AS THE AFTERNOON HEAT settled over us, I went home to change out of my bathing suit for once. Then I snuck off to Handel’s house. I knew he was around today, and I couldn’t wait until tonight to see him. I marched up to his front porch with all the confidence in the world, hips swaying in my short skirt, freed by the serendipitous coincidence of the night we spent together. I went straight inside the front door and up the stairs to his room.
“What’s the matter?” I asked when I found him there, head in his hands, looking like the weight of the world was on him. I couldn’t tell if he was staring into space or studying something on the desk where he sat.
He startled and turned around in his chair. “Jane,” he said. Mustered a smile.
“Is anyone home? I didn’t see your mother on my way up here.”
“No,” he said, reaching out his hand. “We’re alone.”
“Good,” I said, taking it and pulling him to his feet. I led him over to the bed. Pressed my hands on his shoulders, signaling he should sit. “I bet I can make you forget whatever you’re worried about.” Now I pushed at his chest, tipping him backward.
He lay down and rested his head on a pillow. Eyes on me. “You always can.”
I lay down next to him, and we watched each other a moment. I ran my fingers through his long hair. “That makes me happy,” I said. “I’m so happy, Handel,” I went on, and then drew him toward me until he was close enough to kiss.
There was a moment when he paused, when he pulled away, blinked, long pale lashes fluttering up toward the ceiling like he had something on his mind. Like he was hesitating. But then it passed, and he turned to me, turned back with a big grin, reached out and tickled me in that place on my stomach he knew would make me laugh and scream—laugh and scream in a way that would make everything light again. Playful and fun like it should be between us. Like it always should be between a guy and a girl who are in love like Handel and me. Eventually things cycled from playful to passionate and from passionate to romantic, which was right where I’d wanted them to go.
One by one, Handel popped open the buttons on my white eyelet blouse. I’d worn it on purpose, thought about Handel doing exactly this. Earlier, when I was getting dressed, I’d dug down deep into my drawer and pulled up the flimsy, lacy white bra and matching underwear that Bridget made me buy in the fall just in case I ever met someone special. After so much waiting I finally had; today was the day. I’d picked this bra and underwear since I knew Handel would see them, finally cutting the tags that still dangled from their delicate hems, trading my bathing suit for something that would tell Handel what I wanted, beyond any doubt.
Handel undid the last of the buttons and, gently, slid the two halves of my shirt aside, looking at me. Watching the slow rise and fall of my chest.
I was shaking.
I don’t know why. We’d done this before. Many times.
All you could hear was our breathing.
“Pretty,” he said, running a finger across all that lace. Then underneath it. “Did you wear this for me?”
A shiver ran through me. Even though my cheeks burned red, I laughed like he was being ridiculous and said, “You wish.”
He smiled. Kissed a trail to my stomach, then back up to my neck.
And I sighed.
Today was turning out to be the best day.
I wanted more from Handel, just like always. It felt like my reward, to have this.
To have him.
I sat up a little, enough to slide my blouse over my shoulders and down my arms until I could pull it all the way off. Then it was Handel’s turn to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside, until it was my turn again, and Handel was reaching around my back, unhooking the clasp of my bra, and it was falling away. Next was my skirt, and I was naked except for my underwear, lying on top of Handel’s sheets, pressed up against him, our legs intertwined. We’d spent a few weeks practicing these steps, this slow undressing, until it was a regular part of the time we were alone and kissing, whether it was down on the beach at night, or on his boat by the docks, or here at his house in his room when no one else was home.
Like now.
One thing I’d learned this summer: There was nothing like lying in bed, making out, clothes coming off piece by piece, unhurried and unworried about the time, with the boy you love.
And I loved Handel Davies.
Without a doubt, I loved him.
“I love you, Jane,” Handel whispered in my ear as though he’d heard my thoughts, his fingers light on my bare skin.
Giving me chills.
We spent the next hour resisting, wanting, whispering, kissing, waiting for that moment when Handel would hook his fingers into the elastic of my underwear, slowly sliding it down over my thighs, my knees, my ankles, until it slipped over the tips of my toes. Until all I wore was the tiny heart on a chain around my neck. Then it was Handel’s jeans and everything else getting tossed to the floor, the two of us panting, trying to catch our breath. We both knew these steps would happen, too; we knew it the second I walked into his room.
We pressed ourselves against each other.
When the moment finally arrived, my heart sped up, and everything seemed lit from the inside, him and me, so much skin touching and hands everywhere, gently but urgently. Each time we did this, it got better, if you could believe it. It really did.
There was nothing like being with Handel.
Nothing.
My cheeks flared a little afterward, when we were lying there in the quiet, catching our breath.
I turned to him. Took in the way the sunlight sent rays of light across his hair. Tried to suppress a smile. “Bridget said we’re like rabbits.”
Handel propped his head on his hand, studying me, a mock-serious expression on his face. “You do look a bit like a rabbit now that I think about it.”
“Shut up. You know what she meant.”
“My Jane rabbit,” he went on, playful.
“You’re making me bad, and I like it,” I told him, sitting up a bit, my eyes seeking the pile of clothes all over his floor. The sheet slid to the middle of my stomach, but I didn’t care. I liked having Handel’s eyes on me, on my body, all over me. I relished it. I wanted him to look. To see me. See the way the tiny blue heart hovered against the skin of my neck.
“Bad?” he murmured with a smile. “You could never be bad, Jane. Not all the way through.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m always stuck playing the role of good girl,” I said with a pout, even though I knew this was no longer true. The break-in had changed me. No—Handel had changed me. “I can’t seem to get away from it,” I went on, all flirty and forward. I pulled him on top of me again. Smiled. “Not even with you.”
Handel laughed. Dipped his head until his lips were on my skin. Hands along my curves.
I closed my eyes, smiling.
When his mouth reached my ear, he spoke. “I wouldn’t exactly call you that,” he whispered softly. “The good girl?” he added with another laugh, while something clicked inside me, finally fell into place after all this time.
Two words, good girl, lifting up a memory from the darkest recesses of my mind, fishing it out from the place it was hidden, the worst memory of all.
And my eyes flew open.