I held up the glass. There was just a little remaining.
“It’s very good, Mr. Styles.”
“Well, thank God for that,” Evan’s mother said, shaking her head.
“Remember, a child shall lead them,” Mr. Vincent said.
“How much wine do you drink a week?” Mrs. Vincent asked me.
“Oh, not much. A glass or so when it’s appropriate,” I said.
Under the table, Evan felt for my hand and squeezed it. I looked at the big smile on his face.
The adults took over the remaining conversation and direction of the dinner. Occasionally, Mr. Styles would ask me a question. He knew the firm Papa worked for, and I was able to tell them a little about Papa’s life as the son of an Army general. After that, their conversations went from places they had been to politics and then the real-estate situation in the city. We were almost forgotten.
As soon as he could ask for us to be excused, Evan did so.
“You don’t have another bottle of wine hidden in your room, do you?” Mr. Vincent kidded.
“Nothing that good,” Evan replied.
His father laughed, but his mother didn’t.
As soon as we stepped into his room, Evan closed the door, and then he kissed me.
“You were terrific,” he said.
He had his iPod in a speaker base and turned it on. Then he sat on his bed, flipped off his shoes, and lay back with his hands behind his head.
“Take a load off,” he told me.
I sat on the bed.
“So, are you impressed with everything?”
“Mais oui.”
He sat up and swung around so he was lying beside me, looking up at me. He touched my hand and then tightened his grip and pulled me down slowly. We kissed again, his hands moving up to my shoulders and then around to my breasts.
I started to sit up again, looking toward the door.
“Don’t worry about them,” he said. “They’re too into their own stuff to remember we’re even here.”
“Have you ever brought anyone else up here, Evan?”
“By anyone else, you mean female?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “It’s happened,” he said. “Not for dinner, but then again, none of them knew squat about how to taste wine,” he added, smiling, and reached for me again. We kissed, and he moved his hands around my shoulders and down to the back of my dress. I felt him working on the catch and the
zipper. He kissed me on the neck, and as he started to undo my dress, he moved over me. Were we going too fast? How old was Roxy when she first did this with a boy? How old was Mama? As Evan moved his lips softly over my shoulders and then onto my chest, pulling on my dress to lower it, I felt myself tighten. How could we be doing this with his parents and their friends out there? What were they thinking we were doing?
“Relax. Don’t worry,” Evan said, but as soon as he lowered my dress and began to undo my bra, I pushed back.
“We’re going too fast,” I said. It came out like a gasp.
“Too fast? I really like you,” he said, “and I thought you really liked me.”