My arms fall to his shoulders, fingers musing in the soft tufts of hair that curl from his scalp at the base of his neck. I bend my head down enough that our noses touch, my gaze locked on his. His lashes fall shut with the heavy weight of want, and his mouth moves to the right side of my neck. I lean to give him access, his hand sliding the strap of my bra down my shoulder. His mouth follows the trail of his fingertips as they drag the satin, then the lace lower until the hard pink peak of my breast is exposed. His tongue circles it just before his lips leave a soft wet kiss that he dries with his cooling breath. I pucker under his control.

  I lean back to expose more of my neck, my body angled so he can easily slide the rest of my bra away. Virgin white lace that has only ever been seen by me loosens around my skin as his hands deftly unclasp the hook in the back. Lucas discards the garment to the side, covering my right breast with his palm while his mouth covers the left. He sucks me to a hard peak, painful pleasure igniting a pool between my legs. I push into his erection to ease my need and he groans against my body.

  My hair is twisted in a loose bun at the base of my neck. Lucas hooks a finger in the band and pulls it free, letting my hair blow wildly until he can gather it in his palm. He wraps it around his hand once and tugs it back, coaxing my back to arch so my breasts are high enough for his tongue to taste them raw. I push into him when his teeth graze against the hardened peak of one. I’m begging him to bite, and I know he wants to.

  My hands push down the back of his neck to his shoulder blades, and I pull myself into him as I right my head. I need to kiss him. My mouth is hungry. His hands clear the blowing strands of hair from my face as our mouths connect again in a kiss that means to strip us both of oxygen. Our tongues tangle as I pull his lip into my mouth a moment before he does the same to me. Heat boils in my body and I grind into his lap, needing the friction—needing to feel how hard he is for me against how wet I am for him.

  The moment I press into him, his hands let go of my face and rush to my hips, tugging me close, fingers gripping at the back pocket of my jeans and rocking me back and forth on his lap. I ride the sensation, knowing I’m going to have an orgasm still in my panties and jeans, but I want more from him—more for him. Even if our past fucks up our future, I want to have this moment. I want Lucas to be my first.

  I always have.

  I feel between us, finding the strings I was forced to abandon a moment ago, once again tugging his pants loose, this time without him slowing me. My fingertips feel along the band of his waist and I pull toward me, making room for my hand to slip inside. Lucas isn’t wearing anything underneath, and my hand immediately brushes the searing hot hardness of his cock.

  “June.” He croaks out my name.

  I sit back to make room and lean forward, pressing my forehead into his, both of us breathing as our lips touch with many tiny kisses.

  “I want to touch you,” I say. He’s weak under my spell, nodding and shifting his hips; I lower his shorts enough to completely free his erection.

  “Am I doing this right?” I ask, my fingers slowly wrapping around the warm shaft. I squeeze with light pressure and I feel him flex in my hold.

  He nods, grabbing the back of my head and bringing my mouth to his.

  “Yeah,” he pants.

  I move my hand up and down in a slow rhythm, letting the soft skin slide under my touch. I pull myself up as tall as I can on my knees. While my head rests on his, I lower my chin to see how he reacts under my touch. It’s both exactly and nothing as I imagined this part of him to be. I’d never admit to anyone, not even Abby, but I’ve fantasized about this too. Along with the romance and kisses and sweetness, I also lay in bed some nights and pretend my hands are on him, and his are on me.

  His palms grip the back of my thighs as I stroke him, sliding up centimeters at a time until he finally cups my ass. I grip him harder at the sensation of his fingers clawing into my back pockets, his fingertips rough against the denim of my jeans.

  Impatient, I put my hand over his right one, threading my fingers between his knuckles to guide his grip forward and to the front of my jeans. He’s more than willing, his hands tugging on the button of my jeans and unfastening it deftly, followed by the zipper. His thumbs hook inside the band of my panties, plain white and cotton that I wish were sexier than they are. I hadn’t planned on any of this.

  As he tugs my pants down my hips, I shift from above him, helping to pull them down completely. His hands grip my sides and he encourages me to lie on my back. I kick my shoes from my feet and wriggle my legs free, parting my knees as he moves to kneel between my legs. His gaze begins at my breasts then rises until his eyes meet mine. I nod and whisper “Yes.” It’s just enough for him to reach in his front pocket and pull out his wallet.

  I hold my bottom lip between my teeth in anticipation, and giggle when he holds the small black packet up in presentation. It’s not the same one I teased him about the other day, which means he got this new, in hopes that maybe he and I would take this step.

  I flatten my sweating palms on the surface of the truck, tucking them under my hips to hide my nerves as Lucas rolls the condom on himself. He’s somehow bigger in his own hand, though it’s probably my perspective. I’m nervous, and a little afraid of the pain.

  Lucas lowers himself so he hovers over me, his weight held by his forearms as I lie caged between them. His nose brushes against mine lightly and his lips brush against mine, parting just enough to suckle on my top lip. I lift my chin to give him more of my mouth, shutting my eyes to be brave.

  His right arm moves to the space between us so he can guide himself inside me. I feel the tip at my entrance and clench, sucking in air and arching my back so my hips reflexively pull away.

  “Okay?” he whispers, his mouth ticking against my ear. A rush of shivers trails down the right side of my body, leaving tiny bumps in its wake.

  “Yes,” I nod, squeezing my eyes tighter.

  I try to breathe and force my body to relax as he pushes himself in more, pausing to let me adapt to the feel of having him there. He rocks his hips in short strokes, never fully leaving me and not fully pushing inside. His tongue traces a cool line from my chin down to the nape of my neck where his mouth sucks at the tender part of my skin. He kisses the spot.

  “I left a tiny bruise there so you’ll see it in the morning and know this was real.” His voice is husky and a little dominant, but not overbearing. It’s perfect, and it turns me on.

  “Ready?” he asks. I nod again, this time moving my hips lower so his access is straighter. He rests his weight on me, holding himself up on his arms so his hands can brush the sweat-dampened hairs from my face. His thumbs run along my cheeks just under my eyes, luring them open to witness his devilish smile. The faint curl on his lips is proof of how satisfied he is with this, how much he wanted it, too.

  His head tilts enough for him to kiss me hard, and with my cries muffled by his mouth, he pushes in deep, breaking any remaining threads of my youth with his thrust. I whimper against his mouth but kiss back harder, holding on to his bottom lip with my teeth, biting through the pain so hard that I may have drawn a little blood.

  Lucas pulls back, the slide of his hard-on slow and slick. I feel wet and swollen despite the pain, which lessens with every plunge he takes into me. For minutes, he’s methodical and gentle, though his cock sinks in deep. The feel of the tip against my insides teases a sensitive spot that drowns my head in endorphins every single time his hips rock. Soon, I’m meeting his thrusts with pressure of my own, my hands no longer sitting by idle on the roof of the car, but gripping at the material of his sweat shorts that are pulled so low on his hips that his ass is exposed. I pull him into me by the band of his pants, eventually wrapping my legs around him to hold him deep inside while his lower body pumps rhythmically, keeping up with our panting breaths. We chase the sensation and my insides constrict and pulse uncontrollably, forcing a moaning cry from my mouth. I muffle it against the bare skin of his shoulder as he grows tight inside me, filling the condom.

  Pulses carry through our cores and he pushes into me a few more times before rolling to the side and pulling out, leaving our sex-covered sweat-strewn bodies exposed to the open air, now fully dark of stars as a thickness of clouds shrouds the sky.

  I always imagined this is when I would be shy or embarrassed, when I realize what I did and everything that can be seen, and feel suddenly inadequate. I don’t feel any of that. I’ve pushed aside every part of our story that doesn’t fit and that I don’t want to yet accept so I can label this moment as purely mine, a greedy piece of our story that I will come back to always.

  No longer the girl playing the part of a woman, I roll to my side and trail my fingers down Lucas’s chest and stomach, moving lower until I reach the still pulsing tip of his swollen cock. I glance up to catch his eyes shaded by his long, dark lashes as he stares at me with both suspicion and need. My body still teeming with electricity from every firing nerve, I hold his gaze hostage and roll to my knees, once again straddling him. I pleasure myself by pressing his erection into his abdomen, writhing and teasing myself against its length until I come again . . . and again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sun is up, barely, as we pull into Lucas’s driveway. I’m sure my mom is livid that I didn’t reply to any of her calls or texts. I also didn’t answer my phone when Abby started calling. I’m a little surprised there isn’t a police car in our driveway. I started feeling guilty when we decided it was time to head home. It was selfish to ignore everyone, but I couldn’t handle all of the extra noise. My head isn’t right to talk with my mom, and I don’t know where to begin in explaining all of this to my best friend.

  But now, the reality is playing out. I have to let it, and I have no choice but to be present for it. The empty driveways, the quiet homes, the light glowing from my kitchen window where I know my mom is sitting, phone in hand, waiting. I have to face it all. I’m all she has left, besides her brother who we see maybe three times a year. How do I untangle all of the questions I have for her? My gut says one thing, but then Lucas is so resolute about his version of the story. Even if none of it’s true, having the theory live in this universe has changed how I see things, how I see people.

  How I see her.

  I knew we wouldn’t be alone in this driveway for long. Lucas’s truck lights up the first floor of our house, so it’s inevitable that my mom sees it and comes outside, hoping it’s me. She looks manic, her hair wild in all directions as she pads out clutching her phone as she tightly hugs her body. She’s wearing the same T-shirt and jeans I saw her in yesterday morning.

  “How come boys have it so easy? It’s so hypocritical,” I say. “You’re rolling in at the crack of dawn too, but I don’t see your mother out in the driveway waiting to rip your head off after she finishes hugging you.” I make no attempt to leave this quiet bubble I’m in with Lucas. The moment I open this passenger door, our moment will be over.

  “I guess it’s a matter of conditioning. My parents are kind of used to me not coming home on weekends.” He stretches his hand out on the seat between us and rolls his palm over. I put my hand inside and he squeezes tightly.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I say.

  “That’s why I never said anything before,” he says, his voice full of sorry.

  I grimace in the other direction because I wish he had. We could be well past this point if I’d only known. Waiting to get a shot at the doctor is always so much worse than when they put on the Band-Aid.

  My mom has stopped about halfway between our house and Lucas’s truck, but her face is easy to read from here.

  Where the fuck have you been and why didn’t you call or text like you always do? That’s what that expression says.

  “Wish me luck,” I say, leaning into him, turning his chin to face me and pressing my lips on his one last time. I slide across the seat and pop open my door, but the moment I step outside, I catch his mom’s waiting stare, and her expression . . . it’s nothing like the worried one my mom wears.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to my mom, my eyes bouncing between her and Lucas’s mom, who stands just inside her side door. She’s holding a coffee mug and casually leaning into the frame as she blows on the steam rising from her cup. Her stance suggests she’s not amused. Maybe it’s the information I’m now privy to, but I can see the subtleties—the disapproving glare and tight grip on the mug. I turn around, mostly out of loyalty to the boy I just gave my most important first to, but he’s already backing out of the driveway. I’d fault him for running away, but I had the same idea. He just had the keys.

  “I was worried sick.” My mom’s words come out with vibrato, the result of wanting to cry and being too tired to give in to the urge.

  “We lost track of time,” I say, taking urgent steps past her, heading inside our house. I don’t want to put on a show for Shannon Fuller, especially when I’m not convinced she has her story right.

  “Lost track of time? June, it’s another entire day!” My mom slams the side door closed behind her. I’d turn to face her but I’m too busy taking in the various open drawers dumped onto the counters and the contents of my backpack spilled out on the kitchen table.

  “Were we robbed?” I know we weren’t but I can’t quite figure out what this mess is all about.

  “I was trying to find clues about where you were. Phone numbers, information in your school planner, a ticket stub . . . I don’t know!” I turn to catch her hands in the air, phone still clutched in one of them. I wonder who she’s dialed. I don’t have many friends, and she doesn’t know Naomi or Lola.

  “I’m sorry. I really am,” I say, because—right now—I am. I didn’t mean to make my mom worry, but I would spend my night exactly the same way every time I’m given the chance. I move toward the refrigerator, pausing to rummage through a few of the things on the counter from the drawers. I lift up a pizza menu and laugh out a breath, holding it up for my mom to see.

  “You checked with the pizza guy?” I’m making a joke of something she doesn’t think is funny. It’s not funny. I’m just not ready to tell her how unfunny all of it is.

  “June, I called every phone number I could find in the goddamn house. You never just disappear. We—me and you—we don’t do that to each other!” Her eyes are glossy, and I should probably drop my edge and step into her with a hug right now, but what she just said sticks a little. I cock my head slightly and narrow my eyes on her.

  “You sure?” I’m slipping into one of those conversations I can’t take back, and I don’t like that I am. Nevertheless, I can’t stop.

  “I’m sorry?” Her voice has elevated into yelling. This is the voice she used with my dad when he came home late.

  “I’m just saying, me and you . . . we don’t hold things back from each other. Is that what you’re saying?”

  An intense quiet builds between us for a few seconds before she answers with a booming “Yes!”

  I slowly nod and turn to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. I’m so thirsty. I pull the lid off and drink nearly half of it before recapping it and holding it to my side as I let the fridge door close and turn back to face my mom.

  “Okay, then,” I say. “I was out with Lucas. We had sex. I’m going to bed.” I march past her, knowing she’s stunned by that little bomb, and I take the time it bought me all the way upstairs, where I proceed to lock my bedroom door, set my water on my night stand, close my shutters, and crawl under my velvet blue blanket with my phone.

  I don’t want to talk to anyone except Lucas, so I shoot my bestie a short text so she knows I’m alive and epic shit went down, but I can’t tell her until tomorrow. She responds instantly with about four lines of exclamation points, but she follows it up with two hearts, so I know Abby and I are good.

  I toss my phone to the side and pull my blanket up over my head, and for the next two hours I remember every single spot that Lucas touched me. Somewhere in my best daydreams, I fall asleep and don’t crack a lid open until early evening, when my phone buzzes at my side with a text from Lucas.

  Hi.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In many ways, it’s another typical Monday morning. Abby is waiting in my driveway blasting some song she texted me was super hype and dropped late last night. I rush around my room searching for a T-shirt that’s not too wrinkled to wear because I traded time to shower and prep a normal look for the day for thirty extra minutes of sleep. I’ve lived this morning before. It’s my normal mode. My Groundhog Day. I’m always a bit disheveled, not great with sticking to a morning routine, and my haphazard style makes my supermodel best friend mental. But this dose of chaos, it works for me. Usually.

  Today, my mom is waiting downstairs in the kitchen and there is an invisible brick wall between us that she’ll expect me to climb over before I leave. I don’t feel much for climbing. At least, not that wall. Lucas always made the trip up my porch roof look easy. I’m nowhere near as strong as he is, but down has to be easier than up. The thought struck me before I fell asleep again at about four this morning, mid-text with Lucas as we went over the plan for today. I juggled between messaging him and FaceTiming Abby so I could give her a full deposition of all things drama that is my life. Not surprisingly, most of her questions weren’t about the gossip about my mother but instead were centered around my first time and details of Lucas’s, umm, parts. I learned two key things from our talk. One, my best friend has seen way more penises than I have. Seven to my one, to be exact. Also, apparently, Lucas stacks up pretty well in terms of size. The entire conversation made me want to die, especially because I was texting him while having it.

  I maybe should have taken Lucas up on his offer to drive me to school—he could have helped me scale down the side of my house—but I didn’t want to risk running into his mom again. I don’t like the way she looks at me, as though I’m guilty. And even though Lucas said he no longer cares what his parents think, deep down he does. He cares that his dad doesn’t like his choices, and he cares that his mom has been hurt.