Chapter Twenty

Ben

“Did you even hear what I read?” Hannah arches an eyebrow at me. She came over hours ago. We ordered pizza and ate it while laughing at terrible reality shows, but now we’re wedged together on the couch, Hannah on her back and me on my side.

I’m more on her than off, with my head on her chest and my leg thrown across hers while she reads Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas aloud and lazily strokes her fingers through my hair. I might pass out from pleasure.

“Of course I heard. He took drugs and did something crazy.”

“The whole book’s about that.”

My hand is resting on her stomach, rubbing back and forth. Her hoodie—well, my hoodie—has ridden up a little. She stole it right before winter break, and while I miss it, I don’t miss it as much as I like seeing her wear it. Every time my fingers brush the bare skin beneath her belly button, her voice wobbles. It’s been fun seeing how long she’s going to keep diligently working through the book until she cracks.

We started reading Fear and Loathing right after winter break two weeks ago, but we’re still not very far into it. Mostly because reading starts like this—lying together on my couch or her bed—and ends with us wrapped around each other and the book forgotten on the floor.

Hannah’s voice is hypnotic as she picks up where she left off reading. Out in the world when she’s speaking, she sounds like any ordinary girl. But when we’re together like this and she’s reading, she slips into this sleepy lower register that I can’t resist. I can’t believe I never noticed it before we were “us.” Or maybe I only hear her like this because we are “us.”

My hand sweeps across her stomach again, and my fingertips skim the waistband of her jeans. She shudders.

“Do you want me to stop reading?” she says haughtily.

I chuckle. “No, keep going. I’m enjoying this.” Damn, am I ever.

She might still be reading Fear and Loathing, or she might be reciting the periodic table for all I know. I kiss her just above the edge of her shirt, underneath her collarbone.

Fear and Loathing topples to the floor beside us. Her freed hand joins the other in my hair, and she hauls my head up until she can kiss me. Her mouth is hot, and she must’ve been thinking about this kiss for a while because she devours me, her tongue slipping into my mouth to find mine. She tastes so good—soft, sweet, and warm—and her smooth curves pressed against me feels even better. I slide my hand up under the hoodie, and she shifts to let me. Then she hooks her leg around my hips, and I’m right there.

I groan into her mouth. Fuck, I’m so hard already. I want her so badly. I grind against her, and her moan sends a jolt straight into my dick. I want so much more than this, but I won’t rush things, not with Hannah. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone, and I’m desperate for her, but her first time wasn’t going to happen with her drunk at that party, not in the backseat of my car on the side of the road. And it most definitely isn’t going to happen in the middle of a make out session on the couch, no matter how eager we are. Even though it’s the very last thing I want to do, I shift my weight off her and slow my kisses down, just soft and closed-mouth.

Hannah tugs on my shoulders, but I stay where I am, beside her. Abruptly, she leans back and opens her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

I blink at her. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you stop?”

“We didn’t stop. We haven’t stopped.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Ben, you know what I mean. What’s going on?”

“I, um, I just don’t want you to think—”

“You know I’m not a virgin, right?”

Wait, what? Holy shit. “No,” I say, strangled as the possibilities flit behind my eyes and make my dick twitch. “I didn’t.”

Hannah scoffs. “You just assumed because what? I look innocent?”

She’s right, of course. You’d think I’d have learned by now never to assume I have her figured out. She’s not a virgin. Shit, she’s not a virgin. “I thought…you seemed…”

“I think I seemed pretty eager. Because I am pretty eager.”

I gulp so hard it’s audible. “You are?”

Her frown disappears, and a smile teases around the corners of her mouth. She slides one palm slowly up the back of my neck and threads her fingers into my hair. My whole spine shudders. “You can’t tell?”

And damn, it’s that voice again, that low, sultry, reading-out-loud voice. “Yeah, but I didn’t want to rush you.”

She leans up until her mouth is an inch from mine. “You’re not rushing me, Ben. In fact, I’m about to climb on top of you and take matters into my own hands.”

Okay. We’re done here. I slam my mouth down on hers and roll onto her. She moans, a soft, sensual sound that’ll be the fucking end of me. I shift between her legs again, and her heels hook over my thighs. I push her hoodie up— I want it off. Her shirt and the bra, too. I don’t even care where we are anymore. If she wants it, I’m there. We’ll do it on the couch, on the floor, any flat surface that holds still for us.

I can’t get her clothes off without breaking the kiss, but I get her shirt up and her bra unhooked. I slide my hand under the silky fabric and cup her breast— And my phone vibrates on the coffee table. I collapse onto her, groaning into her hair. She laughs.

I grope one-handed to the side for my stupid, fucking phone. “I’ll just put it on silent.”

She starts wiggling out from under me. “You might as well answer now. The moment’s gone.” She leans forward, grabs my phone, and holds it out to me, frowning. “It’s a Chicago number.”

My stomach bottoms out— It can only be one person. Richard Parker’s been emailing me since Thanksgiving about the law program at the Chicago College of Law, and if he’s calling me now, it can’t be good.

Because I sent the application in.

It was Christmas Day, and Dad wouldn’t shut up about it, so I just did it, half-assed, daring them to reject me. That’s not how this game is played, though, because Dad’s got an in and that in is now calling me. There’s so much inappropriate nepotism happening here that I feel ill, but this is the way it works in Dad’s world. It’s all about who you know, who can do you a favor, who can give you a leg up.

I glance at Hannah before pressing accept as I stand up and turn away.

“Hello?”

“Ben? It’s Richard Parker.”

My heart sinks. Why did I even answer?

“Hi, Richard. What’s up?”

“I’ve got some great news. I’m calling in an unofficial capacity here, but I wanted you to know that the admissions committee has accepted you. Congratulations and welcome to the Chicago College of Law!”

I swallow hard. Some rapidly shrinking part of my mind is horrified. But the rest is just…blank. I’m too stunned to feel anything.

Richard keeps talking to fill the awkward silence. “Your personal statement was a little weaker than some applicants, but that was made up for by your excellent LSAT scores.”

My personal statement sucked because I wrote it in twenty minutes on Christmas Day. The fact that they took it seriously makes a mockery of this process. And I took the LSATs last spring to get my dad off my back when he first started cracking down about my major. I figured I’d bomb it, thereby displaying my lack of law aptitude, but I aced it. Unfortunately. So here I am, doing my best to fail at this and somehow not.

Six months ago, law school in Chicago seemed as likely to me as studying marine biology in Beijing, but now it’s looking terrifyingly likely. I glance at Hannah, sitting on the couch, one leg folded up under her, watching as I pace around the room. I haven’t said anything specific, but she’s not dumb. She knows something’s up.

“That’s um…thank you,” I mutter.

“Like I said, this is just an unofficial call. You’ll get an official offer in the mail in the next day or so. Make sure you sign and return it right away. There’s a long wait list, so they need to lock in the incoming class as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing. Thanks, Richard.”

“No problem, Ben. Say hi to your dad for me.”

“Will do.” I haven’t spoken to him since Christmas, and I’ve ignored every harassing text he’s sent me.

I end the call and stare at my phone. What the hell am I going to do?

“What was that about?” Hannah asks.

I don’t want to burden her with my shit. We’re still in this vague phase where we’re able to have fun without knowing where this is going or feeling like it has to go anywhere. So I keep my response offhand. “Just this friend of my dad’s. He’s still hassling me about law school.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “When are you going to tell him about grad school?”

“I don’t know. It’s complicated. He’s making things difficult.”

“If you just talk to him—”

“I can’t, Hannah. You know why I can’t.” My voice is sharper than I intended, and she draws back a little. I drop down onto the couch and pull her into my arms. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—I mean, you get it. You haven’t told your dad, either.”

She lays her head on my shoulder. “And we both know I’m being a total baby about that.”

Despite the anxiety making me nauseous, I chuckle. “Is that your way of calling me a baby?”

She giggles, but after a moment, she lifts her head and looks me in the eye. “No, it’s my way of saying we should man up together.”

I stroke a hand up her thigh. “That’s a new word for it.”

She slaps at my chest. “I’m serious. Maybe I won’t be so freaked out about talking to my dad if I know you’re doing something just as scary at the same time. Like in Titanic. ‘You jump, I jump.’”

I roll my eyes. “You did not just quote Titanic to me.”

“Yes, I did. Shut up, you big snob. So?”

“So you want us to sign a pact or something?”

“No, we just go and do it. This weekend. Get it over with, like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

There’s something appealing about her idea. The thought of Hannah dealing with her dad while I’m dealing with mine… Weirdly, her bravery makes me brave. I don’t even know what the repercussions of my actions will be, but it’s about time I found out. I can’t keep living in this limbo, trying to keep all the balls in the air, knowing at some point I’ll have to let one drop.

“Okay, let’s do it. We’ll both go home and face the music.”

Hannah swallows, worry clouding her eyes. For all her bravery, she’s not fearless, but she still says, “Deal.”

We haven’t done anything yet, and who the hell knows what’ll happen when we do? But just deciding to act makes me feel lighter than I have in months. Like I have the power to shape my future.

I gently lift her chin. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know. I feel better knowing I’m doing it with you.”

I smile and run my knuckle down the curve of her cheek. “Same.”

She hooks her hands behind my neck and leans in, until she’s so close I can feel her breath on my lips. “So… That thing we were discussing earlier? Is it too late to recapture that moment?”

“Actually, I kind of feel like celebrating right now. Is that weird?”

“If your idea of celebrating involves lots of kissing and not a lot of clothes, I’m totally on board.”