Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(30)

Asher’s silhouette on the dock’s edge turned to life as I stepped closer to his body. He came into crisp view—kicking a hacky sack on his ankle, while muttering his monologue to himself.

“Hey,” I cracked, as my flip-flops slapped the dock.

He turned, catching the hacky sack in midair. His shoulders dropped at my presence, a relieved grin splashed on his face.

“You made it,” he said.

I painted on a smile and walked toward him, clenching my fists to try and get my fingers to stop shaking as he wrapped his arms around me. His body was cool against my sweltering skin, and the feeling of his chest rising and falling against mine only made my heart pound faster. I inhaled the scent of wildflowers and musky citrus on his damp hair, arching back and twisting my curls up into a bun, curiously avoiding eye contact with the one person whose eyes felt like home.

“Circus camp?” he said, raising his brows suggestively and taking my hand in his.

The circus camp was the ideal makeout spot, once you got past the terror of oversized clown paintings on the wall. Soft gymnastic floor mats were stretched over two-thirds of the room. It was the most likely place I would lose my virginity, and I came to camp this summer prepared to do just that. So why wasn’t I tugging his body there? Why was I dropping his hand? Why was I inching away from his outstretched palms? Why was I stepping out of my sandals? Why were my toes curled around the edge of this dock? I felt a rush of blood to my head—heat blinding my vision with white spots as my throat closed. I had none of the answers. All that I knew: the only way to breathe was to jump.

The cool lake water hit my body like a fever breaking—splintering against my summer skin. I came up for air, cutting past the surface with a desperate inhale—taking in the familiar scent of a muddy rainstorm.

Asher stood on the dock, looming over me with his head bent in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Solid question.

“Swimming?”

“It’s pitch black down there.”

“It’s a man-made lake. It’s not like there are monsters in here.”

He stared at me, waiting for a better answer. “You just…jumped in,” he said in disbelief.

“What can I say? I’m an enigma.”

I wasn’t. I was an open book begging to be read. Asher was the mysterious one. But I guess tonight he was unaware that I had jumped into dark waters because it felt like a less-scary alternative than getting naked in front of him.

He tugged his shirt off and sat at the edge of the dock, lowering his perfect abs into the water on the side ladder. He was always so cautious, testing the waters before he dove in. I rolled my eyes as his torso delicately met the lake. He waded toward me, and on instinct, I splashed my hand against the moonlit water—as if acting like a toddler could delay becoming a woman.

He blinked the water back from his thick lashes, glaring at me with liquid dripping down his striking jawline.

“Come here,” he demanded, tugging the hem of my T-shirt, bringing me against his body.

His fingers went into my drenched curls, pulling my face toward his. Our lips were cold, our tongues were white hot, and I lost myself in his kiss, until I felt his mouth leave mine. The heat of his breath was now on my neck, his hand grazing up my torso.

“Wait,” I said.

I sucked on my lower lip and pulled back from him, leaving his mouth parted in front of me.

“I’m—I’m not ready.”

My mouth hung open as I felt every joint in my body exhale with the truth: I wasn’t ready to have sex. The air around me shifted, straightening my spine to the moon. I was not ready for something I thought I wanted, and I felt no shame. This was not stage fright.

“Not ready for what?” Asher asked, interrupting my virginity epiphany.

“I’m not ready for sex,” I stated, obviously.

He squished his eyebrows together, replaying my words.

“O-okay.” He tilted his head. “Did you…did you feel like I was pressuring you?”

“No, I didn’t feel like you were pressuring me.”

“Mags, I’m a little lost here.”

He scanned my wide eyes, the realization that we were on two very different pages bathing my body in a different kind of heat, the kind of embarrassment that not even the cool lake around my skin could take care of.

“You didn’t want to have sex with me tonight,” I slowly realized, aloud.

He tilted his head, pursing his lips together.

“I wasn’t planning on it. I don’t want to rush us. I mean, we haven’t even talked about sex.”

He put his hand on my chin, staring at my wide eyes. Of course he didn’t want to rush us. Asher Reyes was a bleeding romantic. The same way he held a stone in his hand—looking at it from every angle—was the same way he held my face in his palm.

“Then what’s wrong?” I asked. “Why have you been weird all day? I thought it was because you were nervous about—you know.” He squinted at me with a slight head shake, as if to tell me he didn’t follow. “You haven’t left my side all day. You spent ten minutes walking to lunch admiring the woodwork on the gazebo—I had to practically tug you into the mess hall before the final gong,” I continued. “You wanted me to skip dinner, you.…” I trailed off, seeing his jaw tighten.