4 #2
“Kay.” I don’t bother looking up, listening while he puts his shoes on and leaves, the sound of the heavy front door closing echoing through my apartment.
Worrying my thumbnail between my teeth, I breathe out my frustration, then reach for my beer on the coffee table and chug the rest of it down.
Annoyed, I head to the bathroom and cool my warm skin with a chillingly cold shower, but it doesn’t lessen my frustration.
After, I hop into bed, but don’t bother clearing off the dozens of pillows, choosing to sink into them instead like they’re a pit of quicksand stealing me away from this shitty write-off of a day.
An hour later, I’m still wrestling with expectations, desperate for sleep, when my body finally convinces my brain to shut off. But I’m all too quickly assaulted by my dreams…
Boys get erections. All the time. During tests, breakfast. I have a big brother, so I know this.
But when Mitch stiffens against my backside, I hope it’s not just because I’m a warm body he’s snuggling with in this sleeping bag.
I pray he wouldn’t have the same reaction if it were Jessa De Luca here with him.
My uncontrollable crush on Mitch has grown since my sophomore dance a few months ago. He’d dressed up so nicely with a brand-new haircut and had given me M he’ll be off to Michigan State, and I’ll be stuck in Oakwhite for my last year of high school. The closer he is to leaving, the less I want him to go without knowing how I feel.
Saving my virginity for that special person once seemed like a virtuous idea, but now seems so old-fashioned and plain ridiculous.
Besides, who better to share such an important experience with than the guy who gave me my first kiss?
Sure, it was a forced, spin-the-bottle kiss, but it set my heart on fire, anyway.
He shifts behind me; still hard. Either he’s having a steamy dream or he’s reacting to my body against his. Or maybe this is another meaningless, random teenage erection.
I rub against him once more, this time a bit harder, testing out my theory.
“What are you doing, Max?” he asks, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“What does it feel like I’m doing?”
I hear him exhale, but he keeps still. After a long minute of silence, he asks, “Do you really want this?”
His breath is quick and his heart hammers against my back.
“Yes, I do.”
I turn around in his arms and splay my hands against his bare chest, his muscles tensing beneath my touch.
What girl wouldn’t love a muscular best friend that never sleeps in a shirt?
The warmth of his body spreads through mine, and I push my thigh between his.
“You’re one of my favorite people, Mitch.
I know you’d take a bullet for me, so I want to share this with you. ”
“Share what, exactly?”
“You know what.”
A whoosh of beer-hinted breath hits the top of my head with his long exhale. “Wouldn’t you be better off waiting for someone you’re in love with?”
The words shove against the seam of my shut lips. How I feel about him. But fear holds them back and strangles my throat shut. I’ve never had a friend like him. Someone I could confide in, who protects me and on who I can rely. The prospect of risking it all because of a crush seems so absurd.
“I care for you,” I admit, tracing the line that cuts straight down the middle of his chest.
“But you’re like a sister to me.”
A sister. The words aren’t meant to be hurtful, but they cut deep anyhow. “I know. I trust you more than anyone else.”
“And I trust you, but we can’t do this. Hunter would kill me.”
“And you can’t handle my brother? He’s like a twig next to you.”
“Still, you deserve something special.”
“Enough, Mitch.” Like I’ve done countless times when play-wrestling, I shove him and get him to flip onto his back.
Positioning myself over him, I see his dark eyes widen while a smirk hints at the corner of his lips.
I can tell he’s fighting back that rare and beautiful smile of his.
“Do you or do you not want to have sex with me?”
The faint hint of moonlight casts enough glow into our tent for me to see his eyes brimming with uncertainty, but also interest. I reach for his hands and bring them up to my chest, cupping my breasts, then rock my hips against his, the friction stinging through my pajamas.
Quick puffs of air expand his chest, but he doesn’t stop me. Instead, he runs his thumbs across my achingly hard nipples, and a thin film of sweat builds on my back despite the cool August night.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his brow dipped. “Like, really fucking sure?”
I nod, peeling my T-shirt off, my small breasts desperate for his touch.
He stares at me as if lost. As if… disappointed?
I bring his hands up to my chest again, and his expression fills with awe.