Page 7 of Open Water
I heard the word and it felt like Ethan had shouted it across the room and pointed at me. A mixture of shame and fear jolted through my chest. I didn't like that.
Ethan noticed the effect it had on me. "Sorry."
"It's okay. It just feels like—"
"I get it."
"But yeah… that."
"It's not comfortable at first. The first time is awkward. You have to talk through it — like, actually talk, not just grunt and hope for the best."
"Sounds romantic."
"It is, actually." He picked at the edge of his napkin. "It works when you're with someone you trust. It's the most vulnerable you'll ever be with another person."
It's exactly what I wanted with Liam.
"And it gets better," he added. "Once you know each other's bodies. Once you stop being scared of it. It goes from awkward and weird to… euphoric bliss."
I smirked. Turning my water glass on the table.
"Have you two talked about it?"
"Yeah… in Boston. We both want to do it, just not sure when."
"You'll know when it's right. And when you get there, just be honest with each other. Tell him what feels good. Tell him what doesn't."
"Thanks," I said. "For being honest about it."
"Always." He picked his burger back up. "Just... buy lube. Really good lube."
I buried my head in my hands and laughed.
"And I'll send you some videos. There's this guy online whose basically the health class we never got."
"Homework?"
"Survival skills. There's a difference." He pointed a fry at me. "Watch them. Both of you. Together, ideally. If you can't talk about it with your clothes on, you're not ready to do it."
That made sense. We ate for a minute. The diner sounds filling the space between us — the grill hissing, country music leaking through the old jukebox.
"There's something else," I said. "My father."
Ethan set down his burger. Wiped his hands. He knew the weight that word carried in my mouth.
"At the reception after the Charles. He found me. Did the whole proud father bit and then he said we need to discuss 'next semester's arrangements.'"
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know. He's planning something and he wants to watch me twist."
"Fucked up."
"That's my father. He waited until I was standing there watching the best thing in my life to remind me that he owns it."
Ethan's expression darkened. "He doesn't own you, Alex."
"He owns Kingswell. He owns every room I walk into before I get there." I pushed a fry through a puddle of ketchup without eating it. "And then there's the texter."
