“I don’t—”
“I was thinking we could do an analysis of Hester,” he suggested. “It sounds cliché, but I mean an in-depth characterization. Mainly, why did she have the affair? Why did she sleep with Dimmesdale? Did she love him, or was she just promiscuous?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God, do you always go for the simplest answer? Hester is way more complicated than that. Neither of those choices shows any imagination.”
Wesley looked at me with one raised eyebrow. “All right,” he said slowly. “If you’re so smart, then why did she do it? Enlighten me.”
“For distraction.”
Okay, so maybe it was a little far-fetched, but I just kept seeing that damn manila envelope. Thinking of my selfish bitch of a mother. I kept wondering what my father was like drunk for the first time in eighteen years. My mind searched for anything—anything— that would distract me from the painful thoughts, so would it be too ridiculous to think that Hester felt the same way? She was lonely, surrounded by hypocritical Puritans, and married to a completely creepy, absentee English guy.
“She just wanted something to get her mind off the bad shit in her life,” I mumbled. “Some way to escape…”
“If that’s the case, that didn’t go well for her. It all backfired in the end.”
I didn’t really hear him. My mind was rushing back to a night not long ago, a night when I’d found a way to push my worries out of my head. I remembered the way my thoughts had gone silent, letting my body take over. I remembered the bliss of nothingness. I remembered how, even after it ended, I’d been so focused on what I’d done that my other worries barely existed.
“… so I guess that idea could make sense. It’s definitely a different angle, and Perkins likes creativity. We might get an A.” Wesley turned to look at me, and his expression grew suddenly concerned. “Duffy, are you okay? You’re staring off into space.”
“Don’t call me Duffy.”
“Fine. Are you okay, Bian—?”
Before he could say my name, I closed the space between us. Quickly, my lips moved against his. The mental and emotional emptiness took over instantly, but physically, I was more alert than ever. Wesley’s surprise didn’t last as long as it had before, and his hands were on me in seconds. My fingers tangled in his soft hair, and Wesley’s tongue darted into my mouth and became a new weapon in our war.
Once again, my body took complete control of everything. Nothing existed at the corners of my mind; no irritating thoughts harassed me. Even the sounds of Wesley’s stereo, which had been playing some piano rock I didn’t recognize, faded away as my sense of touch heightened.
I was fully conscious of Wesley’s hand as it slid up my torso and moved to cup my breast. With an effort, I pushed him away from me. His eyes were wide as he leaned back. “Please don’t slap me again,” he said.
“Shut up.”
I could have stopped there. I could have stood up and left the room. I could have let that kiss be the end of it. But I didn’t. The mind-numbing sensation I got from kissing him was so euphoric—such a high—that I couldn’t stand to give it up that fast. I might have hated Wesley Rush, but he held the key to my escape, and at that moment I wanted him…. I needed him.
Without speaking, without hesitating, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and threw it onto Wesley’s bedroom floor. He didn’t have a chance to say anything before I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved him onto his back. A second later, I was straddling him and we were kissing again. His fingers undid the clasp on my bra, and it joined my shirt on the floor.
I didn’t care. I didn’t feel self-conscious or shy. I mean, he already knew I was the Duff, and it wasn’t like I had to impress him.
I unbuttoned his shirt as he pulled the alligator clip from my hair and let the auburn waves fall around us. Casey had been right. Wesley had a great body. The skin pulled tight over his sculpted chest, and my hands drifted down his muscular arms with amazement.
His lips moved to my neck, giving me a moment to breathe. I could only smell his cologne this close to him. As his mouth traveled down my shoulder, a thought pushed through the exhilaration. I wondered why he hadn’t shoved me—Duffy—away in disgust.
Then again, I realized, Wesley wasn’t known for rejecting girls. And I was the one who should have been disgusted.
But his mouth pressed into mine again, and that tiny, fleeting thought died. Acting on instinct, I pulled on Wesley’s lower lip with my teeth, and he moaned quietly. His hands moved over my ribs, sending chills up my spine. Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.
Only once, as Wesley flipped me onto my back, did I seriously consider stopping. He looked down at me, and his skilled hand grasped the zipper on my jeans. My dormant brain stirred, and I asked myself if things had gone too far. I thought about pushing him away, ending it right where we were. But why would I stop now? What did I stand to lose? Yet what could I possibly gain? How would I feel about this in an hour… or sooner?
Before I could come up with any answers, Wesley had my jeans and underwear off. He pulled a condom from his pocket (okay, now that I’m thinking about it, who keeps condoms in their pockets? Wallet, yes, but pocket? Pretty presumptuous, don’t you think?), and then his pants were on the floor, too. All of a sudden, we were having sex, and my thoughts were muted again.
8
I was only fourteen when I lost my virginity to Jake Gaither. He’d recently turned eighteen, and I knew perfectly well that he was too old for me. Still, as a freshman in high school, I just wanted a boyfriend. I wanted to be liked and to fit in, and Jake was a senior with a car. At the time, I thought of that as perfection.
In the three months we were together, Jake never took me out on a real date. Once or twice, we made out in the back of a dark movie theater, but we never went out to dinner or bowling or anything like that. We spent most of our time sneaking around so that our parents and his sister, who later became one of my best friends, wouldn’t find out about us. I actually found that part, the secrecy, fun and sexy. It was like a forbidden romance—like Romeo and Juliet, which I’d read in English class that semester.
We slept together several times, and while I really didn’t enjoy the actual sex, the sensation of closeness, of connection, felt comforting to me. When Jake touched me like that, I knew he loved me. I knew sex was a beautiful, passionate thing, and it was right to be with him.
Sleeping with Wesley Rush was entirely different. While I definitely got more physical pleasure out of it, the closeness and the love were missing. When it was over, I felt dirty. I felt like I’d done something wrong and shameful, but at the same time, I felt good. Alive. Free. Wild. My mind was totally cleared, like someone had hit the refresh button. I knew the euphoria wouldn’t last forever, but the filthy regret was worth the momentary escape.
“Wow,” Wesley said. We were lying in his bed only a few minutes after we’d finished, with a foot or more space between our bodies. “I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”
God, he ruined everything when he talked. Annoyed, and still wading through the emotional repercussions, I sneered. “What? Ashamed that you screwed the Duff?”
“No.” I was surprised by how serious he sounded. “I’m never ashamed of anyone I sleep with. Sex is a natural chemical reaction. It always happens for a reason. Who am I to dictate who experiences the joy of sharing my bed?” He didn’t see me roll my eyes as he continued. “No, I just meant that I’m shocked. I was honestly starting to believe that you hated me.”