Junior Class Trip
Somebody knocks on our hotel room door.
A quick peek at the alarm clock says it’s one o’clock in the morning. The lights are out. I’m already under the covers in my pajamas, on the verge of sleep.
Our class arrived in Hoboken, New Jersey, a few hours ago and checked into the hotel. When the chaperones confirmed we were in our rooms before bed, they put pieces of scotch tape into the creases of our door frames. If the tape is broken or missing in the morning, they’ll know we opened the door or snuck out. And voilà, the chaperones will send us home before our field trip to Manhattan even starts.
The knock sounds again. With a groan, Grace climbs out of bed.
“Who is it?” I mumble into my pillow. The thirteen-hour bus ride here was so exhausting, I fell into bed immediately.
Grace peeks out the peephole. “Lulu, it’s your boyfriend.”
I sit up straight.
“I can’t open the door,” Grace tells him. “The tape!”
After last year’s fiasco when I missed curfew, the school put a written warning in my record and said if I ever misbehave on a field trip again, I won’t be allowed on future trips. I’m lucky they let me come this year.
Thank God they did. New York is the literary capital of the world! I’m about to board my mothership.
I climb out of bed to speak through the door. “You better not get me sent home, Nick. I’m not letting you in.”
“Trust me. You can,” he calls out.
Against my better judgment, I turn the knob and open the door to reveal my boyfriend. A slow smile appears on his cute face.
I smile back and simultaneously cross my arms across my chest. I’m wearing a thin tank top to bed, and while we’ve made out a few times, I’m not ready to give him a show yet.
“I paid one of the bellhops to help us out,” Nick says. “He’ll retape our doors once we’re finished.”
“Finished with what?”
Nick leads me out into the hallway, checking both directions. “Come to my room.”
“Where’s Caleb?”
“Checking out the hot tub downstairs.”
Does the scotch tape stop anybody?
Nick pulls me into his hotel room and shuts the door, then pushes me up against the wall, kissing my neck. Oh God, he’s such a good kisser.
For the first time ever, his hands shimmy under my tank top to caress my waist. As we kiss, his fingers move higher and higher, but I ease them back down to my hips. I feel a ticklish aversion to his hands, a need to push them away.
Part of me wants to go further, but something is stopping me. Maybe we need to spend more time together?
Maybe I need to kiss him more?
I lean forward to press my lips harder against his.