Lust

sometimes she just needed a break.

She pulled him toward her, closed her eyes, and let herself go.

Along with copious amounts of alcohol, Kane had also supplied the party with two wooden barrels filled with condoms, positioned considerately just inside the door.

As Adam blundered off in search of more to drink, Beth had surreptitiously grabbed one and slipped it into her purse-and then, on second thought, she’d grabbed a handful more.

Now, an hour further into the night, her bold act was beginning to seem like a total waste. They were still down in the lobby amidst a group of Adam’s drunken teammates; Beth’s head was throbbing, and as Adam regaled a cluster of admirers with a story of last year’s basketball triumph, he leaned against her heavily, as if without her support he would drop to the ground.

“Adam, let’s take off,” she whispered urgently, when he finally stopped talking.

“You wanna go home?” he slurred. “Party’s just starting. Right, guys?”

The “guys,” whose shunted-aside dates all looked about as nonplussed as Beth felt, let out a hearty cheer of support.

“Not home,” she explained in a low voice. “Upstairs.”

“She wants to go upstairs!” he crowed to the crowd. “Lez go, honey. You want me, you got me.”

Irritated and humiliated-but knowing how hard it had been to prepare herself for this night and determined to finally go through with it-Beth allowed Adam to shepherd her into the dark bowels of the hotel, where they finally found an unoccupied room and slipped inside.

“Beth,” he said, seeming to sober up a bit now that he was away from the noise and the people and the stench of beer, “I feel like shit. Maybe we should just head home.”

“I don’t think you want to go home yet, Adam. This is your lucky day,” she said, trying to sound more brazen than she felt. Beth had never had to make a first move in her life, and she had no idea what to do. But how hard could it be? All guys ever wanted was sex, any time, all the time, right? So she just needed to let him know that a new option had been added to the menu, and hopefully he’d do the rest.

“I want you, Adam,” she said in what she hoped was a sexy voice. “Now.”

She pushed him down on the bed, and he landed with a thud, knocking his head against the wooden headboard.

Oops.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill me?” he shouted, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She hopped into the bed, kissing the bruise gently. “This isn’t going the way I wanted it to.”

“What isn’t?” he asked in confusion.

“This. Tonight. Right now,” she told him, kissing him again, more urgently.

“What’s right now?”

Why couldn’t he just get it? Why was he making this so hard for her?

“Right now is when-when I tell you that I’m finally ready,” Beth admitted. She bit the inside of her cheek and nervously waited for him to say something. Who knows-maybe he didn’t even want her anymore. Maybe that’s what all this had been about.

He sat up, couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but reached out a hand to touch her cheek, as if trying to read her expression.

“Ready? For…?”

She nodded, and then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” And she kissed him, and he kissed her back, eagerly, hungrily, and they rolled over on the bed together, drinking each other in, their bodies lost in each other, and then-they stopped.

Beth tensed, her back clenched and her muscles stiffening, as they always did, just before she reached the point of no return. He pulled away, and she lay on her back, breathing quickly, glad it was too dark for him to see the tears that were leaking from her tightly closed eyes.

“Beth?” came his warm voice in the darkness. “Beth, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

No.

No.

“Yes.”

She groped for her purse on the night table, pulled out one of the condoms, and tossed it to him.

“I mean, we’re in love, right?” she asked. “I love you, you love me, we’re adults. This is the right thing to do.” It came out sounding like a question.

There was a long pause, and then, “Yeah, we’re in love,” he agreed. And he sounded almost sure.

“I just-I just need a minute,” she promised him. “Then I’ll be ready.”

He reached over and found her hand, and she clenched it tightly, and they lay side by side on the musty bed. She stared up at the cracked ceiling and breathed deeply, in and out, picturing his body lying next to hers, so close, and how it would be to have him inside of her, to be with him, to lose herself in him. To finally let herself go.

She tried to unclench her muscles, reminded herself that she loved him, she wanted him-and she did, so much that it terrified her. For if she let that wave of emotion, of pleasure, sweep her away, how would she ever find her way back?

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She had to do this, and she had to do it now-because one thing she knew, one thing was certain: She didn’t want to lose him.

“I’m ready,” she whispered to herself. “Adam? I’m ready,” she said louder.

There was no response, and his hand was still.

“Adam?”

She rolled over on her side, kissed his cheek, his lips, then propped herself up, her face suspended a few inches from his. His still, peaceful face. Eyes closed. Breath slow and even.

And then-a snore.

Beth flopped down again on her back, next to him.

Unbelievable.

She had been dressed like a fairy-tale princess-and was trapped in the wrong story. In her story, Prince Charming decorated the room with a thousand candles, took her in his arms, and sweetly, gently, took her away with him. In her story, a handsome boy and a beautiful girl danced the night away at the ball and swept off into the sunset. They swore their everlasting love to each other. They lived happily ever after.

Not this story. Not this night.

In this story, the wrong story, she lay atop a grungy bedspread, a hard and creaky mattress, in a slimy motel room, groping in the darkness and ignoring the moans and thuds seeping through the paper-thin walls.

In this story, Prince Charming was a drunken clod who passed out and left her alone.

Beth lay very still, listening to his even breathing and trying to forget the night, though it hadn’t yet ended. The hours stretched ahead of her, a desert of time. So much for her perfect night; so much for her fairy tale.

This is not the way it was supposed to be, Beth thought, closing her eyes and wishing for sleep. This is not the way it was supposed to be.

This is not the way it was supposed to be, Harper thought, scuffing her weary feet against the pavement. She’d left Miranda’s house elated, the alcohol and pot and laughter fusing into the perfect painkiller.

But over the long walk home, strappy heels in hand, her mood had changed.

When she reached her house, she took a few steps up the stone walkway to the front door, then stopped. Her parents, as always, thought she was sleeping at Miranda’s, so it’s not like they were waiting up. There was no reason to go inside-not yet. She veered around the house and found her way into the backyard. She clambered up to the flat top of her rock-their rock-and shivered in the chilly night breeze.

Somehow, everything had gone wrong.

It was her senior year. It was the night of the party. Her party. She wasn’t supposed to spend the night rolling joints with Miranda-she was supposed to be with Adam, happy, in love. Not bitter, not alone.