Boy on a Train: The All American Boy Series Read online

  I created a Google doc with links for fun things I knew she’d like—classic sights and special restaurants. Eventually, I had a working plan to spoil her with everything she’d ever wanted.

  That was the easy task on my to-do list.

  But I had another one.

  I checked the time on my laptop. Still a few minutes before dinner.

  That peck on her lips? Not enough. But I didn’t know what I was doing in the bedroom. At all.

  Which was my deep dark secret.

  It embarrassed me and was another reason why I’d put off touching Audrey. For years, I’d paid attention only to her, which meant I hadn’t fooled around with anyone else. I’d only ever kissed other girls in junior high, so I’d had a long dry spell. Very long.

  I was a virgin.

  Pathetic.

  I needed sex education. Sure, Mrs. Sanchez’s Health class gave me basic information, and my parents were never shy about answering questions. But I didn’t want answers to the mechanics of how to have sex. I wanted answers of how to have good sex. How to make it amazing for her.

  I’d pay a lot of money for a how-to guide for being the best in bed. Something that would avoid trial and error. Audrey didn’t deserve me fumbling. I wanted confidence. And to take care of her. And to, well, be a total sex god.

  The trouble was, I had no idea how to do that.

  Even worse, I needed to start with the basics, because my kissing technique needed work. Today being a classic example. So, I had some research to do. But where?

  The way I saw it, my choices sucked.

  Choice one, I could watch porn. But it was unlikely to tell me the truth, and from what I’d seen, I didn’t think Audrey had a big-dick nipple-clamp fake-secretary kink. Or whatever.

  Although if she did, that would be interesting.

  Setting aside that digression …

  Choice two, I could ask Bert and Perry. Ditto as to the problem of them not telling me the truth. Oh, they’d get around to it eventually after telling me that I had to suck her toes first or something. Assholes. Same for asking friends at school, but they were a worse choice since I didn’t trust them not to blab to everyone that I was a virgin. So, no.

  Or choice three, I could ask the internet. There had to be some websites teaching guys how to do this right. Right?

  Information was just the first problem, though. Because once I had said info, how did I put it to use? I couldn’t practice on anyone but Audrey, which was inconvenient when I wanted her to be the object of my sex godliness.

  An itchy feeling crawled on my skin. I had to figure this out. I had to be the best at this. For her.

  “Dinner! Tate!”

  “Coming!” I called. Then I snickered.

  I hoped I’d be coming soon enough.

  After dinner, I returned to searching on my laptop, hoping to find resources to help me not be a virgin.

  To be clear, I realize I can’t lose my virginity on the internet—I needed another person, not my own hand.

  Much to my not-surprise, the internet didn’t want to help me. Either the articles came straight from health class, scaring the fuck out of me about pregnancy and STDs—not the way to entice you to get your sexy on with your would-be girlfriend—or they were clickbait that told me nothing. Like, 25 Ways for Her to Give You Good Head. Or Sixteen Places to Fuck Outside before You Die.

  These how-to articles were geared more toward women than men. Sexism, much? They weren’t at all for beginners like me.

  Okay, maybe I copied the link to that second one to our Google doc.

  Was it stupid that I wanted to make love to Audrey? I wanted her to feel sexy and loved and to know how I felt and—hell—to come. I wanted to find the female orgasm. Was that too much to ask?

  After a few more internet searches, I gave up. It was late, and we had school tomorrow, but that didn’t stop me from seeing what was up with my favorite porn site.

  My cursor hovered over a thumbnail featuring an actress with long, curly auburn hair and slim pale legs. I clicked on it and found the post with the video. She resembled a certain someone I was in love with.

  Shoving down my boxers and reclining in bed, laptop next to me, I knew how I’d be ending tonight’s research.

  But when it came to getting my sexy on for real, I just wished I knew what I was doing.

  So it could be special for her.

  Three

  Popcorn and Pork Chops

  Audrey

  Ever since I met him, talking with Tate had always been as easy as petting a dog—both he and I liked it, and we had no incentive to stop.

  It wasn’t easy today.

  Right now, the last period before lunch, the handsome guy occupied the desk behind me in English, pen in hand, taking up too much space compared to what he’d been given. Tate’s long legs extended into the aisle on either side and crowded up close to me, feet in black Chuck Taylors under his dark jeans. He could hook his feet on the metal chair legs and pull me to him. But he didn’t have to touch me or make a move to affect me.

  I could feel him. He wasn’t doing anything except sitting behind me while the teacher droned on, but I sensed his presence, his eyes on me like he’d caught me in an invisible woven filament net and was reeling me in.

  Because now I knew. I knew something was up with him, or rather, between him and me.

  He kissed me.

  That meant he wanted to be more than friends. I wanted to be more than friends. We secretly agreed.

  I think.

  No, I knew. He wouldn’t have kissed me otherwise. Tate didn’t see me as only his friend.

  Hallelujah.

  But this knowledge made me flustered.

  Because Tate was watching me.

  I didn’t know what to do with my hands, my body, my thoughts. I did my best to sit still, but even that felt unnatural. The kiss magnified the significance of every moment.

  Each move I made was studied, like an actor on stage. I felt overly self-conscious. The simplest of actions required more thought than ever before—tucking my pleated skirt under myself as I sat, sliding my bag under my chair, picking up my pen, raising my hand. I did my best to participate like always, although my thoughts on The Handmaid’s Tale were on the fritz.

  I needed to talk to him.

  When he picked me up this morning in the MLR, I’d run out and opened the passenger door before he could turn off the engine and come up to our front door, which he’d do if I wasn’t waiting for him, because he was a charming gentleman. I took a deep breath and clambered into the cab, not knowing what to expect.

  What I received was his usual crooked smile and an iced latte with three sugars and a dash of cinnamon. “Morning. Got you this.”

  “Thank you.” Did I lean over and kiss him? Did I say something? Help. “How early did you get up to get this?”

  “It’s no biggie,” he said as always. He never answered my questions about the lengths he went to for my gifts, but he had to budget time for getting himself ready, waiting in line at the coffee shop, driving to my house, and still making it to school on time.

  Again, why has some girl not snapped him up? He’s incredible.

  Then my skin tingled.

  It was me. I was the girl in the process of snapping him up, which made this whole day different than any that had come before.

  I wanted to climb into his lap. But with no clues from him that anything was different, I behaved as usual, pretending there’d been no kiss. I yawned and smiled and sat in the passenger seat of the MLR about a mile from him at the wheel, drinking my iced coffee, lost in my thoughts.

  The ride to school was quieter than normal, although we were often less than animated first thing in the morning. He played our school playlist—songs the exact length of the drive to school, four and a half minutes.

  It had taken us months to create the playlist, doing our best to get the songs down to the second, so we didn’t spend any extra time sitting in the car for a song
to finish or starting a new one that we wouldn’t hear until after school.

  A dumb game, sure, but it was the kind of thing he and I liked to do. Today was “Born this Way,” although that needed ten more seconds to make it long enough. Tate knew this, so he started Lady Gaga ten seconds into the drive.

  After bopping along, we’d arrived at school and split for our individual classes.

  But now? It was almost lunch, which we always shared.

  I didn’t want this to be awkward. I just wanted him to be mine.

  Tate wasn’t the first boy I’d ever kissed. I’d kissed Court Thompson on a dare at a party, and I’d been to a few dances with boys besides Tate in my freshman and sophomore years. But after we started hanging out in earnest, it became automatic that he’d take me to homecoming or prom. As friends.

  No wonder everyone thought we were dating. From the outside world it seemed like we were. I didn’t want to broadcast that our first kiss had been only yesterday.

  But I had to sort this out.

  The bell rang, and we walked outside to the picnic tables. No cafeteria food for us. Tate’s mom always made us a catered lunch. Today it was cold noodles in these adorable takeout boxes and spring rolls with dipping sauce. Being with Tate meant causing a healthy dose of lunch-envy in others. Not that I minded. It was yummy, and his mom was the best.

  After we sat down and started eating, he asked, “How was math?”

  As if this were a normal day.

  “It was fine,” I started, and opened my mouth to ask more. Like,

  Why did you kiss me?

  Do you like me like that?

  Can we kiss for real?

  But we were interrupted when Sam came and sat down beside us.

  “Hey, guys! Wanna sign my yearbook?”

  “Sure,” Tate said, suppressing a sigh that only I noticed.

  After we scribbled in Sam’s book, a line formed. No joke. While we signed yearbooks, Jade Lopez sat down on the other side of Tate, too close. I wanted to scratch her eyes out, but I was above that.

  So, I only thought about it.

  Jade’s dark hair lay in neat waves, not all crazy and spirally like mine. And she wore the trendiest things she could find—not my collegiate clothes inspired by Raiders of the Lost Ark and Brideshead Revisited.

  Tate seemed to like what I wore, and he seemed to not want to talk to Jade. He scooted near me so his thigh pressed against mine, and my heart warmed even more for him.

  Like there was any more room in there for him. He already took up my entire heart.

  “Tate, do you want to come over tonight?” Jade asked, squeezing his forearm.

  Was she serious? Tate was mine.

  Maybe.

  “No,” he said. “I’m hanging out with my brothers and watching the game.”

  Her hand trailed up his arm. “You could watch it at my house.”

  “No, it’s a thing we all do. I watch it with them.” He reached over and put a hand on my thigh. He’d never done that before.

  I found a secret space in my heart he hadn’t already occupied and shoved him in there.

  “Oh, too bad.” Her bored voice had a wistful undertone.

  What was her game? Asking out my, uh, boyfriend.

  Was he my boyfriend?

  God, I needed to talk to him, but other kids came over, including my best friend Wren Namuang, whose calculating eyes took in how I was plastered to Tate’s side. “Hey, wanna meet me at the diner after school?” I asked.

  “Can’t,” Wren said. “I’ve got piano. What about Saturday?”

  “Yeah, I can do it then.” I pulled out my phone and texted her from under the table.

  Me: Lots to tell you

  Her phone pinged, and I could see her hands flying under the table. Thankfully, no one paid attention to us as Jade blabbered on about something.

  Wren: Has something changed with you and Tate? He couldn’t keep his hands off the back of your chair in class and now he’s all touchy with you

  Me: He kissed me

  Wren looked down at her phone, then up at me, blinking. She got a wry look on her face and tilted her head while her chestnut eyes evaluated me like I was a puzzle she was trying to figure out. Finally, she texted,

  Wren: He hasn’t before?

  Me: Nope

  Tate turned toward me, a glorious smile on his face. “Hey, are you two texting?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  He laughed. “Okay. You know you’re sitting right there. You could talk.”

  I shrugged, unable to come up with a good excuse.

  “Fine,” he said. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Then my phone pinged.

  Wren: Well, fucking finally

  And she gave me the biggest grin.

  Wren: I’d high five you … but that’s a little obvious

  My fingers ran over the screen of my phone.

  Me: It was just a quick kiss

  Me: My parents were home

  Wren: But you guys have gone out all the time

  Me: That was just as friends

  She shook her head, her fingers moving fast.

  Wren: All those times you’ve been to SF with him, it was just as a friend?

  Me: Yeah. He barely held my hand before

  Wren: What took you guys so long?

  Me: I didn’t even know if he liked me.

  Her hand flew to her hip as she glared at me. Then the message came a moment later.

  Wren: Are you serious? Of course, he likes you. He’s always had the biggest heart-on for you

  I giggled.

  “What?” Tate asked, his forehead on my shoulder.

  I shivered.

  “Nothing,” I said at the same time as Wren.

  Me: Heart-on?

  Wren: That’s him. Also, Jade will die when she finds out he kissed you

  Me: Ugh. Don’t mention that viper. She won’t leave him alone

  Wren: I can see. Don’t worry. He only has eyes for you

  That made me feel better. Wren gathered her bag. “Gotta head to my locker.” She gave Jade evil eyes, blew me a kiss, and took off.

  Yep. That was why she was my best friend.

  Jade left after pouting that Tate wouldn’t do something else with her. I shoveled in two final mouthfuls of noodles and finished lunch. All the interruptions meant I had no chance to talk to Tate about personal stuff until school was over.

  And I was a ball of nerves by the end of the day.

  Two periods later, when the bell rang, I met him outside my class, trying not to wring my hands, and walked with him to his truck.

  “Are you coming over?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He took my Stats book from me. “If that’s okay.”

  “Of course. We need to study for this Government final on Monday.”

  “Cool,” he said, and when we got to the truck, I climbed in, wondering how to bring up that kiss.

  Or—better yet—how to set aside time to kiss some more.

  My dad knew something had changed between Tate and me. That was the only explanation. He kept pacing up and down the hallway past my room. He normally sat in the living room with my mom watching old episodes of The X-Files. But he must have figured us out, because he was jumpy.

  Since we were under surveillance, Tate and I didn’t even try to move near each other. At least, I didn’t try to kiss him, and he didn’t try to kiss me.

  And the tension drove me utterly bananas.

  I’d always known that Tate was a beautiful specimen of a boy. His T-shirt molded to his body today, clinging to his defined biceps and broad chest and filling me with want.

  But with my dad hovering over us, I gave up trying to do anything kissy-kissy and instead focused on homework.

  “Have you started studying for Government?” I asked. We had the same teacher, but in different periods.

  “Yeah, I have, actually. It’s almost as bad as History with how many dates we need to know. I made flash car
ds. Want me to make you a copy?”

  I shook my head. “No, don’t go to that trouble. But we could use them together and study.”

  He nodded and pulled a neat stack of index cards out of his backpack, then removed the rubber band and handed the cards to me. “Quiz me.”

  I read the first one out loud. “When did the Cuban Missile Crisis begin?”

  “October 16, 1962.”

  “Good.” I flipped to the next one. “You’re always good at dates.”

  Tate bit his lip and grinned around it. “Wanna go on one with me?”

  My hands shook, and I dropped all the cards. I breathed, “What?”

  He reached down to pick them up, then peered up at me. “A date. You know, like, go somewhere and do something. Do you want to go on one with me on Sunday? I have family shit tomorrow.”

  His face was adorable, simultaneously earnest and steeling himself for me to reject him.

  “Smooth,” I said, recovering my voice. “Smooth transition. I give it a solid A.”

  “Is that a yes? We can go wherever you want.”

  I nodded and smiled, warmth blooming over my skin. “It’s a yes. I want to go on a date with you.” I couldn’t help but tease him. “Then we really can see if you’re good at dates—”

  “I can only hope—”

  “I meant for Government class.” I winked.

  “Oh,” he said. “The only way I get good at them is to practice.”

  “So you aren’t Wikipedia?”

  “Nope. Want me to quiz you?”

  My dad walked down the hall another time, whistling. I couldn’t tell the tune. Then he ducked his head into my room and offered a large clear plastic bag full to the brim with his drug of choice. “Popcorn?”

  Tate knew the drill. “No, thanks, Chief. My mom expects me for dinner tonight, and I don’t want to ruin my appetite.” He glanced up at my dad, who had a strange expression on his face.

  “Hey, Dad? You okay?”

  “Yep,” Dad said quickly. Too quickly.

  “Okay. Um, I’m going to hang out with Tate on Sunday. That alright?”

  I was eighteen, and I didn’t have to ask, but I also didn’t want to be rude to my parents. I’d also downgraded our date to a hangout, and I could see from Tate’s frown that he noticed.