One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,30

says.

“Thank you,” I say, and run quickly to my bag to fish out a tip.

“Have a good night,” the porter says, and closes the door behind him.

Jess and I stand together awkwardly. There really isn't space to be in the room with the beds down.

“Looks like the game is over,” Jess says, and nods at the Skittles. They've all been grouped into one pile.

“It's all right,” I say. “I would've won them all eventually anyway.”

“Probably,” Jess agrees. He scoops them into his hand. “Are you planning on eating these?”

I shake my head. “Not very hygienic.”

“Right.” Jess looks around for a place to put them, and ends up dumping them into his empty bag of peanuts. “Do you want to go brush first?”

“Sure,” I say. I pull my toothbrush and toothpaste out of my bag—yes, I'm one of those obsessive people that brush three times a day. Or I usually am, anyway. It's been kind of hard to manage these past few days. “I'll be right back.”

After waiting several minutes, it's finally my turn to use the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. I don't exactly look my best. I haven't blow-dried my hair, I'm not wearing any makeup, and my clothes are…never mind. Their impromptu laundering in The Golden Cicada's shower didn't improve things as much as I'd have liked. At least I can make sure my breath is fresh.

As I sit on the bottom bunk waiting for Jess to come back from his turn in the bathroom, I twist my fingers in the sheets nervously. Which is ridiculous, because it's not like this is the first time Jess and I have shared a room. We have essentially spent the last fifty-six hours in each other's company, so if we're not comfortable with each other at this point…well. And really, what do I have to be nervous about?

Oh, who am I kidding? Our…friendship, I guess, has taken a different turn. There's this new vibe, and of course it's making me nervous. And now we're going to be sleeping in the same room…and I'm not even sure what I mean by that. Are we going to be sleeping together, or sleeping together?

I twist my fingers deeper into the sheets. My inexperience with guys is pretty…extensive. We're talking inexperience the size of Alaska. There was that time I made out with the son of some business associate of my father's. That was pretty fun. But the time before that was with the paperboy I dragged upstairs for reasons I now can't quite remember (I think I was pissed off about something, though I'm not sure why I thought rolling around in bed with the pimply paperboy was a clever form of revenge). That wasn't that much fun.

And that about sums it up. Only Julia knows how very wide and deep my inexperience runs. The other girls at school (including Julia, come to think of it) have managed to get around whatever restrictions their parents may or may not have placed on them. I'm sure I could have too, I just never wanted to. But after the thing with Thom Derrek, I kind of feel like…like maybe I'd like to kind of take back control of that part of myself.

Jess comes back in, and I jump. “So you're taking the bottom bunk, then?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” I say. How does one get this kind of thing started? “Are you…sleepy?”

Jess shrugs. “Not really. But it's tough to do anything with these down,” he says, gripping the overhead bunk. He sits down next to me and begins taking off his shoes.

“Right,” I say. “Not a lot of options left. With what to do with our time.” I have no idea what I'm saying.

Jess reaches down to shove his sneakers under my bunk, and I kick off my sandals.

“Jess?” I say.

“Hmm?” He looks up at me, and I lean down and kiss him. Just like that. I feel him jump in surprise, and then he's relaxing a little, moving closer to me, his arm reaching around my waist.

And then he's gone. I open my eyes as he stands up quickly, banging his head on the top bunk in the process.

“Ow,” he says, and rubs his forehead.

“Are you okay?” I ask, and reach for his arm. He snatches it away, and I pull back, hurt. “What? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jess says, not looking at me. “I just…” he sighs. “Bee, I don't think this is a good idea.”

The pit of my stomach sinks