2:51 A.M., PST
“Here lies Anna Percy, who died with her virginity intact.” Anna pulled the quilt over her face so that she wouldn’t have to see Ben’s reaction.
“Anna, it’s okay. I told you.” Ben gently tugged the quilt off her face. Propped up on one elbow, he looked down at her. “If you’re not ready—”
“It’s not that I’m not ready. I mean, my body is ready.” She puffed air between her lips. “God, this is going to sound like such a cliché: We just met. And I always imagined that the first time would be … not that this isn’t special, because it is; it’s just …”
Ben smiled tenderly. “The articulate Miss Percy is at a loss for words. Well, that has to count for something.” He kissed Anna on the forehead. “Look, I’m a big boy. I’m not going to spontaneously combust just because we didn’t do what we almost did. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“But when you’re ready, I’m ready.”
“Okay.”
He nodded, waiting a long beat. “Ready now?”
Anna burst out laughing and bopped him with the pillow. He bopped her back, then threw the pillow down to the end of the bed and kissed her softly. “No need for you to get up yet. I’ll go up top and head us back to the marina.”
Ben got up and unselfconsciously put his clothes back on. Anna couldn’t help but admire his body. She watched as he loped up the steps and out of the cabin, then nuzzled under the quilt and pondered what had almost been.
She’d been so sure that this was the boy and the moment. And then, just as push came to shove, so to speak, she’d stopped him. Something in her gut told her this: If Ben was The One, it was worth waiting for, and if it turned out he wasn’t, then she’d be very glad that she hadn’t succumbed to the lust of the moment.
Or was that horribly old-fashioned? Sometimes Anna’s own longing for romantic love embarrassed her. Perhaps it was reading all those nineteenth-century British novels in middle school. After she was supposed to be asleep, she used to sneak a flashlight under the covers and read until her eyes burned with exhaustion. When she fell asleep, she’d dream that she was Elizabeth Bennet, pining for her own Mr. Darcy, convention be damned.
But all that was so passé. None of the girls she knew attached much feeling to love. It was all about “hooking up.” How she felt was probably ridiculous and infantile. It certainly didn’t fit in with her concept of the new, improved Anna. But she couldn’t help it. She’d heard so many horror stories about first sexual experiences, it made her wary.
Her sister, Susan, for example: She’d been in East Hampton at the mansion of a composer who had been deported for importing cocaine from his native Bolivia. The mansion had been left to his ex-wife. The ex-wife often encouraged her teenage son to invite his friends to swim in their pool. Then she’d select a boy for a guided tour of a lot more than her home.
Even at age fourteen, Susan’s drinking problem had already been in full, albeit secret, swing. The divorcée’s bar was always stocked with iced Stoli. Feeling no pain one afternoon, Susan had shed both her bikini and her virginity with one of the boys the divorcée had passed over. In other words, her sister had been the consolation prize.
Recalling that story made Anna want to cry; she made a mental note to call Susan first thing in the morning. Maybe Susan’s horror story had made her even more skittish; she wasn’t sure. As Anna lay there, she had no idea whether or not she’d done the right thing. Part of her wished Ben would come running down the stairs and take her into his arms, whereupon she’d be swept away by a passion she’d be unable to resist. And part of her … well … didn’t.
Anna sank against the pillows and closed her eyes. Up top, she could hear Ben puttering around, swabbing the deck and replacing the tarpaulins he’d removed before. It was such a comfortable bed, the silk sheets, the down comforter, the gentle rocking of the boat. And she was so tired. …
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
Anna opened her eyes. It took her a moment to recall where she was and why. “I guess I fell asleep,” she said groggily. “What time is it?”
“Around three. I hate to wake you, but I’m going to get the car and bring it over the slip. You get dressed; I’ll come back and get you.”
“It won’t take me long to dress,” Anna protested. “I can come with you.”
Ben grinned. “Nah. Take your time. I like to think of you in here, looking like you look right now. Back in a flash.”
Anna got up, washed as best she could in the cabin’s small basin, and quickly dressed. She felt slightly ridiculous as she pulled back on the vinyl pants, silk chemise, and Ben’s tuxedo jacket. She shivered. Ben was right. It had gotten cold. And she didn’t feel like searching for a fleece jacket. She decided to crawl back under the covers and wait for Ben to return with the car.
She awoke with a start. How long had she been asleep?
“Ben?”
No answer.
“Ben?” Louder this time.
Still no answer. She got out of bed and went up top.
“Ben! Where are you?” Up on the deck, she could read her watch. The time made her stomach lurch. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. Ben had departed for the car a little after three. So where was he?
“Ben!” Her voice echoed across the deserted marina.
“Shut the hell up, we’re trying to sleep!” someone bellowed from another boat.
Anna climbed off the Nip-n-Tuck and onto the dock, her heart racing. She jogged along the wooden dock, heading toward the main part of the marina. Where had they parked? Why hadn’t she paid more attention? Thoughts of what could have happened to Ben slammed through her head at breakneck speed. He’d had an accident, hit his head and fallen in the water. He’d been kidnapped. He’d—
She stopped. There was the sign for Joe’s Clam restaurant, with the arrow pointing toward the bar. It was the only sign like it. This was where they had parked. But the area was now deserted. No Maserati convertible. Just black asphalt and two white painted lines that framed the awful truth.
Could everything he’d told her have been a lie, an elaborate game to get into her pants? Or was he just really pissed off—after all the time he’d invested—that she hadn’t put out? Pissed off enough to simply ditch her, all alone at a marina at four o’clock in the morning?
Oh my God. Would he really do something like that?
She didn’t know. She couldn’t think straight.
All she knew was this: Ben was gone.