Sticky Fingers Read Online Free

Holliston during a track meet. That’s when Scott decided to dump Bridget—despite her dramatic, crying apologies, and despite how loopy lovey he was over her—and hook up with Ashley when she needed a prom date to make
her
ex jealous. It was a total revenge thing, he told me once, on both their parts, and probably a stupid thing to do.
    Okay, he definitely slept with Ashley. Bridgetmight’ve had a quickie make-out session with the Holliston Hottie behind the bleachers, but she was way more conservative about the sex stuff than Ashley. Plus, Ashley was a year older than Bridget, and everyone already knew Ashley’d slept with her last boyfriend. Well, her last three boyfriends. (Which I think is icky, but I suppose to each her own.)
    Still, I don’t want to be the ex he someday describes to his buddies as the girl he screwed in his Jetta, saying something like, “I told you about Jetta Jenna. Remember, the girlfriend I had after the girl I screwed as a revenge thing when Bridget hooked up with the Holliston Hottie?”
    Ick.
    I don’t
think
Scott would ever do that, but still. It has to be special. For both of us. No matter what happens in the future.
    “I can get a hotel room,” he says. “I’ve got my credit card with me, and there are a couple places back on Route 9. I think there’s—”
    “We both need to be home in an hour or so.” Wow. Usually he backs right off. We’ve tried totake things slowly since we started going out last year. But if he’s been thinking about getting a hotel room …
    “I don’t want to pressure you, but I think your parents will understand if you’re a little late tonight. You know, since you’re celebrating getting into Harvard.” He runs his hand up under my white T-shirt, then gives me one of his wicked little Scott smiles I know is intended to make me cave in. It worked a few weeks ago, when he convinced me to bail on seventh period (there was a substitute) and go out to a movie to celebrate our one-year anniversary, even though I’d never skipped class before. But this is an entirely different situation.
    “Scott, I want our first time to be … extraordinary.” I reach up to touch his cheek, to make sure he can see my eyes and how serious I am. “Something that’s going to blow our minds. We don’t want to rush just so we can get home and deal with calculus or advanced bio, you know?”
    I want it to be a night where we can just hold each other and talk and do it again and again if we want. Like it’s supposed to be.
    And I definitely don’t want to be doing the deed while my head’s screwed up with guilt because I got into Harvard and he’s stuck waiting months to find out. Even if he does seem like he’s okay with the whole thing.
    “You’re killing me, Jen. I want you so bad, and we’ve waited forever.” His hand starts doing some very interesting things under my shirt, and he lets more of his weight rest on me as he kisses the spot just in front of my ear and whispers, “And you know I can make it special. You know how I feel about you.”
    “I know,” I whisper back. But I wish he’d stop freaking
pushing.
Why don’t guys get that pressure takes the special right out of it, no matter how much fun you’re having? No matter how much you like them?
    His hand slows down. “You said you didn’t have a problem with the whole sex-before-marriage thing. It’s not me, then, is it?”
    I can feel his hipbone rubbing against mine, and he knows I hate that. It hurts. But he doesn’t do anything about it, even when I wiggle a little, which kind of pisses me off.
    He looks up just enough to catch my eye, and his voice has a teasing tone as he adds, “I bet it’s because you got into Harvard and I’m a reject. You’re way too good for me now, and you don’t know how to tell me.”
    “Oh, please! One, you’re going to get into Harvard, and you know it. And two, as much as I really like your car, this isn’t ideal. And neither is a quickie at the