Free The Charlotte Chronicles by Jen Frederick Page A

and try to shut out the visual. “Gross, Nate. Really.”
    “Why’s that gross you out? How do you think you were born?”
    “Do you really want to think about your parents having sex?”
    He shrugs. “It’s not like I’m thinking about it every day, but don’t you think that it’s cool that they’re so into each other even after all this time? I mean, yeah, it’s not like I want to watch my dad chase my mom around the living room every night, but it makes me glad that they still work for each other years after they met. Don’t you want that?”
    I do, and I know who I want it with.
    He nudges me over and climbs onto the bed next to me. Plumping the pillow his hand brushes something and it crackles.  Oh no, the condom.  Nate sits up and pulls it out.
    “What’s this” His face looks hard.
    “A condom?”
    “I know, but why do you have it under your pillow?”
    I make a pffft noise. “Why do you think?”
    There’s nothing for me to do but brazen it out.
    “Who gave this to you?” His hand crumples the condom making me worry about the integrity of the rubber.
    Reaching over, I pluck it from his hand and try to smooth it out, a little perturbed he’s jumping to some crazy assumptions and ruining my plans. “I think you ruined it.”
    He takes it from me and throws it across the room. “I didn’t ruin it, and you’re not going to need it.”
    “Geesh, Nathan, you’re as bad as my dad.” I lean up on one elbow to stare at him, acutely conscious that I’m wearing an old snoopy T-shirt and some sweatpants. I get cold really easily these days. I’m unsexy and frail and probably the last thing that Nathan wants. These past weeks the attention he’s given me has probably all been out of pity. Fine then, I’ll use the damn condom with someone else. I drop onto my back and start rifling through all the North Prep guys that might help me out. I’ll ask Nick tomorrow. He’d make a face, but ultimately he’d help me.
    Nathan runs a hand through his hair and falls back on the bed. “It’s not like that.”
    Not like what?  I think. I burst out, “Is it because I’m too thin? My port is too ugly?”
    “Do you really think I’m that shallow?” He looms over me now, his big body like a plank of wood. Stiff, straight, and hard.
    “What is your problem then?” I yell at him.
    He slaps a hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. Sitting up, he drags me over to sit on the edge of the bed, and then he drops to his haunches between my legs. He lays his head sideways so that one cheek rests against my knee. It’s the most intimate position I’ve ever had with a boy, and it’s setting my heart racing. He kisses the scar I got on my knee when I dragged myself over the carpet in the television room, not realizing that Nick had left his Leatherman tool open. I’d cut myself, and then Nick and I were afraid to tell anyone so it got infected and healed badly. Nick got a whooping and so did I.  Nate was mad at both of us for a week and hid Nick’s pocket knife. I’m not sure if Nick has ever gotten his original one back, although one of our dads’ friends gifted him a new one a couple of years ago.
    “You’re beautiful, Charlotte. With your soft hair and your port and your scars, you’re everything I would want in a girl. Don’t you believe differently.” He turns his head again, so I can see his brown velvet eyes staring straight at me.
    I believe.
    He kisses up a little higher, to the top of my thigh. “I love your laugh. Your willingness to put up with the Jackson boys’ shit constantly. Your endless optimism. No one has your spirit.”
    He rises and pushes me backward on the bed so that I’m caged on either side by his muscular arms.  Why, Nate, you haven’t been skipping arm day, have you?  I think ridiculously because I’m nervous and excited and I’m trying not to squeal.
    He is going to kiss me. His face comes closer, and I lick my lips in anticipation. This is it. This