I Hate to Stand Alone

by Casey Winter

  A thrill sizzles through me. “But won’t your friend mind?” I ask, putting up a plausible defense.

  “He’ll get over it,” Luke says. “Anyway, he agrees with me. Apparently I’ve got puppy dog eyes, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

  “It’s true,” I tease. “You look devastated, Luke. You look like you’d actually die without me.”

  “Ha-ha-ha,” he grumbles. “But, now that I’m free, how about a road trip?”

  “Is this the part where you take me into the middle of the forest and get rid of me, frogman?”

  “I don’t think I’d ever be able to get rid of you, Hannah.”

  I can tell he intended it to come out as banter. But he says it as he approaches me, coming within touching distance, and his words are husky and not at all sarcastic. It sounds oddly serious. It hangs between us, this accidental declaration, like a piñata just begging for us to bash it open: to let all our sweet problems come spilling out.

  I break the silence, laughing. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Will you trust me for a little while?” he asks.

  No, I should tell him. Because it’s dangerous. Because I’m scared his blaze is going to burn me up. “Yes, Luke. I’ll trust you. Just for tonight.”

  He nods, taking my hand. Electric tension tingles between us. Neither of us acknowledges the fact that he’s holding my hand, how natural it feels, as we walk back toward the diner and his Wannabe Badass Mobile. Acknowledging it would break the spell.

  —

  About half an hour later, we’re driving down a pitch-black path that cuts through Little Fall Forest. We stopped off at Luke’s place first—parking down the street so neither of our parents would see, à la illicit teenaged romance—and he went inside to collect a few things. He wouldn’t tell me what was inside the hamper, though.

  I’m hoping it’s not a murder weapon. Ha-ha … sort of.

  I suppose I should be scared, since there really is nothing stopping Luke from turning mean out here. I know that if Penny was in my place her writer’s mind would be conjuring up all sorts of hells. But, oddly, I trust that Luke has good intentions … or, if they’re bad, they’re the right sort of bad.

  “I keep closing my eyes,” I say. “I’m thinking that when I open them, you won’t be there, Luke. I won’t be in this Chevy.”

  “Because it’s so crazy?” he says, nodding. “Yeah, I get that. But we can stop, if you want.”

  “Could you?” I ask, genuinely interested. “If I told you to turn the car around, do you think you’d be able to do it?”

  He laughs darkly. “I’m not about to kidnap you, Hannah.”

  “But you know what I mean …”

  “Maybe. But, no joke, twinkle toes, I think it’d be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

  “And you’ve been to war,” I whisper. “Where are we going? I like to think I know the roads around Little Fall pretty well, but there’s no way I’d be able to drive in this darkness.”

  “You don’t want to spoil the surprise, do you?”

  “A sex dungeon, is it?” I goad.

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. His jaws are pulsing as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. Sinful yearning etches the half-light of his features. “If it was,” he breathes, “how would you feel about that?”

  It’s a game, I realize. We’re bridging the gap between us. But what is the gap made of? The past, the hopelessness of any future together, the pain I felt when Noah’s uncaring eyes burned into me. And whatever problems he harbors. But we’re trying to bridge it. Why? Why?

  “I think I’d feel pretty darn good, frogman,” I whisper. My voice croaks, turning me into the frog. “As long as it was, you know … as long as there wasn’t anybody else there.”

  “A threesome?” For a horrified moment, I think he’s going to suggest one. But then he says, “No, Hannah. That isn’t for me. I don’t see how anybody could fully be with a partner like that. I don’t see how there’d be any intimacy, or chemistry, or whatever … shit, I’m not Shakespeare, but just let me say this. If some asshole tried to touch you earlier, when you were all tense and trembling with an orgasm that was mine and mine alone, I would’ve shattered his collarbone.”

  “Jeez,” I whisper, cheeks fiery. Other things are hot, too. “Since when did you get so possessive? I thought we were supposed to hate each other.”

  He glances at me. I wonder if my conflicted feelings are as easy to read as his. “We are, Hannah. We should. But the more time I spend with you, the harder it is to remember what I’m supposed to do.” The car comes to a stop. “Anyway, we’re here.”

  I look up, breath catching.

  For a second, I almost think I’m going to shed a tear. It’s that beautiful. The stars are in the ground. I don’t know how the heck he’s done it, but the ground is covered in glittering, diamond-like stars. I blink in awe, realizing a moment later than we’re at the lake, and the stars are being reflected in the water. I don’t even feel silly for my momentary and insane thought. It’s just so glorious. The water is bordered on all sides with deciduous trees, not the more common needles and evergreens. I remember climbing these sugar maples as a kid and jumping into the water below. In the really early memories, Mom and Dad are still together.

  “We’re at Sugar Lake,” I say.

  “Ten points to the sexy girl with the black hair and the fine ass,” Luke grins. “Don’t gawp too long, though. You’ll miss the picnic.”

  We get out of the car and Luke goes to the trunk, collecting the hamper. A few minutes later we’ve spread out the picnic blanket and we’re sitting side by side, the world silent except for the wind in the trees and the sounds of animals in the forest.

  “I thought you were just trying to screw me,” I giggle as he pours me a glass of sparkling grape juice. “I didn’t realize you were trying to woo me, too.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to screw you by making you think I’m trying to woo you, twinkle toes. Ever think of that?”

  “Well, whichever it is, cheers.”

  I raise my glass. He raises his and we knock them together.

  “Why nothing real to drink, anyway?” I ask.

  “Because I’m driving,” he says. “And because … well, you can guess the other reason. You’re a smart girl.”

  “Oh, here he is, ladies and gentlemen. The patronizing, douchebag Luke Nelson.”

  He bows his head sarcastically, as though accepting some incredible compliment. We don’t need to clarify why he doesn’t want me to drink. Because we’re going to have sex tonight, and he doesn’t want me tipsy or drunk when he’s not. That’s actually sort of gentlemanly, and I like it.

  Maybe it’s because we’re so secluded, but I don’t have the same urge to flee that took hold of me before. In fact, I feel like there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

  “So, Luke, can I ask you something? I’ve been dying to know.”

  His smile twitches, sensing some trick. “Yes?”

  “Are you really a jerk or are you just good at pretending to be one? Because, sometimes, it seems like there’s a genuinely nice guy in there. And other times it’s like—uh—it’s like you’re trying to set the whole world on fire or something.”

  “Tell me which one you’d prefer, Hannah. A nice guy or a man intent on setting the world ablaze.”

  “Heck,” I laugh. “Okay, maybe I did back myself into a corner there. But not completely. Because you can have a bit of both, can’t you?”

  “What do you think?” he asks. “You’re a perceptive, smart person.”

  As we talk, we move closer to each other. I can’t tell who initiates it. It’s magnetic. It just happens. Soon, our legs are pushed right up against each other. He casually slides his arm over my shoulder, playing with my hair, sometimes brushing my neck. I silently urge him to slide down to my breasts.

  I don’t think about tomorrow. Tomorrow doesn’t exist.

  “Hmm,” I mutter, distra
cted. But I consider it anyway. “Do you want the real answer, or the joke one?”

  “I’ll take the real one,” he says.

  His breath is warm on my forehead. He’s leaning down as we talk. We’re so fricking close to kissing.

  “I think you try and make yourself cold because you don’t like feeling certain things. I think you put up a wall around yourself, maybe because of something bad—something to do with the SEALs or your work or something like that. Jeez, look at me. Miss Armchair Psychologist.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he says seriously.

  “Do what?” I ask, stunned by the gruffness of his voice. The sincerity.

  “Play it off like you’re silly, or—I don’t know—loopy.”

  “Loopy? I’m sorry, Luke, but how the hell am I supposed to take you seriously when you just said loopy?”

  He laughs, and then, for absolutely no reason, pecks me lightly on the cheek. Right under the eye, which is a pretty weird place to kiss someone. But it feels amazing. My skin glows. Flushed, I say, “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  “I gave you a free, uh, therapeutic analysis. Return the favor, frogman.”

  “Check out twinkle toes with the jargon,” he teases, his fingers tickling my side.

  I cringe away … and toward him. Both at the same time. If that makes no sense, welcome to my world. “Do you want the real answer or the joke one?” he asks.

  “I’ll take the real,” I say, grabbing his hand. “But you better stop, Luke. I will break it.”

  He grins, stopping with the tickling. But he doesn’t remove his hand. He just holds it there. “Alright. Here it is. I think you’re worried about your mom, which is damn obvious. Who wouldn’t be? But, at the same time, I think part of you is glad you came back to Little Fall. I think you feel more at home here. I don’t think you’re looking forward to leaving.”

  “Wow, talk about reading my mind,” I whisper. “How did you know that?”

  “Because I’ve watched you in Family Roller,” he says, voice just as low and secret as mine. When he leans in, our lips brush. But it’s not a kiss, not quite yet. “I wasn’t lying earlier, Hannah. You’re an amazing teacher. But it’s not just that. You light up when you’re in there, helping the kids, the customers. You’re like … dammit, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

  “No, Luke. What?”

  He swallows. He kisses me, briefly, a half-second tantalizing brush of his rough lips. And then he whispers, “You’re like a flame, twinkle toes. No—an inferno.”

  “Kiss me,” I moan quietly. “Oh, God, Luke. I can’t take it anymore. Just kiss me—”

  It’s like we’ve been waiting for this for years. Maybe, in a way, we have. Or, at least, I have, since I’m pretty sure he just saw me as the dorky kid growing up. But I get to live out a fantasy as the older bad boy crushes me in a blistering kiss, and I run my hands over his body and then grip onto his bulbous shoulder muscles. He spins over, mounting me in a fight of passion. I throw my legs apart, hooking my ankles around his thighs, tugging on him urgently.

  A shrill pleasure escapes my lips when he lays himself against me. He breaks off, just for a moment, staring into my face with a torn, captivated expression. “We should stop,” he whispers. “We both know we should stop.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “We should.”

  I pause, waiting to see what he’ll do. But we both know we can’t stop, not now. He said I was the inferno, but that’s not exactly true. We’re both the inferno, our lust scorching us up from the inside. He kisses me again almost aggressively, and I give as good as I get. I bite his lip.

  Groaning, he slides his hand up my thigh.

  He finds my sex, massaging. He presses hard. I gasp. I moan.

  “I need that pussy,” Luke moans in my ear. “I can’t play with you, Hannah. I need to feel it. I’ll die if I don’t feel it, now.”

  “Oh, God, screw me, Luke. Just screw me.”

  He leans back and grabs my yoga pants, peeling them off my skin, every inch of revealed flesh pricking with goose pimples, the cool air encircling my thighs and contrasting with the burning of our desire.

  Looking around, his face becomes serious. “If I caught anybody watching us now,” he growls, “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from hurting them. So it’s lucky we’re alone. And it’s lucky I’ll hear if anybody tries to approach us, on a quiet night like this.”

  “I know. I know this is just for us.”

  “You’ve got no idea how badly I’ve wanted to see those fine legs,” he groans. “Without the yoga pants, Christ, you’re even sexier. Bend over for me, Hannah. Stick your perfect ass out.”

  I thrill, climbing onto my knees. I stick my ass out and look over my shoulder. My panties are soaked, my clit raw and tingling, my hole abuzz. Everything is electric.

  “I need to take you like this,” he whispers, almost in awe. He unbuttons his jeans and tugs them down. “Tell me to take you like this, Hannah. Tell me to take you hard, like you did in the rink.”

  I do tell him, but not with words. I wriggle my hips, moving backward, grinding my ass cheeks side to side on his throbbing crotch. Then he frees himself from the jeans, and his cock springs up, all ten inches of it, ridged and rock-hard. “Hard,” I whisper. “Take me hard, Luke. Take me now.”

  One-handed, he reaches into his jeans pocket and takes out a condom. I arch a sassy eyebrow at him, and he grins for a moment. “Mr. Prepared, remember?”

  “I’m glad,” I moan. “But don’t keep my waiting for long. Do you need—help?”

  He chuckles darkly. “Help?” With a slide of his hand, he has himself sheathed. “Just move that round firm ass up and down on my cock, Hannah. That’s all the help I need.”

  His hand trembles when he guides his cock to me, the engorged head grinding up and down my lips, teasing me. My whole body is quivering, my fingernails making ruts in the earth, my toes already curling.

  Arching his back, he drives inside of me, deep and wet and close and feverish. The heat is unbearable, like being inside an oven on full blast. I’ve never experienced immediate pleasure like this before, his cock overfilling me, but in an amazing way, like our sexes are flawlessly crafted for each other.

  He makes good on his promise, taking me hard.

  And I make good on mine: bucking my hips, grinding the length of him. I feel his balls slapping against my clit, an odd tingling sensation. Combined with the deep pleasure that comes with each thrust, a sweet spot inside of me resounding like a fricking instrument with each pommeled press, it’s enough to drive me wild with euphoria.

  “Oh, God,” I choke, pussy getting tight, clit burning, world collapsing. “I can’t—Luke—I can’t …”

  “Come,” he commands. His voice is as tangled as mine. I can hear how close he is, too. “I wanna see those damn juices. For me. I wanna see you—come, for me.”

  “Ahhh,” I cry, screaming so loud I bet it reaches Main Street.

  Everything releases in a torrent of ecstasy. In those blistering seconds, I don’t care who Luke Nelson is, I don’t care who his brother was, or that our families hate each other. All I care about is how he makes me feel, and how I’m making him feel, because he’s reaching his own climax now, too.

  Collapsing atop me, he breathes singeing air onto my neck, kissing, biting softly and then not so softly. But I don’t care about a little sweet pain when there’s potent pleasure nestled inside.

  I turn my head, leaning up slightly. We find each other’s lips. Kissing savagely as our climaxes reach their zeniths together, we collapse onto the twisted picnic blanket as they slowly fade, both of us panting.

  He lies on his back, tugging on my hair playfully.

  Giggling, I lay my head on his chest, more feeling his thundering heartbeat than hearing it, the vibration moving through my jaw. I close my eyes and wish for this moment to just stretch and stretch, because I know things are going to get awkward now.

 
—

  “Well,” I say after a pause, “we just did that.”

  “Yeah,” he says, quiet. “We did.”

  “So I think we can both agree it’s going to be pretty awkward?” I mutter.

  He smiles ruefully. “Yeah, we can.”

  “Is it a terrible idea to just sort of lie here for a while, and watch the stars, and pretend that we haven’t just taken a step down a road both of us clearly did not want to go down, but kind of felt like we had to go down, because—dammit, Luke, because you’re too handsome and gruff and appealing and funny and it pisses me the hell off?” I break off, breathless. “And even if that was just a big jumble, you know what I mean?”

  He nods, kissing the top of my head. He smells my hair. It’s possessive and cute and feels oddly comfortable. “I know what you mean,” he growls. “I told myself I wouldn’t, either. But you’re too kind and talented and sexy and beautiful and—shit, Hannah, you’re just one of a kind. So maybe we should just watch the stars for a little while. Because thinking about all this gives me a goddamn headache.”

  I giggle. He laughs. And we watch the night sky together.

  Chapter Eleven

  Luke

  I wait in my car down the street from Hannah’s house. When I drove her home, and she insisted that I park down here just in case someone saw us, I didn’t have to guess who that someone might be. Her mom or my dad. And that just reminded me of how messed up this is.

  Even the drive home was awkward. I kept thinking I could hear Noah’s voice in the wind, in the hum of the engine. I’m not crazy. At least, I don’t think I am. But it was way too easy to imagine Noah whispering in those small noises.

  “What the hell is the matter with you, big brother? You know that’s the girl who broke my heart. You know I used to get shitfaced even toward the end and talk about how we could’ve had a life together. I used to talk about my Marine buddies having families and wondering if that’s what we could’ve been. And you screwed her? You’re lucky I’m dead or I’d kick your ass.”