“No. Because you came…because you’re wearing that dress,” he smiled, eyeing my cleavage. “and not because you can dance, but because you did dance.”

“You think I’m uptight,” I sigh, watching a girl throw up in an Azalea a hundred yards away.

“Everyone thinks you’re uptight.”

I knew he wasn’t saying it to be mean. It was just fact—like green apples being sour.

“You’re like a pair of boots with six inch heels. All attitude and sexiness, but you make people feel uncomfortable just looking at you.”

Well, I had officially graduated from Llama’s to footwear.

“And after tonight?” I asked him, picking at the peeling paint on the banister.

“I think you broke a heel and you’re wearing flip flops like the rest of us.” There was laughter in his voice.

“I might put my boots back on tomorrow,” I said. “And why are we speaking metaphor?”

Caleb laughed and then all of a sudden he became serious again.

“I like your boots. They’re sexy.” His voice was throaty and seductive. I knew he could get girls—maybe even me into bed, just by using that voice.

“I have something for you,” I said suddenly pulling out of the trance he was putting me in. He cocked his head. That small gesture got me so worked up I forgot what I was supposed to be doing for a few seconds. Grabbing his hand, I placed my token in his palm. He smiled at me, almost questioningly, and looked down. It was the penny. I found it in the pocket of his sweatshirt the morning after our kiss.

This time, I made the first move. I stepped towards him, eliminating the space between us, just as he looked up. His hands wrapped around my waist and in one smooth motion, he whipped our bodies around until my back was pressed up against the wall. He was trying to shield our moment from the stragglers who had wandered onto the porch. I all but disappeared behind his back, but I could still hear some snickering and exclamations of surprise.

This kiss was different from the first one. We had kissed before so there was no hesitancy or shyness this time. He did things with his mouth that purposely prompted racy thoughts. I was breathing hard when he pulled away. My hands were braced behind me pressing against the rough stucco of the house. Caleb laughed, running his hands through my hair, tugging on the split ends.

I was still leaning against the wall, wondering if my legs would work if I took a step away. The backdoor opened, leaking out the noise of the party.

“Come on,” he said taking my hand, “I want to see you dance again.”

I fell in love hard and swift like Tyson’s uppercut. One day I just enjoyed his company and the next I couldn’t live without it. We saw each other every spare minute—even if it was just for a quick, hungry kiss before class. When our grades made the shitty plummet, we set boundaries; no talking on the phone after dark and no seeing each other during the week except at mealtimes. Most of the time, we broke our rules minutes after making them. It was nugatory trying to stay away from him. He was my crack. I could never get enough and when I had him I was already thinking about when I could have him next.

We seemed happier than other couples, permanently stuck in a state of bliss so intense our mouths were curved into smiles even in our sleep. Caleb taught me how to play—something I had never known in my youth or as an adult. He brought me cupcakes and then smashed them in my face. He took me kayaking and flipped us into the water. Once when his fraternity hosted a jello wrestling night, he convinced me to attend and then challenged me to a wrestling duel. Knee deep in jello the color of Windex, I charged him aiming for his knees. I got lucky and threw him off balance. We both landed up on our backs with Caleb laughing so hard, it sounded like he was sobbing. I loved him with everything in me. He taught me who I was, something I never would have known, without his deft handling of my personality.

That summer, I picked up a part time job at a small bookstore. I was the only employee, other than the owner, and I worked nights which required me to lock up the store around midnight. The bookstore shared a parking lot with a bar called Gunshots and most nights I had to endure catcalls and whistling from the intoxicated bikers who were lingering outside. I hated it and kept my fists balled all the way to the car, in case I had to hit someone.

I had been working there for three weeks when Caleb dropped by to see me. His face was red and tense when he walked through the doors.

“What’s wrong?” I said coming around the counter to hug him. I peered over his shoulder, wondering if one of the bar rats had said something to make him angry. Often they made rude comments to the customers as they were coming or going.

“You’re alone here?”

“Well, there are a few customers.” I said glancing around the aisles.

“When you leave at night, do you walk to your car alone?” His voice was impatient and I wondered where exactly he was going with this.

“Yes.”

“You’re not working here anymore,” he said, with finality.

“What?” my jaw dropped. He had never spoken to me that way before.

He pointed outside to the bar. “It’s dangerous. You’re a woman. You are alone and it doesn’t help that you look the way you do.”

“You’re telling me that I have to quit my job because of the way I look?” I raised an eyebrow and walked back behind the register. He was pissing me off.

“I’m telling you that it is not safe for you to be here alone and then walk to your car by yourself.”

“I can take care of myself.” I began stacking books that needed to be shelved onto a trolley.

“You’re a hundred pounds soaking wet, and those are very drunk men.”

I shrugged.

Caleb looked like a ball of hot energy and he was making me nervous.

“I’m not quitting,” I said putting my hands on my hips. “I have to work. Not all of us have rich parents and trust funds to see us through life.”

His face became white. He hated for anyone to mention the fact that he was loaded, least of all me. He walked out of the store without a goodbye. I threw a pen at the door, wishing he was still there so it could hit him on the head.

Later that night, when I was locking up, I saw his car in the lot.

I walked up to the driver’s side window and tapped on the glass with my keys.

“What are you doing here?” I said when he rolled down the window.

He shrugged.

Annoyed, I walked away without asking him anything else.

From then on, anytime I worked, Caleb’s car was parked in the lot when I left. We never acknowledged each other in the parking lot, and we never spoke about it during our regular relationship hours. But at midnight, he was always there, making sure I was safe. I liked it.

It took me a while to get used to Caleb’s vast popularity. Maybe five people on campus knew my name, but his was a name that was engraved on brass plaques in the school’s gymnasium.

“I feel like I’m dating a celebrity,” I said, when we were out to dinner one night and a couple of girls waved to him from the next table. He rolled his eyes and played it off like I was being dramatic. But, my jealousy weaseled its way into my mind every time some bimbo paid him homage.

Those girls had no regard for the fact that he was my boyfriend. They were waiting for the chance to pounce on him—just like I had.

And then there was the sex issue. We hadn’t gone that far. Cammie quizzed me nightly on just how far our make-out sessions went.

“We just kiss,” I told her for the umpteenth time. We were both in our beds, with the lights out and Cammie was sucking on a lollipop, making wet, slurping noises.

“You need to brush your teeth when you’re done with that.”

“And he never tries to do more?” she asked ignoring me.

“I don’t want him to.”

“Olivia, just looking at that man makes me want to have sex and I’m sure ninety nine percent of the female student body agrees with me. What’s your issue? Wait! Were you molested?”

She pronounced it “mo-lested.” I rolled my eyes.

“No, shut up. I just don’t want to. Why do I have to be a product of sexual assault because I’m not jumping into bed with him?”

“Hellooo, Caleb is a man. He wants to have sex and if you’re not giving it to him, he’ll find it somewhere else.”

I rolled over and refused to say anything more. What did Camadora know anyway? Weren’t freshman infamous for being stupid and slutty? Wasn’t my father famous for ‘finding it somewhere else’?

No. I wasn’t going to use my father as an excuse to lose Caleb again. Caleb was faithful, attentive, and he had never pushed me to do more than kiss, because he respected me. I remembered the last time we kissed. It had been in his room, lying on his bed. His whole body had felt tense, like he was wound up and ready to spring loose. What if he was using every ounce of self-control when he was with me? The word ‘cock tease’ sprung to mind and I crept further under my covers in shame.

It wasn’t that I didn’t think about ha**g s*x with him. I thought about it all the time. But, thinking and doing were two different things. I wasn’t ready and I didn’t know why.

Laura Hilberson was found the same week Caleb and I messed around for the first time. The police found her wandering the Miami airport, barefoot, and her eyelids hanging low over milky eyes. Laura's story was that a man had abducted her while she was jogging on a trail at a park not two miles from the school. Calling for help, he claimed to have sprained an ankle, and begged for her assistance. He asked to be helped to his car, which was just yonder, over the rise. Reluctantly, Laura agreed. She shouldered his weight and walked the short distance to his white van. The van was an old Astro van with rust eating away the metal like cancer. Hindsight told Laura that the darkly tinted windows and slightly cracked rear door was a flashing warning sign. As she helped him into the driver’s seat, he let his keys slip from his fingers and fall into the grass at Laura’s feet. When she bent to retrieve them, the man lifted a crowbar from the passenger seat and connected it with one powerful motion to Laura’s pretty temple. He then shoved her into the back and drove her to what the papers were calling “The Rapist’s Den.”

Laura remembered being kept in a basement of some sort, for a time she couldn’t determine, because she had been sedated. The man, who she described as “shy,” used her for sex and company. Then one day, for no good reason, kissed her on the cheek and dropped her off at the airport. She told police his name was Devon. Laura Hilberson had been missing for six months.

While Laura was lying in a hospital bed being questioned by police, Caleb and I were at a charity auction that most seniors in his fraternity were required to attend. It was one of those fluffy affairs where everyone dresses up in expensive suits and dresses, with waiters circle the room with flutes of champagne. He spotted a group of people who were huddled together in a tight pack.

“I went to high school with them,” he said casually, sliding an olive off of a toothpick with his mouth.

“How many of those girls did you date?” I said eyeing the group. Nearly all of the girls were beautiful enough to be on the cover of a magazine and several of them had greeted Caleb with a sensual familiarity that made my green monster crack his knuckles.

“Why is that important?” he asked and I could see the amusement in his eyes.

“Because, if I made a statement like that you would want to know who I’d been kissing,” I snapped impatiently.

He smiled and obliged, bending his neck to speak softly into my ear.

“Adriana Parsevo,” his voice was so low I had to strain to hear him. I repositioned my ear closer to his lips and shivered when I felt them against my lobe. “She’s in the little silver dress,” I directed my gaze towards a striking girl whose dress didn’t manage to cover even a tenth of her never ending legs. What was it with Caleb and the legs?

“We dated for a while, She was very…experimental,” that last word and the texture of his voice hinted at so much, I felt a surge of jealousy crush my windpipe. Caleb, seemingly enjoying my reaction, continued.

“The girl she’s speaking to, the one drinking the mimosa, is named Kirsten if I recall correctly. She has a birthmark that resembles Africa on the inside of her thigh.”

I blew air hard through my nose and glared at him. He laughed—the type of naughty, sexy, chuckle that stirred the sleeping butterflies in my belly.

“You asked Duchess…”

I pictured him kissing those girls. His fingers tracing their birthmarks and my breath caught in my throat. I hated them and I hated him for liking them.

“Would you like to hear more?” he asked, lips grazing the top of my ear.

“No,” I said surly and I meant it. Asking was a big mistake.

As soon as we got in his car, I pounced on him. I kissed him hard—jumping across the seat and climbing into his lap. He laughed into my mouth knowing that his game had struck a chord and he cupped his hands around my buttocks. I ignored him and kept working intent on proving myself seductive.

Caleb’s mood changed quickly and soon all smiles were gone as we were tangled together in a kiss so intense we were both panting. I thought I was going to die when his fingers lowered the straps of my dress and I felt air on my breasts. Then there was more than air. His hands and his mouth found me and I wondered why I had never done this before. I said something. I don’t know what it was, but my voice seemed to snap him back to reality, because he tore away from me the moment he heard it and held me at arm’s length. I had never done anything as wanton, as daring, and what was kept safely beneath my bra and he had never had to stop at such an early point in foreplay.