Don't Let Me Go. J.H. Trumble

My, uh, Mom is, uh, out of town tonight. And we have a government project.”

      I held up my book. Oh, brother. I realized how lame that sounded as soon as I said it. But what was I going to say? Thanks. I’m here to bang your son. Is that okay with you? I felt their eyes on me and was relieved when Mea turned their attention away.

      “Hi, Nate!” She waved. She was sitting on the edge of the pool, swinging her legs back and forth, making little splashes that fell just short of getting her Little Mermaid pajamas wet.

      I waved back.

      Adam pulled my sleeve toward the house. “We’re going to watch a movie or something upstairs.”

      I was trying not to imagine what that or something might be, but that wasn’t really working out for me, so I prayed I’d be swallowed up before I embarrassed myself further.

      “And your project?” his mom called after us.

      “Yeah, we’ll get to it eventually.”

      She smiled. “Okay. Would you take Mea with you? I’ll be up to put her to bed shortly.”

      “Sure. Come on, brat.”

      Adam scrolled through the On Demand listings. “How about Othello?” he asked. “Forbidden love.” He flicked his eyebrows at me.

      “Othello? What’s Othello?” Mea said.

      “It’s a sedative for little girls,” Adam said.

      “Huh?”

      “Shouldn’t we be watching football or something?” I asked.

      “Football?” He laughed. “Surely you jest. If my parents caught me watching football, they’d know something was up for sure,” he said quietly. “No, Othello’s got it all ... love, passion, danger ... and he gets it in the end. It’s perfect.”

      I was pretty skeptical still, but I didn’t think I’d be watching the movie anyway. It was hard to focus on anything with Adam around. He was still the sexiest thing I had ever seen. I blushed, thinking about the night ahead. What would midnight feel like? Two A.M.? Four? I made a mental note to google the inventor of door locks and light some candles for him (or her).

      I was sprawled out on one side of the wraparound sofa in the media room. He must have noticed the effect he was having on me. He winked and tossed me a leopard print throw. “Children,” he mouthed.

      I caught the throw with one hand and draped it over my lap, embarrassed.

      Mea insisted her big brother braid her hair so it would be “full and bouncy” in the morning. I divided my attention between the movie and the salon activity unfolding in front of me. Adam pulled Mea’s hair up into a ponytail on the top of her head, then meticulously divided her hair into three sections, which he then carefully braided down to the very tip and secured that with another smaller band. When he was done, she kissed him on the lips and then snuggled in his lap. Her thumb made its way into her mouth.

      He kissed the top of her head as her eyelids grew heavy. My throat tightened. He caught my eye and smiled sweetly. I would have been content just to watch them like that all night long. Well, maybe not all night. Okay, I couldn’t wait for Mea to go to bed.

      Adam’s stepdad came up to tuck her in a short time later. She was sound asleep by then. He stuck his head in again on his way downstairs.

      “Your mom and I are going to bed soon, Adam. Be sure you turn off all the lights before you go to bed.”

      Adam assured him he would.

      “Don’t stay up too late, boys.”

      And then we were alone. I started to get up and move closer, but Adam shook his head.

      “Not yet,” he said softly.

      After Othello stabbed himself and died, Adam grabbed some random movie without even looking at the case and shoved it into the DVD player. It didn’t matter what played next. We leaned on our elbows facing each other across the expanse between couch ends and passed the time with small talk and long silent gazes.

      “Your feet are warm,” he said, folding his toes into the arch of my foot.

      “You know what they say about warm feet.”

      “What do they say?”

      “Warm feet, warm heart.”

      He grinned. “I believe the saying is cold hands, warm heart.”

      “Hmph. Then what do warm feet mean?”

      “I have no idea, but I intend to find out.”

      I sucked in a shaky breath. I desperately want to touch my lips to his, to explore all those secret places. My whole body ached with holding back.

      He seemed to understand. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

      In less than two minutes he was back in the doorway. He motioned for me to come with him.

      My heart hammered against my ribcage as I cast the throw aside and reached to take his hand. This was it. Terrified hardly described what I was feeling.

      The last time I’d been in his room—the first time—I’d been too self-conscious about getting naked with him, in the same room, at the same time, naked, together, to really notice the space he occupied every night. I’d just had my first date with Juliet, a disastrous couple of hours that had ended in a not-so-disastrous romp in Adam’s pool, fully dressed. I’d stood in almost this very spot, dripping on his carpet, when he’d tossed me a pair of sweatpants and a dry T-shirt. I took about two seconds to look around now. Neat. Orderly.

      I found it odd that he hadn’t brought me up here again in the nine weeks now that we’d been together. But it had been my idea to stay on the down low. With two confidantes under our belt, and more to come soon enough, I guess we weren’t so down low anymore.

      I took in a deep breath and blew it out as Adam secured the door lock. I checked it with my free hand, just to be sure. He shook his head and laughed quietly, and then his laugh dissolved into a shy grin, and he let go of my other hand and crossed the room. “When I count to three, you turn off the light, okay?” he said.

      Intrigued, I did as he said ... on three. And suddenly the room was awash in the soft light of a dozen or more lava lamps. They lined a high shelf that ran the entire width of one wall—different sizes, different colors, glitter, no glitter. Adam stood on a chair and unplugged one of the smaller ones and removed it from the shelf. He put it on the table next to his bed and plugged it back in.

      With his back still to me, he shuffled through playlists on his MP3 player until he found one he wanted. I watched him from the door. He settled the player into the speaker system and adjusted the volume so it played softly in the background, then turned back to me.

      My entire body thrummed like a taut steel guitar string. “Do you want to play Internet poker or something?” I asked.

      He laughed and deftly pulled his T-shirt over his head. “Uh-uh.” He tossed it to the side.

      I started toward him, but he shook his head and told me to wait. I drew in a ragged breath and held it, keeping my eyes locked on his as he unbuttoned his shorts. “You’re not sneaking peeks in the first grade boys’ bathroom anymore, Nate,” he said gently. “It’s okay to look. No shame. I want you to look at me.”

      I wanted to look. God, I wanted to look, but my eyes were fused to his. When I hesitated, he rolled his eyes playfully and reached into his bedside table drawer and pulled out a sparkly pink mask rimmed in pink fluff, the kind girls wear over their eyes to block out the light when they sleep, although I’d never known anyone to actually wear one. Across the front it read The Princess Is Sleeping.

      “What else did you steal from Mea’s room?” I asked.