16. Everett
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Everett
THEN
My foot hangs off the edge of my bed, my sock-covered toe occasionally grazing Teeny’s right calf. I’ve reread the same paragraph in my textbook six times, some impertinent detail about the year 1775 and The Battle of Lexington. Teeny, on the other hand, her attention is a little harder to sway. With every brush against her skin, I expect a peek over her shoulder or for her to put her paintbrush down altogether and join me on my bed. But all she does is dip her brush into the small mason jar of water on my desk. Or a quick readjustment of her headphones.
One more sweep against her skin.
“You keep doing that, and I’m going to leave.”
“After lugging your easel and your stool and your paint and brushes here? What a waste of time.”
She gently puts her brush down and swivels on her stool to face me, tugging her earphone out of her ear. “Yeah, but I’d get so much work done if I didn’t have you trying to distract me.”
I sit up and pull at her hand. “Take a break.”
She exhales a deep sigh but gives. “Fifteen minutes, mister.” She starts climbing onto my bed next to me and nuzzles her face into my neck. My entire body turns into Jell-O, and I feel her warm breath and her playful kisses all the way down to the pit of my stomach.
“Fifteen minutes is plenty for what I want to do with you.”
She giggles. “What do you want to do with me?”
“Have you help me memorize, in sequential order, who signed the Declaration of Independence? Eat the last of the cookies and cream ice cream in my freezer?”
“Well, John Hancock was first,” she says, her voice muffled against my skin. “And we can go over the rest over a bowl of ice cream.”
“How did you know that?”
“Everyone knows who signed the Declaration of Independence first.”
“I didn’t know.”
She shrugs, looking at me with a smug smile, and I pinch at her waist, making her squirm.
“Everett!”
“Are you making fun of me?”
I pinch her harder, and she giggles into my chest. She’s flush against me now and while the moment is a playful one, I have this sudden urge to kiss her. And not a quick peck on the cheek, but something deeper and unhurried.
Teeny moves first, hooking her arm around my neck and tugging me closer to her. She kisses me, pushing her chest into mine, and I grab her arm, pressing her hand into the mattress. My thumb runs over the soft skin of her wrist, where her pulse thuds and races. She’s nervous, or anxious. One of those things that makes her heart pound inside her chest.
The way her blood rushes through her, faster when she’s excited and more listless and measured when she’s calm, feels like an all-access pass to her thoughts. And knowing I’m exciting something in her brain, something that elicits this level of enthusiasm, makes me uninhibited.
My body moves over her, pinning her down, and my hand grips her wrist harder. I don’t even realize the low grumble that rattles in my throat, but it cuts through the room and has Teeny pushing her hand into my chest.
“You know, the last time we were in this place, I believe I was a little…”
“Drunk?”
She looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Indisposed?”
I smirk. “Okay.”
“And…I just want to say thank you.”
“For what?” My fingers move a few strands of hair away from her forehead.
“For making the right choice for me,” she says softly.
“Yeah?”
She nods. “I don’t want to say I would’ve regretted it, but I don’t think I was as ready as I thought I was.”
“I’d never pressure you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“I know.” She kisses me, her lips moving gently and carefully. After a thoughtful pause, she looks at me before saying, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She takes a deep breath. A quiet, preliminary pause before she segues into her question. “Have you been with anyone? You know…”
I laugh awkwardly, and my heart suddenly feels like it’s ricocheting off the walls of my chest. “Um, yeah.”
We both sit up, and Teeny draws her knees up to her chin. She peers up at me, the mood now shifted into something more quiet and earnest.
“It was sophomore year,” I tell her. “This girl in my algebra class. We started kind of seeing each other. I think she liked that I played basketball. But then I moved, and we lost touch.”
“So, she was your girlfriend?”
“‘Girlfriend’ is a little strong. More like…‘girl who was a little more than a friend.’”
The silence between us lingers noisily, hard to ignore or snuff.
“Is that…okay?”
Teeny shrugs. “Your past is your past.”
“And I don’t talk to her.”
“Okay.” She smiles at me, her eyes soft and understanding.
I sense a moment of unease. A tight tension she doesn’t feel comfortable with. A change in subject feels good right about now. “You want to tell me about what you’re working on?”
She sighs, letting a small, relieved smile slip, and we both turn to look at the painting. It’s not finished, made obvious by the white patches of the canvas. What’s colored is a blend of blues. Turquoise, navy, sky blue, indigo, periwinkle. “It’s for my show at the gallery. This is my last piece, and I need to have it done just after New Year’s.”
“So, you have a little over a month?”
She nods. “And I feel like I’m kind of losing my creative groove.”
“What are you talking about? It looks almost done.”
Teeny stands from the bed, walking over to the painting. She traces a gentle finger over the drying painting, hovering over it with care. “I’m having trouble getting the right shade of green and blue to mimic the ocean. The darker colors of the deep water and the waves…no matter what I use, I can’t seem to get it the color I want.”
I follow her steps, sidling up behind her and wrapping my arm around her stomach. “It’s beautiful.”
Her fingers thread up my neck and into my hair, guiding my chin to rest on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Can I ask you a favor?”
“Hmm?”
“We have an away game up in Irvine in two weeks. Right before winter break. Can you be there? Maybe bring that big sign with my number on it this time?”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice is soft and light and airy. “As long as you come to my show.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course.” She turns to fully face me, and I cup a hand over her cheek. “I’ll be back from visiting my dad on New Year’s Day.”
“My show’s on the second,” she says, an apologetic look sweeping across her face.
I place a quick peck on her cheek. “I’ll be sure to be back in time.”
“Are you sure?”
“I won’t miss it, Teeny.”
She tilts up on her tiptoes and kisses me, opening her mouth and letting our tongues sweep and tangle. She sighs deeply, and her lips become persistent and urgent. And this time, she doesn’t push me away.
* * *
The game day bustle hasn’t changed, not even as we head into game six. And as we ride a bus on the hour-long drive to Irvine, it’s entirely filled with loud chitter-chatter and the boisterous excitement of pre-game jitters. The bus finally pulls into the parking lot of University High with a loud sigh, and we all file out, a round of cheers following our exit. As soon as my feet hit the parking lot, my eyes scan over the long row of cars, looking for the same maroon Pathfinder Teeny and Josh share.
That’s when I spot her in the parking lot with her hair tied in the same pigtails she had at the first game, but no sign. She’s wearing a hoodie zipped up to her neck, and when she spots me, she bolts into a sprint right into my arms. I lift her, spinning her in a dizzying twirl and she squeals.
“You made it,” I whisper into her ear.
“I did.” I set her back on solid ground and peer over her shoulder.
“So, no sign?”
She smiles smugly. “I have something better.” She takes a step back and swiftly unzips her hoodie. She flashes me with a big sparkly red and gold eight colored with some patterned fabric and puffy paint. Teeny beams at me with a proud smile.
My face lights up too, and I give in to the urge to kiss her. Right there, in front of the entire basketball team, including Teeny’s brother. A loud whoop sounds around us, and Teeny laughs against my face.
“Sounds like we have an audience.”
I stand back, taking in the shirt she’d made herself. Spent time planning and painting and drying. “I can’t believe you did this,” I say softly, still disbelieving of this enormous gesture that makes me feel like I could move mountains.
I’m suddenly shoved forward, a force of brawn pushing me into Teeny. “Stop making out with my sister,” Josh teases. “We have a game to win.”
I lean into Teeny and her face shifts into bliss. Into something so happy, I feel it all the way down to my toes. And my heart feels like it’s going to burst. Like all I ever want in life is to see Teeny like this. Happy and completely elated. “I’ll catch you after the game?”
“Yeah.” Teeny pulls away and lands a soft punch to my arm. “Now go get ’em, tiger.”
My face twists into a grimace. “‘Tiger?’”
“Sport?”
“Ugh,” I respond. “Why is that actually worse?”
“Go, Hayes. Before they have to drag you.”
“I like Hayes,” I tell her, taking a step backward. “Let’s stick with Hayes.”
She rolls her eyes and clamps her teeth on her bottom lip, shoving a hand into my stomach. I throw a wink in her direction, and I feel like I could win this game all by myself. Just me against the whole University High basketball team, fueled by Teeny’s smile.
The entirety of the game—the fast accumulating points, the cheers and buzzers, the fleeting but very noticeable glances at Teeny on the bleachers in the thick of the crowd, the halftime routine—happens in a blur. Next thing I know, the time clock has run out, and the scoreboard is showing Home 81, Visitor 116. By the time I’ve changed in the locker room and walked out into the parking lot, I see Teeny waiting by her car.
“I’ll see you back home,” Josh says in a low voice, patting a hand on my shoulder. He walks past Teeny, never missing an opportunity to annoy his little sister by mussing up her hair. Teeny shoves a hand against his head before he turns to a commotion of guys waiting at a nearby car. With the bus going home only half full, the parking lot is more hectic. Parents and friends picking up some of the guys on the team, waiting to celebrate yet another win. I see Josh walk onto the bus, leaving Teeny all to myself.
“Hey.” I come to a stop in front of Teeny’s car, dropping my duffel bag to the ground.
“Hi.”
“Josh isn’t riding with us?”
She shakes her head. “He said he’d rather take the bus back.”
My smile spreads into the widest grin. “Let’s go.”
The drive back feels like I’m sitting in the passenger seat on a big fluffy cloud. Music blasting on the speakers, all the windows down, Teeny’s now loose hair blowing in the wind, my hand grazing over hers as it rests on the center console between us. We’ve been talking in random tangents, the topics running in different variances, and skipping through different subjects as they pop in our minds like a barrel of bingo number balls. Teeny’s voice grows tired and raspy as the late afternoon transitions into darkness, and it makes her sound all loose and sexy.
Before I know it, we pull up right onto the curb area dividing our homes.
“Thank you,” I tell her, my voice lazy, matching hers, “for coming out today. It really means a lot to me.”
“I had fun.” Her eyelids fall a little heavy when she turns to face me. A contented smile is plastered on her face, and the glow from the dashboard reflects off her eyes, making them shine in a lax and placid way. I unbuckle my seat belt and lean closer to her, cupping her nape as I kiss her. I kiss her deeply, taking my time while pulling the last bits of her energy from her lips. It feels incredible, feeling her mouth on mine. I get small hints of sweet watermelon, most likely the pink gum she’d been chewing since we drove past Carlsbad. I feel her shift her gum in her mouth and my tongue sweeps against hers, searching for more of that taste I can’t get enough of.
My hand starts to travel into her hair, gripping a small fistful at the root, and a soft whimper squeezes from her throat. Her hand hooks around my neck just as a fresh wave of energy bursts through her. I feel it in the way she shifts closer to me, unbuckling her own seat belt to close the space between us. She starts to climb over the center console and positions herself over me, her thighs straddling mine.
“Teeny,” I whisper while my lids fall heavy, just as her nails grate through my scalp. “I love that you wore this.” I give a playful tug at her shirt. “You look so damn cute with my number on you.”
I feel her lips transition into a smile. “You better like it, Hayes. I spent a lot of puffy paint on this baby.”
“Then you should wear it every day so you get your money’s worth.”
A bubbly giggle erupts from her, but I immediately drown it with another kiss. A flood of urgency is there as she presses herself into me. She takes a fistful of my shirt in her hands, bunching it at my neck like she’s trying to claw it off me. My hands find the rough edges of her jeans, meeting the soft skin of her waist, and they trail up and up and up until I feel the clasp of her bra in the middle of her back. Her body stiffens, and she pulls away to look at me. Her eyes are wide, so much swimming in them, and I can’t tell if she’s scared or worried or exhilarated.
“Sorry,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head, brushing off my apology. “Um,” she says, taking large gulps of air like she’s having trouble finding her words and catching her breath at the same time. “I, uh…”
“Hey,” I urge, trying to regain her attention. She runs a distracted hand through her hair, and she fiddles with the collar of my shirt, keeping her gaze away from mine. “Teeny, it’s fine. We can stop.”
She finally looks at me and gives me an appeasing smile. I feel her fingers trail up my neck and trace over my jaw and then my cheek. “No, it’s okay. I was just going to say…”
There’s a long pause, and I worry things may be moving a lot faster than she’s comfortable with. Especially after the last time things got this heated. “I’m listening,” I tell her.
“I was thinking that…I want—I’m ready to…you know…” Her flustered words are cut off when she kisses me, distracting me, or quite possibly herself. “Do other stuff? Besides just kissing and things.”
A worried and uneasy sigh has my chest expanding, followed by a deep scowl of disappointment. “Teeny, I’m not thinking about that. You don’t?—”
“Are you saying that you don’t? That you changed your mind?”
“No, no.” I pause to kiss her, gently pressing my lips to hers in a soothing manner, attempting to snuff those thoughts from her mind. “I mean, I am…”
“Then?”
My throat moves a rough swallow and my jaw tics, searching for the right words for her to understand how I feel. How the conflicting thoughts are causing a struggle, and I’m not sure which side I want to win. “I don’t want you to say that just because you think that’s what I want to hear. I want you to want those things too.”
“I do.”
My thumb runs across her cheek, stroking her soft skin. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “I mean, not right now, but you know, if the opportunity arises…” A shy smile casts over her features. “And I promise I won’t be drunk this time around.”
I laugh before I blow a little bubble with the gum in my mouth, and she gasps, moving her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “When did you get that?”
I watch her blush just as I answer, “When you were a little distracted.”
And we fall into a heap of soft laughs and gentle reassurances as she leans herself into my chest.