Page 66 of No One But Us

“I’mfine.”

He looks behind him and then pulls me out to the frontstoop.

“What’s wrong?” heasks.

“Do you have adate?” Ihiss.

He looks surprised, and then he grins. “Yeah. That’s the plan anyway.” I step away from him, and he pulls me back with his hands around my waist. “With you, Elle. I meant I had a date withyou.”

I feel all of my anger transform into a deep desire to cry. “Oh,” I say in a chokedvoice.

His hands tighten on my hips. “I thought youknew.”

“How would I know that?” I ask. “You never even mentionedit.”

“I spend every freaking minute with you. I thought it went withoutsaying.”

“Nothing goes without saying, James. I have no idea where thingsstand.”

“Things stand wherever you want them to,” hereplies.

I think he realizes how untrue his words are as soon as I do. His lips brush my forehead and cheeks like anapology.

I want to tell him where I want things to stand. I want to tell him that I’dsettlefor not lying about our relationship to everyone we know. But I say nothing. He’s put up these barriers to us becoming more—not telling anyone, keeping things less physical. I’ve already knocked down one barrier, and I plan to knock down a lot more before this summer is through. I might even knock down all ofthem.

* * *

That night he tells me to dress up. I come downstairs wearing the same backless dress I wore to Ginny’sbirthday.

“You look…” Jamesbegins.

“As I recall, you were unable to come up with anything nice to say the last time I worethis.”

He pulls me against him. “Every time I saw you in some new way, it was like being punched. I couldn’t stand the things I thought about when I saw you in this. And I couldn’t stand the fact that other guys were thinking themtoo.”

“That’ssweet.”

“What’s less sweet,” he says with a sigh, “is that I’m thinking them now. So if we don’t get in the car this minute, I don’t think we’re leaving atall.”

We go to a restaurant in Lewes, which is far enough away that no one we know will see us. For once, reality eclipses even my loopiest daydreams. It’s all the best parts of a first date—the hopefulness and the giddy excitement—without the awkwardness of being out with a relative stranger. We talk easily about almost anything, but honestly, it would have been enough just to see his smile, to hear the low rumble of his laughter. To drink in the way he looks at me, like I’m a prize he can’t believe he’s won. The way his eyes grow hazy and heavy-lidded when either of us references lastnight.

We get back to a—thank God—empty house. I run to the bathroom and find James waiting on the couch when I returndownstairs.

“So we probably need to talk,” hesays.

I stand before him, reaching to the side of my dress for thezipper.

“In spite of what happened last night, I don’t want this to be somethingthat—”

“James,” I say, pushing my dress off. It billows into a small pile at my feet, and I step out ofit.

“Jesus Christ,” hebreathes.

I climb into his lap. “We don’t have to sleep together,” I whisper. “Not until you’reready.”

His laugh is slightly strangled as he runs a hand down my back and glances at his crotch. “I don’t think my readiness was ever theissue.”

“You know what I mean.” I smile. “But I’m not going backwardeither.”

---