After a few more rounds of Never Have I Ever, the six of us are sufficiently trashed. Tim’s date with the murdered girl has been forgotten, and Kayla is all over him again. At first, he was gently pushing her away, but now he’s letting it happen. As for Brandon and Chelsea, they are all but having sex on the couch.
“Hey.” Shane punches his buddy on the shoulder. “Take it upstairs. Not on my sofa.”
Brandon snickers. “Better in your mom’s bedroom?”
Shane shrugs, but I’m just relieved the two of us won’t be in Mrs. Nelson’s bedroom. Even though her bed is nicer, I don’t think I would enjoy it knowing that I was in Shane’s mother’s bed.
Shane turns to me, his eyelids slightly droopy. “Want to head upstairs?”
My stomach churns, which might be from the vodka in my belly, but not entirely. After all, I didn’t even finish one entire screwdriver. (Brandon managed to put away six of them.) I suddenly wish I had a little more to drink, because maybe then I wouldn’t be so damn nervous.
“Sure,” I say.
Shane reaches out to take my hand. His palm is warm and dry and comforting. I let him lead me out of the living room, to the flight of stairs to get to the second floor. The wood of the stairs warps slightly as my feet make contact—one of these days I’ll be climbing the stairs and the whole damn thing will collapse. But not today, apparently.
As I climb the stairs, I get that sensation again like somebody’s watching me. That creeping in the back of my neck. I turn my head, expecting to see Tim staring up at me. But instead, he’s on the sofa making out with Kayla. Well, good for him.
When we get into Shane’s bedroom and he closes the door behind us, my anxiety ramps up another notch. His bedroom is a typical teenage guy’s bedroom. He’s got a twin-sized bed with a splintered wooden bed frame, and a striped black and white blanket is strewn across the mattress with no attempt made to make the bed. There’s a pile of dirty clothing pushed into one corner of the room, which I suspect was his attempt to “clean” for me. A couple of posters of bands are tacked up on the peeling paint of his walls, and the top of his dresser is lined with a bunch of gold trophies that briefly glow when lightning fills the room.
Shane reaches out to turn on the light, but a second later, the bulb flickers and goes out. He swears under his breath. “Power must’ve gone out.”
“Oh.” I squeeze my sweaty palms together. I’ve been alone with Shane before in his bedroom, but it was always with his mother in the next room or about to come home any minute. We’ve never been alone quite this way before. “Should we…?”
“It’s fine.” I can just barely make out the rise and fall of Shane’s broad shoulders. “Everyone is going to bed, anyway. The power will probably come back in the morning.”
“Yeah.” I tug at the chain of my snowflake necklace. “That’s true.”
Shane reaches out for my hand again. He pulls me over to his bed, but he doesn’t push me to lie down. I perch on the edge of the bed and he sits beside me. He reaches out and gently runs his finger along the curve of my jaw.
too.”
“I lope you, Brooke,” he says.
I shiver slightly, nervous but also incredibly turned on. “I lope you
A smile plays on his lips. “Good.”
“I, uh…” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Shane. I’m just super nervous
because… well, you know, I’ve never…” “Yeah,” he says. “Me either.”
I look at him in absolute astonishment. Is he really telling me that he…?
“You’ve never had sex before?” I blurt out. “No…” He frowns. “I haven’t.”
“But you…” I am utterly confused. Shane has dated other girls before. Maybe he hasn’t been with anyone for very long, but he’s gone out with a lot of girls who aren’t exactly picky, if you know what I mean. And Shane is hot. His best friend Brandon—according to Chelsea—has slept with at least five or six girls in the time the two of them were dating.
“I don’t know.” His face is suddenly filled with uncertainty. “I didn’t want some stupid one-night stand. I want to be with someone I actually like. Is that so crazy?”
“No.” I squeeze his knee. I’m still nervous, but I feel a lot better after his confession. This is scary, but we’re going to figure it out together. “Not crazy at all.”
He squeezes my hand in his. “I love you, Brooke.”
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s said. He hasn’t told me he “lopes” me like he usually does. He said he loves me. He loves me.
“I love you too,” I breathe.
He leans in toward me. “And I’m going to show you how much.” And he does.
