I glanced at the clock. 7:05. Eric should be here any second. Beside the clock was an arrangement of white and yellow daffodils. Eric had surprised me with them a couple days ago. They were holding up nicely despite their container, a plastic bottle sawed in half. Eric’s ingenious idea once he realized they needed a vase. It was a sweet gesture on his part, but a haunting reminder of the flowers I’d hallucinated while sick.
My mind had battled with that moment, trying to reason with it. I’d been sick and exhausted. Todd had hallucinated when he was tired. Of course, he’d gone without sleep for three days, and I… well I had a more terrifying reasoning for my hallucination. Brain tumor.
My heart felt like it dragged in my chest at the thought. I tried to ignore the feeling of impending doom and focus on the current task: Eric would be having Thanksgiving dinner with my family. My parents hadn’t treated him well in the past, and despite the fact that they’d actually invited him over, I feared that they would continue with their rude streak.
Ashley closed her wheeled suitcase. She blew a big pink bubble with her gum and snapped it loudly. “I’ll see ya on Monday, Cassie,” she said with a wicked grin.
I cringed. She used that nickname like a weapon ever since we’d gone to The Jukebox. Just get over it already!
“Have fun,” I said blandly.
“Try to stay out of trouble,” she joked as she headed out the door.
I squeezed my suitcase tight and jerked the zipper closed. The springs of my bed creaked as I flopped to the mattress, anxiously waiting.
Where’s Eric? I checked the clock again. 7:06. Impatient much, Sandy?
I heard voices in the hall. If that wasn’t Eric, I was going to have a coronary. Impatiently, I went to the door and opened it a crack catching sight of Ashley. She stood by the stairs with Eric, rolling her suitcase back and forth, making the wheels squeak obnoxiously.
“With Tom?” Eric asked.
Ashley nodded, glossy lips frowning with discontent, struggling to hide a smirk. “Flirting like a cheap whore. Just thought you should know. If they haven’t hooked up yet, they will.” She gave a little wave and headed down the stairs.
Eric turned for my hall. I leapt away from the door and pretended to check my suitcase. A knock immediately followed at my door, and Eric tapped it open the rest of the way. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t place. Was it worry? Anger? Betrayal? Confusion?
“Ready to go?” he asked, lifting my heavy suitcase from the bed.
I nodded awkwardly and followed hesitantly. I was shocked that Ashley had said those things to him and just dying to know what he was thinking, because he was definitely thinking something. I could see it in his eyes.
Could he honestly think that I had cheated with Tom? Or that I ever would? I may have flirted a bit to get my way with his friend, but I didn’t think it was whore level. It had seemed harmless, but if Ashley thought I was cheating… maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Eric would think it was too.
We got into his car and about twenty minutes into the drive, Eric turned down the radio. “So…” he began slowly. My heart thumped hard. He was mad. He was going to break up with me. He wouldn’t trust me ever again. “I don’t have anything to worry about with you and Tom, right?” he asked with an awkward laugh.
“No,” I answered quickly. His laughter confused me. Maybe he wasn’t angry.
He gave an easy smile. “Good. Ashley was saying some stuff about you. I thought you should know that she’s a little… untrustworthy.”
“Duly noted,” I muttered, annoyed with the girl I’d thought was my friend. Catty little bitch. “But… I may have flirted a little,” I admitted sheepishly.
“Flirting isn’t illegal,” he assured me.
A pang of jealousy stabbed through my gut. “It is if your name is Eric Jansen.”
He smirked with amusement. “I only flirt with you.”
“And the cafeteria ladies,” I accused.
“Saying please and thank you isn’t flirting.”
“It is the way you do it.”
“With a smile?” he challenged playfully, lifting a brow.
“A charming smile. I’ve got the charm of a rat.”
He grinned. “You don’t need charm. You’re cute.”
I snorted dismissively. He was the poster child for all things cute and perfect. By that logic, he should be a complete jerk all the time.
“You’re really not jealous?” I asked incredulously.
“Why should I be? You flirted with Tom. Big deal.”
“What if it wasn’t Tom, but some other guy putting his arm around me or-”
“Wait. He what?” he blurted out with a fierce darting glance in my direction.
“He does that with everyone. It’s nothing.” Eric didn’t say anything. “Right?” I added.
His eyes looked serious as he mentally deliberated.
“Is it?” I asked.
“I guess not. You’re probably right.” He didn’t sound completely convinced.
The stereo switched tunes. “Who is this?” I asked, distracting him from the conversation.
“Coldplay.”
“I like it. It’s relaxing,” I said, leaning back to listen. I hadn’t lied. It was dreamy music. I’d never found something that suited my taste so well.
“I’ll burn you a copy,” he said, pleased that he finally had something that I wanted.
The fact that Eric was coming to dinner at my house settled over me once more. At least he would be there with me. I couldn’t face them alone, not with how obsessed over Aurora they’d become.
“Your mom is a miracle worker, I swear. How did she convince my parents to invite you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “She’s hard to say no to,” he answered simply. “But I can’t believe I have to leave you.”
My parents’ stipulation: he could come, but not spend the night. Also, I couldn’t leave with him after dinner. They were requiring me to spend the entire weekend, and it was clear when they said it that it was not up for debate. The bitter cold in my dad’s voice could never be argued with.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered softly, hanging my head.
Eric reached over and held my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
The rest of the ride passed quickly, with Eric playing every Coldplay song he had to appease me and my anxious stomach. When we rolled to a stop at the front curb of my house, I inhaled a deep breath. My parents’ car wasn’t there, but I knew their Thanksgiving Day routine well. One of them was home, and I was betting it was my mom.
I hesitated as we walked together up the lawn. Maryann Bacster was on the front porch next door, sitting alone in a wicker chair beside two empty ones, one for her deceased husband, Albert, and the other for Aurora, her only niece. Mrs. Bacster held a cup of steaming tea and stared blankly at the road. She seemed to be aging quickly lately. In just two years, she’d lost her family. All of them. How could a person survive that?
I blinked away sympathetic tears and guided Eric inside my house. “We’re here,” I announced as we entered.
Eric set my suitcase down by the stairs, and I shuffled a colorful bouquet of flowers in my hands. Hearing the creaking swing of the back door off the kitchen, I followed the sound, with Eric trailing behind. My mom was leaning in the open doorway, her hand hung outside with a smoldering cigarette between two fingers. She looked meticulous as always, with a designer purse slung over her shoulder and long, manicured nails painted burgundy. Her hair—straight, smooth, and silky—was a vibrant tone of deep red, brighter than the usual shade she chose. She didn’t seem to notice us, or care to, as she sucked down the last remnants of her cigarette.
“Mom,” I called hesitantly.
She jumped at my voice. “Sandy, you startled me,” she chided in a puff of white smoke.
She took one last drag, blowing the smoke carefully outside, and ground the butt into the ashtray on the planter by the door. She slowly took the single step back inside, l
etting the door swing closed on its own. She seemed even moodier than I had expected. Her eyes flitted briefly to Eric, and she gave an awkward nod and an attempted smile. “Hello, Eric. How’s your mother?”
“Good,” he answered politely, trying his best to win her over. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“These are from him,” I said, setting the bundle of flowers on the counter. I turned away, opening a cabinet in search of a vase.
“What happened to your hair?” she gasped.
My heart leapt into my throat. I was so used to my purple highlights that I had completely forgotten about them. My head sank to my shoulders, and I sheepishly turned around with a blue glass vase clutched in my hands. “I dyed it,” I answered slowly.
Her arms crossed. A stern expression hardened her features. “Why on earth would you do that?” she demanded but didn’t wait for an answer. “Dye it back. No daughter of mine is going to go around looking like a crayon.”
I set the vase on the counter, fingers trembling against the glass. It was just a few pretty purple streaks scattered through my shoulder-length brown hair. No big deal. In certain lighting, it just looked all brown anyways. I didn’t tell her that, though. I wasn’t willing to jeopardize this chance they were giving Eric for the mere sake of rebellion.
“Yes, Mom,” I choked out shamefully. My cheeks burned hot. I could feel them turning a violent shade of red. I was too embarrassed to look anywhere but at the sparkling vase in my hands.
A car horn blared, and my mom immediately headed for the front door. “Your father’s back. We’re going to pick up your grandma. Watch the turkey.”
I nodded, staring submissively at the floor. When I heard the door close behind her, I released a shaky breath. Brush it off, Sandy, like always.
I tried to be cool about it and climbed up to sit on the stone counter. “She’s in a rotten mood,” I complained.
Eric filled the vase with water at the sink, and I noticed his cheeks were also pink.
“You mean this isn’t her usual mood? It is every time I see her,” he grumbled. A thin line of hatred had leached into his voice. He looked to me as he dipped the flower stems in the water. “Is it because of where I come from? Because if she thinks I’m trailer trash, maybe I should mention my grandparents’ money.”
“It has nothing to do with money. Honestly, I never mentioned the trailer.”
“Does it bother you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I complained, swinging my legs and thumping my heels against the cabinets. “My parents won’t even give you a chance.”
They weren’t big on giving me chances lately either. Dating Eric against their wishes was creating havoc in my home life.
“No…the trailer,” he clarified.
I met his eyes, baffled. “Of course not.”
He looked uncomfortable, focusing way too much on fluffing the flower arrangement. “I can’t give you what you deserve. I don’t have the money that we used to have.”
“Neither do I,” I added with a laugh.
We both used to be rich in a former life. Our days had been filled with parties in mansions and being served by others. Times had changed but not for the worse.
I slid the vase out of his hands and shifted the lilies around the baby’s breath to give them the prominence they deserved.
“I’m not trash,” he argued, taking my laugh the wrong way.
I met his eyes, concern softening my gaze. “I never said you were.”
I brushed a hand along his long, muscled arm, leading him closer to where I sat. My ankle hooked around his leg, using it to nudge him in front of me. He complied, looking anywhere but at me. It really bugged me that my parents’ lack of acceptance was dredging up old issues he’d had in his hometown. People had tried to put him down for being the poor kid from the richest family. Like he was the punchline to a bad joke. It took years of effort on his part for his classmates and the town to see him in a positive light. I admired how he had changed his situation with a smile, embracing the joke and making a few of his own. But it still bothered him deep down. No matter how far you go, or how much you learn and grow, some insults hurt forever.
“Do you want to see my bedroom?” I offered.
A sly grin spread across his handsome face. “I’ve seen it. If you wanna make out, you just have to make a move.” He tempted me, leaning in closer until I could feel the warmth of his body radiating against my cool skin.
“Maybe I want you to work for it,” I countered in a soft, sensual tone.
His hands brushed my thighs, gliding up my jeans to grasp my hips. He leaned in and kissed below the curve of my jaw. His tongue pressed into the soft hollow, a place he’d discovered made me weak with desire at his tender touch. I exhaled a moan, dizzy already. “Keep doing that and I’ll never make it up the stairs.”
He lifted me easily from the counter, and my legs hugged his waist. The contact of our bodies tantalized my senses and awakened an eagerness within me. He couldn’t kiss me and walk at the same time, but that didn’t stop him from slowly moving us in a wandering, faltered path through the house.
I nibbled his ear, and he groaned deep in his throat. I rolled my tongue into the same place on his neck that drove me wild. His steps halted as I tasted his warm skin. I swelled with triumph, realizing that he couldn’t walk while I was kissing him either. We were at a stop halfway up the stairs, with his one hand holding me up and the other gripping the banister to keep us steady.
He tastes so good. I couldn’t get enough of him. Before Eric, I had never thought I’d want to lick someone, but when a man tasted this good, it felt so right, so natural that it was impossible not to.
“This feels dangerous,” he said with a breathy laugh, tightening his hold on the banister.
I giggled and gave him respite. He hurried up the remaining stairs and went straight for my bedroom. Within seconds, I was tossed on the blue comforter. I greedily caressed the taut muscles of his strong arms as they kept him suspended above me.
I liked having him in my bedroom. Unlike the dorm, this was years of me packed into a ten-by-ten space. A place where I had lived, dreamed, and grown. Having him there felt like he had just stepped inside my brain, like I was open and on display, like he was more a part of me, standing inside my world.
His gaze was heavy with want, and I felt his hard body press against my leg. I reached down, stroking along his jeans softly, and his eyes rolled back.
“I love your hands on me,” he whispered hoarsely.
The familiarity of those words from our past affair made me realize where we were heading and where we were. The timing was all wrong. My parents could come home at the worst possible moment.
I drew my hand back. “We should baste the turkey or something.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said, straddling me. His eyes had a mischievous gleam. He shifted position, slinking down my body and lifted my shirt just enough to kiss my stomach. My shirt hem inched to the edge of my black bra. He looked to me in silent request. My answer was an expression of nervous anxiety. He shifted forward, lying on top of me with his chin propped between my breasts. My anxiety level cranked up to nine.
“Why?” he asked softly. There was no pressure in his tone. Only curiosity. I’d known this question would come eventually. I’d become more and more guarded about that area over the time we’d been dating.
I swallowed hard. “Because.” I knew he wanted more than that and reluctantly added, “They’re… small.”
“So?” he said. His lips pressed a kiss to the tiny pillow of my breast. My stomach flipped with a mix of excitement and repulsion. Since I was lying down, all he was really getting was my rib cage, not that there was much to get at. He bit at my shirt playfully. “Maybe I like small.”
“No one likes small,” I countered. My cheeks were red before. Now, they were blazing.
“That’s not true.”
He couldn’t mean that. Every man
in the world wanted a woman with breasts like flotation devices. Magazines and TV had taught me that. So had Aurora and every other girl I’d known in my life. There wouldn’t be an entire industry dedicated to enhancing them if it wasn’t true.
Eric edged the neck of my shirt down until he could see a thin slice of my bra cup. He pressed a kiss to my bra and watched my eyes as he trailed kisses across my chest. Warmth washed through me, but my teeth ground with uncertainty.
He slid up my body and captured my lips, nearly wild with desire. He caressed my face. His hand brushed down my neck and swept over the curve of my breast. I made a move to stop him, but when he squeezed, despite everything, I groaned.
“Is this okay?” he whispered.
I slowly nodded, biting my lip. His touch was intoxicating. Heat blazed straight through me from his hand to my core, where it gathered and churned like a fireball.
He lifted my hand over my head, pressing my fingertips to my headboard. He did the same with the other, lightly keeping my hands in place with his wrist as a barrier.
I watched Eric, utterly captivated by him. With my hands over my head, I was at his mercy. And I liked it, because I knew I was safe.
Somehow, in my bedroom at home, surrounded by ice dancing figurines and books I’d lived my life through, I was letting Eric do the things I’d always wanted him to do but had been too nervous to allow. I was safe here. And I was safe with him. I trusted him.
Eric rolled off me slightly, pressing against my side and burying half my body under his. His hand explored, giving equal attention to both of my breasts. He rubbed, squeezed, and kissed through my shirt with my heart thumping wildly beneath. He was all blond locks and broad shoulders moving in a seductive dance over me.
His hand ventured on, trailing lower. His palm kneaded my abs, and I felt the waist of my jeans loosen. My heart raced and my mind spun dizzily as his warm hand slipped under the denim. He watched my eyes, tracking every blink, every motion as his fingers traced along my panties. My mind spun into a hazy storm of thought and lack of thought. I couldn’t place any attention, nor make any decision but to feel delirious under the delicious warmth of his hand.
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