Chapter 43
Forty-Three
I’m amped heading to Jeremy’s party. It’s an unexpected but awesome development.
I was supposed to be on an overnight camping trip with my mom, but she caught a cold and wanted to stay home.
I’m still at her place for the weekend, but free to do my own thing.
She didn’t gripe about me bailing, but she’s not that kind of mother anyway, especially since she still lugs around parental guilt.
I never throw anything about dear old dad in her face, but do I use her remorse to my advantage? Sometimes.
It’s not like I split on her first thing. We caught up and ate dinner, then I fixed her a cup of hot tea. Underneath, all I could think about seeing Donna and my friends, catching a buzz, and blowing off some steam.
It’s close to 10:30 p.m. when I arrive. Jeremy throws some ragers when his folks are out of town, and if the cars lining the block are any indication, he’s got a good one going.
Since I drive a faded blue Pontiac station wagon—a goddamn tuna boat—it requires parking four blocks away and hoofing it back to the party.
I jog the distance, impatient as fuck to get there.
The music hits my ears from a few houses away then deafens once I push through the front door.
When I don’t spot my group inside, I wind my way through the crowd to the backyard.
Spying my buddies near the keg, I snag a foamy beer and join them.
Jeremy’s got everyone laughing about a cop pulling him over and his creative maneuvering to slither out of a ticket.
Lucky bastard—and a politician in the making if ever I saw one.
I half-listen while craning my neck scoping for Donna.
If she doesn’t appear in the next few minutes, I’ll hunt her down.
We’ve been together a year and a half now.
And even though matrimony is the last thing on my mind—my parents are all the proof I need that marriage is for suckers—I can’t deny some murmurs underneath the surface.
I’m in love with her and don’t see that changing.
Maybe it’s the idealistic, idiotic ramblings of first love, but I wonder, with increasing frequency, how far we could take this relationship.
“You seen Donna?” I ask Remy.
“Mm-hmm. Inside.” He tips his head toward the house. “Probably a half-hour ago.”
“Thanks, man.” Glancing at my watch, I go in search of my girlfriend.
People pack the main level—dancing, playing drinking games, or huddled in small groups. Shouts and laughter ring out over the tunes. Sticky liquid suctions my sneakers to the kitchen linoleum as I cross it. Still no sign of her.
I glance at the stairs then make my way up. There are only bedrooms up here, but maybe she’s getting high or holed up with a friend who needs to talk. Maybe we crossed paths or I missed her downstairs.
Doors are shut along the hallway and I sure as fuck don’t want to interrupt anyone getting it on, so I put my ear against the first one and listen before tentatively opening it. It’s empty.
The second room contains a small group snorting blow, and I back out with an apologetic wave.
The third is dark, but enough light filters in that I clearly see two people screwing, the girl’s legs opened wide as a dude goes at it hard. Crap.
I start to quietly shut the door…until I hear it. “It” being Donna’s signature moan followed by, “Yessss! Oh my god, just like that.”
It’s my girlfriend on the bed.
“Fuck me harder.”
Legs spread, skirt hiked up to her waist, cunt on display.
“Harder.”
Getting railed by a guy.
“Yessss.”
Who’s not me.