While we were walking along the St. Maarten beach, Lindsay asked me if anyone had ever kissed me. I coughed out a laugh and admitted, no, no one had. She sighed and said I was lucky, which elicited another painful laugh from me. After silence stretched too long, I said, "I would ask when your first kiss was, but honestly, I don't want to know. I'm feeling bitter, and I wouldn't appreciate it."
So it was fortuitous that Jordan flirted with me at the resort's chocolate buffet immediately after we returned.
Lindsay had pointed him out as the cutest guy at the resort that afternoon. She called out to him and carried on a conversation that I mostly observed, wondering when she would finish so we could go to the room. Unwilling to look totally anti-social, I made a few comments, but I internally rolled my eyes when she invited him to meet us later.
I might have been pissed at her extroversion, but I wasn't going to risk hanging out with a hot guy unarmed. I dressed up and painted my eyes darker than usual. It was nothing, nothing, but you know. Just in case.
He did find us, practically running up, begging for our help in escaping a girl who had been following him around during his weekend at the resort. The three of us talked until his friends appeared. Lindsay had already met them, and Jordan moved to sit at the edge of the group next to me. I should mention he was an absolutely delightful asshole. He made horrifically racist and sizeist comments with a grin, and I couldn't help laughing. He was a good ol' boy from Georgia, and I found it easy to fall into the role of being shocked and appalled at the things falling from his lips. "You say the most horrible things," I told him. "I know," he grinned, leaning into my shoulder.
Confident assholes. My weakness.
Everyone else had left the chocolate buffet, and the workers had turned off the spotlights. "Let's go inside to the bar," his friends suggested. Lindsay said she was tired, but I convinced her to go in for just half an hour. Jordan pulled up a semi-circle of chairs and made sure we sat beside each other. He put his knee on my chair so I could press my hand against it if I wanted. I did.
Half an hour came and went, and his friends glanced between us and said they were going upstairs. Lindsay again said she was tired, but I convinced her to stay. I felt dangerous. I wanted--I wanted to give up. Here I was in another country with a cute boy who I was pretty sure wouldn't say no to anything I suggested or allowed. For so long I've loved boys who said no, who said, "oh, but I like her," who put up walls that I couldn't get past. Jordan was wide open, and I desperately wanted to take advantage of that opportunity.
"What's your favorite band?" he asked.
"Mumford and Sons, probably."
"Ugh! You're a hipster!"
"Haha, yeah, I guess I am. I like my men in skinny ties and suspenders."
Jordan grabbed my arm and smiled close. "That's horrible. I would never be caught dead in a skinny tie."
"That's your loss," I grinned.
"I'm going to bed," Lindsay said.
I could already picture what would happen if she left us alone. A new story, one I would probably regret. But at least I would finally have an answer to the question, "Has anyone ever kissed you?" I would look back on whatever happened with sadness and guilt and a deep satisfaction.
"I'll go up with you," I told Lindsay.
Jordan leaned in again and said, "I'd really like for you to stay here with me a little longer. I'm leaving in the morning."
Well. I smiled and said as meaningfully as I could, "I would really like that, too." I turned to Lindsay. "Alright, I'm ready."
We went upstairs. I washed the makeup off my face and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. I said goodnight, slid under the covers, and turned off the light. I stayed awake for over an hour regretting my decision. I could still go back down. I could find him again. I could have my secret, and I would hate myself for a while, but I would feel desired and complete in a way I am increasingly desperate to experience.
It's hell, sometimes, fighting to hold onto hope.
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