Close to Me

by Monica Murphy

  He pulls me into his arms and does just that. Kisses me. He pushes me against the wall, his body pressed tight against mine. His body is hard, hard, hard and his mouth his soft, soft, soft.

  So soft.

  When his tongue sneaks out to flicker against my lips, I gasp, allowing him entry. He deepens the kiss, his hand going up to cradle my cheek, his other hand gripping my waist as our tongues tangle and twist. This is my first real kiss and it’s nothing like I thought it would be. All sweet, shy presses of lips and blushing cheeks, tentative touches and lots of awkward fumbling.

  No, he’s practically devouring me and I’m devouring him right back. Everything inside of me ratchets up, higher and higher. Hotter and hotter. My hands are in his hair and it’s just as soft and silky as it looks. His hand slides down to cup my butt, tugging me even closer to him, and when his knee presses in between my legs, I gasp again. Louder this time.

  He breaks the kiss, staring down at me, his chest rising and falling with his rapidly panting breaths. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

  I blink up at him, sliding one hand down his neck to press against his chest. “Wh-what?”

  One side of his mouth lifts in a smile. “That’s what you said. You wanted to talk.”

  “I didn’t—want to talk,” I admit, sinking my teeth into my lower lip.

  He groans, positively agonized, and the power that whips through me at the sound leaves me breathless. “Fuck, you make me crazy, Callahan.”

  Still calling me by my last name when I’m in his arms. It’s so frustrating. I’m about to call him out on it when he kisses me again, making me forget what I wanted to say.

  Making me forget everything.

  We’re like this for minutes. For what feels like hours, until I can feel my phone buzzing in the back pocket of my jeans and I know one of my friends—probably Kaya—is looking for me. I shove Ash away and pull my phone out to see I have about a bazillion texts from her.

  Autumn.

  Where are you?

  Why aren’t you answering your phone?

  I’d accuse you of sneaking off with Ben but he’s sitting right next to me.

  Autumn?

  AUTUMN!

  Where the hell are you??????????

  Hurriedly I type out a text, batting Ash’s hands away from me when he tries to make a grab for my waist again. Sorry, be there in a minute!

  The less I say, the better.

  “I have to go,” I tell him once I shove my phone into my pocket again.

  He doesn’t release his hold on me. Nope, he rests his hands on my waist and leans in, dropping delicate, damp kisses along my neck. Holy shit, that feels so good. “Not yet,” he murmurs against my throat.

  I shove at him, but that’s like shoving at a steel wall. “Ash. Seriously.”

  “There you go again with the seriously.” He lets me push him away, and he watches me, his swollen lips parted, his dark eyes hooded. His hair is a mess from my hands and he just had his tongue in my mouth only moments ago, and I can feel the warmth seep into me as I realize what just happened. I made out with Ash Davis. “When are you going to admit that you have a crush on me and not Ben?”

  His question lures me out of my kiss-drunken state, and I blink at him, hating how he’s trying to make me confess I have a crush on him first. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Do you have a crush on me?” My heart is thumping so hard I swear it feels like it’s climbing up my throat, ready to fly out of my mouth when I speak.

  His hand rises, and he tugs on his bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

  I.

  Don’t.

  Know.

  Frustration ripples through me, and I turn on my heel, making my way back into the gym where the dance is still going on. He follows after me, his fingers circling around my wrist, and I let him turn me around so I’m facing him.

  “Why are you leaving?” He looks confused as hell.

  Nice. I’m confused as hell too.

  “Why can’t you say how you feel?” The words blurt out of me as if I have no control, but I need to know. Why can’t he tell me he likes me? What’s the big deal?

  Of course, I can barely confess my feelings to him. I don’t understand my feelings for him either. I hate him.

  I like him.

  I’m drawn to him.

  He repulses me.

  Sometimes, I think I repulse him too.

  “I don’t really know how to feel…anything,” he admits, and I know from the look on his face, his body language, that he means every word he says.

  “Then neither do I,” I lie before I run back into the gym.

  Fighting back tears the rest of the night.

  Junior Year

  Nine

  I’m a different person this year. I don’t bother chasing after boys who don’t know how to feel anymore. Talk about a waste of my time. Instead, I stick with the good ones, the solid ones who are there for you no matter what. Who don’t push too hard and are easygoing to the point that sometimes I feel like the pushy one. The one who pokes and prods and makes too many demands.

  But Ben Murray doesn’t ever seem to mind. We’ve been together for six months. Since March, when I asked him to the Sadie’s dance and he eagerly said yes. After the homecoming dance fiasco aka makeout session with Ash, I sort of withdrew from boys in general. I kept them all at a distance, figuring that none of them knew how to feel. I considered talking to Mom about it, but she’d only make excuses for Ash, so that wouldn’t work. No way in hell could I talk to Dad. He had a thing for Ash I didn’t quite understand, plus he doesn’t want to hear me talking about kissing his future star quarterback.

  Not that I want to tell Dad anything like that.

  I fed Kaya bits and pieces but never told her exactly what happened between Ash and me. How could I? I still don’t quite understand it myself.

  So I focused on school for the rest of my sophomore year, just as my parents wanted, and my report cards reflected that. I’m in student leadership this year, along with still being on the cheer team. I’m also taking advanced courses, so my homework load is major, but I’m making it happen. Ben’s a big help. He’s really smart and we actually go on study dates. I know my parents don’t believe that’s actually what we’re doing, but guess what?

  That’s actually what we’re doing.

  Yeah, we kiss. Some nights we kiss a lot, and there are wandering hands involved too. I refuse to let him kiss me on campus. That’s gross. We’ll hug and hold hands. Everyone knows we’re a couple, and we’re at that age where a lot of us in my class have been in long-term relationships.

  But I’ve never told Ben I love him. He’s never said it to me either. I have friends who are in relationships where they say I love you within a week. That’s moving way too fast for me. Almost like they say it only because they think they have to.

  Love should be earned. And once earned, it should be considered precious. A gift. You give it away too freely, and it becomes meaningless.

  Do I still see Ash at school? Of course I do. He’s on the varsity football team this year, our quarterback, and I’m right there on the sidelines, cheering him—them—on. We’ve played four games so far this season and we’ve won all four of them. In fact, I’m walking to my car right now after a game, exhaustion making my steps slow. Fridays are the worst. The long day in class, the time after school where we’re hanging out in the cheer room and getting ready before we finally go out and cheer at the game.

  It’s past ten, and my car is in the side lot at the high school where no one else really parks. My coach is still up in the cheer room, and I walked out to the parking lot with Kaya, who’s also on the team with me this year. But she already took off with Jaden, who was waiting for her in his black Dodge Charger.

  Meaning I’m all alone.

  The school campus is sprawling, and this particular parking lot leads to the school bus and van parking area as well. No one’s
really out here at this time of night. The band room isn’t too far from the cheer room, and I can hear some of the band members still calling to each other. See a few parents waiting in their parked cars for their kids to come out so they can leave. Normally I’m gone by now, but I helped our coaches put away some of our equipment, a duty those of us on the team trade off every time there’s a home game.

  Usually I leave with Ben. We go out for pizza with our friends, or sometimes we sit in his car at the park close to school, where we usually end up kissing for a while. But he’s out of town this weekend. He’s at some sort of bonding retreat for the basketball team and won’t be back until Sunday night, so I won’t see him at all. Which is probably a good thing. I need to clean my room. Catch up on laundry. All that boring stuff I usually push aside, which aggravates my parents to no end.

  I hear a familiar voice call my name and I stop, glancing over my shoulder, but no one’s there. Uneasiness sends a shiver down my spine and I look around, spotting a giant man sitting in an equally giant truck. I recognize him. A parent of one of the boys on the band’s drum line. He doesn’t know my name, so I know it’s not him calling me, but it’s reassuring to know someone is out here. I can scream bloody murder and he’ll probably come running.

  I’ve started walking again when I hear my name once more. Louder this time. Coming from my left. I turn, squinting into the darkness, and that’s when I see a flame light up. A match. It illuminates his face, the sharp angle of his jaw. I recognize those dark eyes and the equally dark hair, and everything inside of me lights up like that match he’s still holding.

  Asher Davis, sitting in his vehicle.

  “What do you want?” I call out to him, sounding completely put out. I don’t want to talk to him.

  I so want to talk to him.

  He laughs and practically leans out the driver’s side window. “Now that’s a loaded question.”

  Rolling my eyes, I slowly approach his vehicle, a beat-up old truck that’s probably seen better days, and those days were a long-ass time ago. I tell myself I shouldn’t do this. Someone might see us—who, I’m not sure. All I’m doing is talking to him. Big deal. Is that such a crime?

  Look at me mentally arguing with myself.

  The passenger window is open and I lean into it, wrinkling my nose when the scent hits me. Ash is propped between the driver’s seat and door, his gaze hooded, with what I think is a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Or maybe a joint, I don’t know, so I decide to ask. “Are you smoking a joint on school property?”

  “No.” He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and shakes his head, laughing. “When did you turn into such a prim little maiden, Callahan?”

  I can’t even believe he called me a prim little maiden. Who says that? “Then what are you smoking?”

  “Just a plain ol’ cigarette. Looking for that nicotine rush,” he says, as if that’s the most logical answer ever. “I’m guessing since you can’t distinguish between the two, you’ve never smoked a joint before?”

  “No.” No one I know smokes actual joints. They all use wax pens, not that I ever have. Drugs scare me. Mom’s preaching against them actually worked, at least with me.

  “Have you ever vaped?”

  “Ew, no.” I shake my head. Thank God Ben isn’t into vaping, though I know a few of his friends are. We’ve gone to parties together and drunk alcohol, but I’m always a little scared of losing control, so I keep it in check. “You?”

  “No.” He sucks on the cigarette and then blows the smoke out, filling the cab of his truck. “That shit will kill you.”

  Ah, the irony.

  “And cigarettes won’t.” My voice is flat. I don’t know why we’re having this conversation. It’s pointless.

  It’s like my feet are rooted to the spot, though. I haven’t talked to him in almost a year. A year. That’s insane.

  “Not as fast as a fucking vape will. Don’t you watch the news?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “Besides.” He shrugs, leaning forward to stub out the cigarette in the ashtray that’s near the gearshift. “I’ll quit before I turn twenty.”

  “If you’re still alive by then.” The moment the words leave me, I feel bad. That was rude as hell to say to someone, even Ash.

  But he’s not offended. He’s grinning at me like a big dope. “Nothing can kill me. I’m invincible. Didn’t you see me out there?”

  I’m guessing he’s still feeling high from their win tonight. “You played a good game,” I admit reluctantly.

  “Took everything out of you to tell me that, didn’t it?” His smile widens, if that’s possible, and it’s a sight to see. He’s usually scowling when I see him on campus. Scowling on the football field right before he throws another amazing pass. Scowling whenever I pass him in the hallway or see him in the quad at lunch. Scowling in class—though we don’t have any classes together this year, so I can’t confirm if that’s true or not.

  Did I mention he transferred out of chemistry a week after our infamous makeout session? Yep, he sure did.

  The coward.

  When he’s not scowling, he’s got his tongue shoved down some other girl’s throat. Usually during lunch. It’s enough to make me want to lose my actual lunch, every time I see his possessive hands on a girl, their lips locked. It’s so disgusting.

  He’s so disgusting.

  He’s all the rage, and I hate him for it.

  “No. I can admit when you’ve played a good game,” I tell him, hoping he sees that he has no effect on me whatsoever.

  “Gee, thanks.” He goes quiet, contemplating me. The way he watches me makes me want to squirm, and I wish I wasn’t still in my cheer uniform. I feel super exposed right now. “Want to join me?”

  “What? No.” I stand up straight, my fingers still curled around the edge of the window. “I should go.”

  I need to go. I release my hold on the old glass, taking a step backward.

  “What’s the rush? Benny’s not in town.” The look in his eyes is a dare.

  How the hell does he know this? Though we do go to a small school, so everyone knows everyone else’s business. “I have to get home.”

  “Curfew?” He raises a brow, like a challenge.

  “Not really.” I shrug one shoulder. I’m lying. My parents want me home by midnight at the absolute latest, though there’s a state curfew for new drivers like me and technically I shouldn’t be driving after eleven.

  “Then get in.” He waves at the door. “Let’s catch up.”

  I take one step closer as I contemplate him, my hand automatically going for the door handle. I shouldn’t do this. If I knew Ben was in a car with another girl, a girl he’d kissed before but never got around to telling me about it, I’d be mad.

  Really mad.

  “Come on.” Ash’s voice softens. “You know you want to.”

  Another dare.

  Without thought I open the door and climb inside, falling onto the bench seat with a huff. I pull the creaky door shut, slamming it so hard the cab rattles from the force of it. Ash just studies me, seemingly surprised I’m actually inside his truck. My skirt rides up and I tug it back down as best I can, but my thighs are basically on full display and I feel totally exposed.

  “You’re a little rebel, aren’t you?” He grabs the half-full pack of cigarettes from the dashboard and tugs one out, placing it in his mouth before a lighter magically appears. He holds it to the tip of the cigarette until it catches flame, then flicks off the lighter and tosses it onto the dash.

  “I thought you had matches.” I’m so lame for bringing this up, but I swore he lit a match when I first noticed him.

  “I did. I do. I have matches, lighters—you name it, I light that shit on fire.” He takes a drag from the cigarette, then averts his head, blowing the smoke out the window.

  I think he did that for me, but I’m not going to look into it too much.

  “I’m surprised you’re not an arsonist.” My tone is snotty, and I cross my
arms, increasingly uncomfortable with how close we’re sitting next to each other. I should leave. In fact, I’m reaching for the door handle, ready to make my escape, when he starts talking.

  “I was an arsonist. When I was six.” That’s all he says. Just keeps taking drags on that cigarette, filling his lungs with smoke, blowing it out the window. Again and again. I can hear his lips making a sucking sound and the burn of the paper, and finally I can’t stand it any longer.

  I have to say something.

  “What do you mean?”

  Ash launches into his story right away. Makes me think he was just waiting for me to ask.

  “I started a fire up by the lake. Not too far from your house, actually.” He stares off into the distance, the memory coming back to him, I guess. “I liked fire. I always have. It fascinates me. I found my dad’s lighter and I kept playing with it. Then I basically stole it. My parents were too busy arguing all the time to notice what I was doing, and I decided I wanted to make that silver lighter mine. So…one day we went to the lake to go fishing, my dad and me. And I brought my lighter with me. Kept it in my jeans pocket because it made me feel cool, you know? Right before we left, I lit a bush on fire and then ran for my dad’s truck.”

  I’m gaping at him. I can feel my mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. “What happened after that?”

  “The fucking brush caught everything around it on fire, that’s what. Burned a couple hundred acres by the lake, even threatened a few houses at one point, but they were able to put it out pretty quickly.” He shrugs again, but I see the way his eyes light up. Like the old story excites him. “They never did figure out who exactly started that fire.”

  “Who didn’t? Your parents?”

  “No, the arson investigators. I took the lighter with me, you see. Even back then, I guess I knew you can’t leave evidence behind. Though it never happened again, because my dad sure as hell figured out it was me and he whooped my ass when he saw the fire reported on the news later that night. I loved seeing that news report, knowing I was the one who did it. Felt like a big secret that belonged to only me, but Dad knew. He always knew.”