Read Online Consent by Nancy Ohlin - Free Book Online

weirdly altered light.
    I am a mess right now. Buzzy and tingly, rattled and agitated. Something has changed between Dane and me. I’m not sure what it is, but . . . something.
    We didn’t hug or kiss this afternoon at the café. He barely even touched me. But that moment we shared was more profound, more electric than anything I ever experienced with the inconsequentially few guys from my past. Andy McDermott, who I used to make out with in eighth grade, clothes on, whenever I was bored. Gil Northman, who I dated for a semester sophomore year because he was smart and funny, but whose kisses were all barbed-wire braces and peanut-butter breath. Braden, who I almost lost my virginity to over the summer—not because of love or even lust, but because I thought I should get the experience over with, and he’s an okay person.
    Plum always said that she and I were too good for Eden Grove boys, that we would find our soul mates when we were older and living glamorous, successful lives in some big city.
    What is she going to say when I tell her about today?
    Although what is there to say about today? How can I tell her that nothing happened and everything happened, all at once?
    I’ve gone nearly six blocks before I realize that it’s raining and that my hair and clothes are soaking wet. In fact, I’ve turned down the wrong street—I’m on Lake, which leads to downtown rather than to Plum’s street. Are my feet retracing the way to Café Tintoretto?
    Part of me wants never to see him again, because. And thereis the Juilliard business too, which absolutely can’t happen.
    Another part of me wants to fall into his arms right this second. Because isn’t this how two people start? A spark of attraction, a shared passion, and then one thing leads to another . . . ?
    But we aren’t just “two people.” Also, I wonder how old he is.
    This is all very complicated and confusing.
    Headlights glimmer at me through the rain. A car pulls up to the curb and stops. The driver’s-side door opens, and a man gets out. For a brief, wild moment I think that it’s Dane. He has followed me to explain, to console me, to confess his feelings. . . .
    No, not Dane.
    The man circles around to the passenger side door and opens it. He holds up an umbrella as a woman gets out and teeters on high heels. He catches her in his arms, and they laugh. He starts to kiss her on the forehead, but she tips her mouth up to meet his, and they kiss for real.
    Arm in arm, they cross the street and walk into a restaurant.
    The sight of them makes my heart hurt. They seem to have figured out this relationship thing—this love thing—and right now I feel as though I will never, ever comprehend it. How do people know ? What is it that I feel for Dane, exactly? Is it a dumb crush? Daddy issues? Am I flattered byhis attention? Desperate for someone to encourage my piano playing? Or am I genuinely drawn to his intelligence and talent and kindness?
    Or is love just one big, messy combination of all of the above?

F OURTEEN
    As soon as I knock on the Sorensons’ door, Plum flings it open and pulls me into the hallway. Shakespeare trots up to us, nails clicking against the hardwood floor, and barks dutifully at me.
    â€œShakespeare, be quiet  ! Bea, you didn’t answer my texts. How was your date with Kit Harington?” Plum demands.
    Mr. Sorenson wanders into the hallway, cradling a bowl of popcorn. He is six foot six and towhead-blond, a veritable Nordic god.
    â€œKit Harington? Who had a date with Kit Harington?”
    Plum sighs. “No one, Daddy! It’s just a joke!”
    â€œYes, of course it is. I apologize for my obtusity—or is it obtuseness? Hello there, young Beatrice, how goes the pursuit of truth?”
    I never know quite what he’s talking about; also, he pronounces my name the Italian way, Bee-ah-tree-chay, even thoughI’m