by K Larsen
Dallas closes my door with a grin. The truck lists when he throws his weight on it to get into my bag before righting itself again. His door creaks when he opens it. He sets the small wrapped gift in the middle of the bench seat and closes his door.
“Well, open it,” I urge.
He tears the paper away slowly, forcing his face to remain impassive but I can see the gratitude he’s trying to hide.
He holds it up. “A tape?”
“A mix tape,” I say, holding up a finger. “I made it. I picked all the songs and stuff.”
“Wait—what? How?”
“The upstairs closet is jam packed with things from Nora’s family and childhood. I found an old stereo with two tape decks. So before work, since Eve and I weren’t speaking,” I sigh, “I Googled how to make a mix tape. It’s really easy actually. I started it after school, brought it to work with me to record some more there and managed to finish it after you dropped me off.”
“No wonder you’re tired, did you sleep at all after I dropped you at home?”
I shrug. “No. I had to pack, and make that,” I say, lifting my chin at the tape.
Dallas stares at me in a way that makes my very soul feel pinned to the seat.
“You’re amazing, Charlotte.” My given name on his tongue sounds different from anyone else who has ever uttered it to me. It doesn’t sound formal or stiff or like I’m in trouble. It slides out of his mouth and into the air in the most seductive way and I like that he calls me something different from the rest. “I can’t wait to play it.”
“Put it in then. Let’s start this adventure off right,” I say.
It's quarter past four in the morning as we cut through the town hand-in-hand in the cab of his truck. We run a red light singing “I Don’t Care.” The wind from the open windows whips my hair around like a hurricane. A single passing car honks at our recklessness making us both laugh uncontrollably. By the time we reach the edge of town though, a comfortable silence hangs in the air between us. It feels serious, like we’re on the cusp of something untouchable.
We stop and have to decide what comes next. It’s an open road and we don’t know what lies ahead, but it feels like this is it. He takes my hand in his and squeezes. The electric charge hanging in the air between us is palpable. He grins.
“Which way?” Left will take us south; and right, north. My brain chants north, north, north.
“North,” I say.
“Whatever the lady wants.” He beams at me. I nod. He’s like a bullet in my heart.
The white stripes on the road blur and ease my mind as the car speeds down the highway. I’ve fallen asleep, soundly, in the passenger seat twice now, and twice now I’ve apologized for being a cruddy co-pilot when I wake, but Dallas doesn’t seem to mind. Dallas sits, hands on the wheel and his eyes light up like a hundred stars when he catches sight of me watching him. I pull my journal from its spot at my feet and detach the pen from its binding.
Dallas. Is. Everything. Guns blazing, he’s ridden into my life like Jesse James and stole my heart with eyes that can bring me to my knees. A rebel cowboy who swooped in, laid claim to me, and filled my soul with life. He rages through my veins like wildfire. We’re outlaws, just us against the world. It’s a spine-chilling feeling. Like we’re going to burn out violently. The idea of us incinerating each other’s hearts through such ardor is strangely comforting. Like we’re too substantial and fearless for this world. Like we’re destined for something just out of reach.
Maybe it’s just teenage hormones. Angst at its best. A silly girl’s obsession. Whatever it is, I don’t care.
I ache for more of it.
“What are you writing?” he asks craning his neck to see better while still attempting to drive. I shut the journal with a thick slapping sound.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, come on,” he pleads, and gives me an over-exaggerated pout.
“It’s my journal. It’s private,” I say with more sternness than I mean.
He holds a hand up off the wheel in mock self-defense. “Okay, okay. It was just a question.”
My stomach knots in displeasure. I don’t want to upset him. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just grumpy.”
“You seemed fine earlier. I had no idea the princess needed a solid eight hours of sleep to be nice.”
I bark out a laugh. “More like ten hours. I was riding a second wind this morning. I’ve crashed, but we’re teenagers, isn’t it expected of us to spend most of our time sleeping, how are you not tired?”
He shrugs. “I have problems sleeping. I don’t need much to function.”
Looking out the window I notice we’re not on the highway anymore. The road weaves through copses of trees, the yellow lines faded down the center.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know. Near Gunter, I think. We need gas.”
I can feel the world rumble beneath my feet. We drive through lonely streets to find a gas station. Two kids in a beat up truck. We’re nowhere but it feels like somewhere. It’s exhilarating. Dallas promises me a big breakfast when my stomach growls so loudly it’s embarrassing. He turns up the radio, a smile playing on his lips, and starts singing. It’s a good song to sing to.
We serenade the streets as we cruise down them.
Him and me against the world.
15
Charlotte
Turns out Gunter is a rundown, depressing map-dot kind of town. But the saving grace is that while Dallas pumped gas, I happened upon a flyer on the back of the bathroom stall door that has me all sorts of fired up despite my eyes burning from lack of sleep. I check my reflection in the scratched fake mirror that looks like it’s seen the inside of a prison cell and am horrified. The mascara I put on before sneaking out has smudged under my eyes just enough that it gives me that walking-death kinda look and my hair is a tangled mess. I quickly wipe the smeared mascara away and run my fingers through my hair before plaiting it, and heading back to the truck.
I’m waving the flyer in front of me with the excitement of a five-year-old on Christmas morning as I cut through the parking lot.
“Look!” I shove the paper toward him.
Dallas widens his eyes. “Looks like you’ve hit your second wind.” He takes the flyer from me with a smile.
“Huh?” I ask. He only shakes his head at me while he reads.
“A fair?”
“Yes! I love fairs! And it’s like, right near the beach so we should totally go and do rides and eat fried dough and things.”
He turns his wide-eyed expression to the gas pump. “You need a nap.”
“No way, I need the fair.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Can we do both? I mean, fairs are cooler at night when the lights come on, right?”
I clap my hands and bounce in my spot. Our first stop is going to be glorious.
“Yes, yes they are.” Dallas’s eyes are fixated on my chest. I stop bouncing, suddenly very attentive of the tank top I’m wearing, and the way my body moves.
“Charlotte, you’re killing me,” he groans.
A grin slides into place along with a blush. “So, what’s the plan for the next ten hours?”
“I need food. You hungry?”
“You wanna eat for ten hours?” I laugh.
He scoops me up, an arm under my knees and one behind my back and says, “Eat. Sleep. Fair. In that order.”
He puts me in my seat. I am unable to stop grinning at him. “Okay.”
We’re parked off a side road, sort of pulled in just past the trees—out of the way of other cars and hopefully people. Dallas has a thick blanket spread out over the bed of the truck, two pillows and a lighter blanket to get under. Not that we’ll need that, it has to be in the eighties today and the humidity is high enough that little beads of sweat coat the back of my neck beneath my braid.
“Good enough,” he says, and wipes his hands on his jeans. Sitting on the tailgate, he unlaces his boots and pulls them off while I sort of stand there just twiddling my th
umbs. I’ve shared a bed with exactly three people—that I can remember. One being my sister. One, Nora, when she read to me at night, and the last being Holden. I don’t recall my mother or my father ever crawling into bed with me. I can’t even remember if Nana did. But Holden, he only laid in bed with me when I was sick. The few times I was ill he barely left my side. He’d whisper to me in my fever-induced sleep, wipe my neck and forehead with cool, wet cloths and feed me. Besides him, I’ve never slept with a man and my stomach feels like creepy crawlies are invading.
Dallas pats the tailgate next to him. I stare at the two pillows side by side six feet from him. He glances behind him, no doubt expecting to see the boogeyman himself judging by the way my face feels scrunched up.
“It’s no different than the movie in the park, City. We’re just going to lie back, stare up at the sky and hopefully sleep a little.”
The breath caught in my lungs releases along with a nervous giggle.
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like I just ripped off all my clothes and asked you to do the same.”
“I don’t know,” I answer. He pats the truck bed next to him again before scooting his way toward the pillows and lying down. For a moment I take it all in. Dallas, on his back, hands folded behind his head, no boots, the sun filtering through the leaves leaving little sunshine patterns on him.
I hoist myself onto the gate and toe off my sneakers before crawling up next to Dallas. I lie next to him, far enough that we’re not pressed against each other but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. His head lolls to the side, one hand pulling out from underneath, his fingers intertwining as they find mine—connecting us.
“There are so many things I dream of doing to you, Charlotte, but I won’t until you ask me to.”
My heart thuds painfully against my ribcage. I cross my legs at the ankles and squeeze his hand. To say I haven’t dreamed of what it would be like to be with Dallas would be a lie. I’ve imagined what his hands would do to me, what his lips would feel like on my exposed skin. I’ve wondered what kind of sensation the weight of him on top of me would evoke. He groans.
“Your brain is working overtime. I can practically see its movements.” He rolls onto his side and cups my cheek. “And this blush,” he says, his voice low and sort of gritty-sounding, as he brushes his thumb back and forth over the apple of my cheek. “It makes me think you’re thinking naughty things.”
Air rushes out between my lips before I can close my gaping jaw. My skin prickles where his fingers gently massage my neck and it makes my nipples feel tight and electric. He angles his face closer and my body mimics his. Neither of us moves, our faces just hovering barely an inch apart. I wet my lips. A low deep sound bubbles out of him. He moves slightly, just enough to connect us. His lips on mine, soft and tender and moving deliciously slow.
Dallas takes his time tasting me, exploring in great detail my mouth, followed by my jaw and neck. His hands move from my neck and shoulder, lower, and my breath catches in my throat at the sensation of his fingers, his palm under my tank top at my hip. It slithers deliciously in an upward creep until it rests splayed across my ribs.
“Breathe, City,” he murmurs against my neck. His breath dances along my skin making me shiver. I exhale and pull at the hem of his shirt. He’s too far, but so close. I never want his lips to leave my neck or collarbone ever again. I slide my hand under his tee shirt. I don’t know what I’m doing so I just feel my way around. He’s all hard, sinewy, and smooth skin. I want to see him but I don’t dare move in fear that this magic will be over. I squeeze his side, pulling, and he scoots closer. My hand brushes up and down his side and back, his muscles coiling and releasing as my fingers move over them.
He’s worked his way back to my lips, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth in a delicate dance with mine. I swing a leg over his hip. I don’t know why, I just know my body naturally decided that was what should happen next. When he thrusts his hips forward I still, completely taken by the sensation of it all. His hips keep moving, rubbing between my legs. We’re not kissing anymore, just panting in sync, and staring into each other’s eyes. I feel like I might explode.
My entire body begins to function without me directing it. My hips moving in time with his, wriggling almost. My chest pushing against his. My belly clenches and I feel like I’m filled with fire. The heat spreads from low in my gut right up through my breasts. It feels frantic and explosive. The sun streams between branches and leaves in small narrow beams all around Dallas, like a ring straight from the heavens. He’s on top of me, moving. Always moving. The friction of our clothes heavenly and intrusive. And I’m clutching his back, holding on for dear life when a shudder so fierce it shocks me, rips through my body. I struggle to catch my breath and go limp on Dallas’s arm beneath my shoulders. His movements grow jerky, and then a little puff of air tears through his lips and he stills. He’s smiling, and I think I am too. I’m not entirely sure though, my face feels numb. Every inch of me feels numb in fact. I think maybe I’ve been reduced to skin and blood, and that my bones instantaneously melted at some point.
His arm slides out from under me, letting me down on the ridged bed of the truck. He hovers above me in a push-up pose before dipping down—I watch his biceps flex with the effort—and kisses me.
“That was incredible. Are you okay?” he asks.
My mouth can’t form words, so I nod. “I like this smile,” he says, thumbing my bottom lip. He quickly dips his hand into the tub closest, and before I can wipe the smile off my face, snaps a picture of me. “I’ll be right back.”
The innocent girl in me wonders if that was sex. The sophisticated sixteen-year-old knows it wasn’t. We are both still clothed. Both parts of me revel at my very first orgasm.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“To clean up.”
I stare blankly at him. I know the mechanics of all this—I do. I’ve read about it and learned about it and been taught it in Health class, but my mind is mush and drawing a blank. “Charlotte,” he says, inching toward the tailgate. “I came.” Hearing that out loud makes my cheeks flame red and my eyes well with tears. Thank God Dallas has already turned away to pull on his boots. Embarrassment loud and feisty sweeps through me. With the back of my hand I wipe the traitorous over-emotional tears from my eyes.
It’s a little slick between my thighs, and I realize that I must have too. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that women come too—maybe because it’s always talked about—men coming. Especially in the romantic books I read. But a woman’s orgasm—the description never really defines what coming looks like—just that it happens. Men ejaculate and the word alone provides quite the mental image, but women… we orgasm, and until now, I didn’t really know what that entailed. Just that it felt good. On that note, I decide I should clean up as well.
I hop down from the truck in my bare feet, pulling a paper towel from the roll in the open tub by the edge of the tailgate. Dallas walked into the woods to the left, so I head to the right. Behind a tree wide enough to hide me, I unbutton my pants and jab the paper towel down my panties and wipe, hoping that Dallas doesn’t magically appear. God, how mortifying would that be? I crumple the paper towel up in my fist and discreetly carry it back to the truck. Dallas is already back in bed. I toss the offending wipe into the plastic bag in the front seat for trash and join him.
He extends an arm out as I crawl up next to him, inviting me to snuggle him. I rest my head on his chest and let the warm pre-summer breeze and the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling fill me up.
“Are you really okay, Charlotte?” he whispers.
“I’m really okay. Like—really.”
His chest heaves with a chuckle, making my head bounce up and down. I feel positively relaxed and at ease. I yawn and make myself comfortable. My eyes already heavy, Dallas’s fingers grazing up and down my back lull me to sleep.
16
Charlotte
Holy poo! Look at this place!” My excitement has gotten the better of me. It’s been so long since I’ve been to a fair, and this fair is huge and on the beach.
“Poo? Really? There isn’t an adult to rat you out in sight and you go with poo?” he says.
“What can I say, I’m a lady.”
Dallas laughs and tugs me toward one of those roller coasters that has loop-de-loops.
I shake my head at him.
“No. Nope. I don’t do upside down. I’ll do all the other rides but not that one.”
“City, live a little. I’ll be sitting right next to you.” He keeps moving us toward it.
“What does that matter? Honestly. If I fall out are you going to catch me and hold on to me while the ride just blasts through until the end?”
He chuckles and makes a face at me.
“We’re doing it,” he says.
I dig my feet into the ground to slow him. “We only have, like, twenty tickets. That’s only four rides total. Let’s not waste it on one that I will hate.”
He stops, cocks his head at me, and then scoops me into his arms.
“If I have to strap you in myself, we’re doing this. You will love it. Have faith.”
Faith. I almost snort at the word. Faith is in short order in my life. Faith doesn’t get things done, it doesn’t solve problems and it certainly doesn’t diminish anxiety. With my arms around Dallas’s neck, I regard him. His face is set in stone. He’s serious about this ride. Almost as if he knew I wouldn’t want to and was prepared to get me on it. But for what? What is the end game for him?
I suck in a deep breath and steel myself. I’m going to prove to him that faith has nothing to do with anything.
“Fine.” He sets me on my feet at the end of the line for the ride. “I’ll do it, but you have to be prepared for my screams and tears during and afterward.”
“They’ll be screams of excitement and tears of adrenaline.”