I didn’t mean to think that zips through my head. Maybe God is stepping in and keeping me from having sex. Not that
that
really meshes with that whole free-will thing that they were always telling us to be grateful for at church, but it wouldn’t be the first time God—and the church—disappointed me. After all—I prayed. I prayed more than anyone has ever prayed. And it didn’t do a thing to help Mom.

I kick a rock in the road, then return my eyes to the sky.
People talk about how they can’t believe anyone could deny God’s existence, with things like stars and sunsets and circulatory systems and creativity. I understand, though. Because losing your mom is way, way more powerful than stars.

I bring my eyes down to gaze at the road ahead. Maybe God is more like me. Maybe he couldn’t save Mom, maybe he couldn’t answer the millions of prayers I sent his way, the millions of prayers
everyone
sends his way. Maybe the church, Princess Ball lead sponsor or not, has it all wrong—God’s mysteries aren’t because we can’t understand his plan, but because he doesn’t have one at all.

*   *   *   *

Walking home seemed like a better idea when I was storming out of Daniel’s house. Two and a half miles later, my feet hurt and I’m incredibly sore from the dance lesson. After much debate, I pull out my phone and call Jonas.

“I thought you were on a hot date tonight,” Jonas says.

“Not quite.” I sigh. “I’m really sorry to ask, but do you think you could pick me up?”

“Absolutely,” Jonas says, his voice now serious. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Nothing bad happened. Nothing happened, actually. I’m on the corner of Cypress and Regan Street, over near the drugstore.”

“You’re
where
?” Jonas asks, and I hear the muffled sounds of him pulling on clothes.

“We can go grab something to eat maybe? I’ll buy.” I hear the rattling of keys and then the sputtered sound of Lucinda cranking up.

It takes Jonas only fifteen minutes to reach me. He rumbles up with a wary look. I climb in and chuck my purse to the back. The McDonald’s smell of Lucinda combined with the sandalwood and fabric softener scent that hangs around Jonas sweeps over me. I inhale. It’s a comforting scent, one that drives the lingering Cheetos smell from my head.

“I’d really, really love to know how a sex date with your ex turned into you standing on a street corner,” he says. His hair is all stuck up on one side, like he’d been lying on the couch when I called.

I sigh. “Can we go get milk shakes or something?”

Jonas looks down at his T-shirt, which screams of having been in a ball on the floor. “I think Harry’s is still open. They have milk shakes, right?”

“I guess.” I lean my seat back and close my eyes. “My date bombed,” I explain as Lucinda trucks toward the restaurant. “I thought it would be easier.”

Jonas glances my way as we pull into the Harry’s parking lot. I continue, “I thought Daniel was kind of a sure thing. He was always more than happy to fool around when we were dating.”

“So were you, but you wouldn’t be hitting him up for sex if you weren’t loopholing out of a sex ban,” he says.

“True… I guess…” My throat tightens a little. “I guess I figured he’d want to have sex with me regardless.”

“Wait,” Jonas says, turning the engine off. “Are you worried that he didn’t… want to?”

“He clearly
didn’t
want to, or we wouldn’t be having this discussion,” I say, sharper than I intended.

“No, he thought he
shouldn’t
. Sort of like, ‘Oh, I shouldn’t eat that candy bar because I’m on a diet’ or whatever. It doesn’t mean he didn’t want the candy bar. Just that he didn’t want to… uh… have sex with the candy bar.”

We stare at each other for a moment, then laugh. Jonas hops out of the car and comes around to my side. I reluctantly open my door and step out.

“Does this mean you’re on to guy number two?” he asks, his voice a little tense as we walk into Harry’s. It’s one of those restaurants where they stick up junk on the walls, and I have to duck under the antlers of a jackalope before answering.

“Yep, on to Ben Simmons, I guess—I haven’t thought of anyone else for guy number two. At least he isn’t likely to miss the hint when I throw myself at him.”

“Ben Simmons isn’t likely to miss a girl in any regard….”

“Exactly why he’ll be perfect,” I say. “I just have to figure out a way to… you know. Cross his path. We haven’t talked in years.”

“Welcome to Harry’s, home of the Harry Hot Dog. Table for two?” a bright-eyed hostess interrupts us. Jonas nods, and the hostess leads us through a maze of empty tables to a two-person booth tucked away by the kitchen. An old baseball glove and a bat are nailed to the wall beside us.