“Thank you,” I say over Panic!’s “Far Too Young to Die”.
He turns the volume down. “For what?”
“For being my life preserver.”
His brows shoot skyward. “Well, it’s only fair since my words were the ones that sent you spiraling. Sometimes I forget this is all new to you.”
“How did you get through it?” I frown. “The last time, I mean?”
“I don’t think I really knew what was going on. I took my meds when I was told to. I spent a lot of time in the hospital—practically lived there for the first three months of my diagnosis while my friends went to movies, and Comicon, and started dating girls. I made friends with the other patients until they dropped off like flies.”
“That must have been so hard.”
He shrugs and darts his eyes from the road to glance at me. “No different from what you’re going through now.”
“It’s a little different.”
“How?”
“Because I have you,” I whisper. A sad smile flits across his face, but it’s chased away as quickly as it came. “Styx?”
“Yeah?”
“Promise me you’re not going anywhere.”
His eyes dart from the road again back to me, but he doesn’t say a word. We both know he can’t. We both know it’s a promise neither of us can keep. Seems like such a simple thing: don’t die, but at seventeen, it’s never been more complicated.
CHAPTER TWENTY
STYX
Alaska is quiet for a lot of the trip. We sing along to old Faith No More, Foo Fighters, and Panic! At The Disco songs. Shit everyone knows, but I suspect most people don’t actually like. When I put on a Mazzy Star playlist, I can tell she’s listening intently.
“Okay.” Alaska shakes her head. “This just won’t do.”
“What?”
She turns down the volume. “This dreary music.”
“I thought you were enjoying it.”
“I was, but now I’m not, so I get to choose something else.”
“Okay, but I can’t promise I won’t die a little inside if you put on that song from Moana.”
Alaska laughs. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”
“Then enlighten me, Stones. What’s your favorite song?”
“Right now?”
I shake my head. “Of all time.”
“No way. Too hard.”
“Fine, then. Right now?”
“This.” She fiddles with my phone and selects a track, but covers the screen so I can’t tell what the song is. The first few strains of an electric guitar echo through my dad’s shitty speakers. “Oh Christ, tell me that’s not Ed Sheeran.”
“This is not Ed Sheeran,” she protests with a pout. “James Bay is actually hot.”
“James Bay?” I listen to the distorted vocal and the laid-back rhythm. It has a very chilled eighties vibe, and I don’t mind it.
“Tell me you know who James Bay is? I thought you wanted to be a music journalist?”
“Yeah, a rock journalist; not top-forty shit.”
“Come on, have you actually listened to this guy’s lyrics? He’s like the Bob Dylan of our generation.”
“Okay, first of all, no one is the Bob Dylan of our generation. Bob Dylan is Bob Dylan; no one is ever coming close to that. And I’m pretty sure this dude is at least what? Thirty?”
“He’s twenty-five.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “Aren’t we the diehard fangirl?”
“Shut up.”
“He’s too old for you.” I grin. Her cheeks are all pink. I want to kiss her. Bad. “You know that, right?”
I put on “Seaside” by The Kooks. She rolls her eyes. “It’s like you’re an old man in a seventeen-year-old’s body.”
“So what would you do if James Bay were here right now?”
“I’d tell you to shut up for a start, and then I’d tell him to sing.”
“Really? That’s it?” I dart a glance at her, trying to see more in her expression than she’s apparently willing to give. “You wouldn’t ask him to fuck you even though you might never be in a truck as fancy as this with him ever again?”
“Is that what you’d do if the guys from Taint were here? Aren’t you like, their biggest fanboy?”
“Uh ...” He clears his throat. “Well, I’m a fan. That’s actually what I used my wish for.”
“You did not?”
“I did. I got to go backstage and meet the band. Interview them. I think they thought it was cute, me living out my music journo fantasies when everyone in the room was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen, but it was cool, nonetheless. And, no. That’s not what I’d do if they were here. I don’t bat for my own team. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. If I did, I’d probably be Levi Quinn’s bitch.”
“Are those rumors true? I mean, what do you even do with a twelve-inch penis?”
“Why don’t you slide on over here and find out.” I wink.
Alaska scowls. “Oh my God, has that line ever worked for you?”
“No, actually.” I sigh. “I’ve never talked to a girl long enough to use that line.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious.”
“Nuh-uh. No way.”
“Way,” I say solemnly. “It’s kind of hard to hit on girls with a breathing tube sticking out your nose.”
“So you’ve never ...”
I swallow hard and clear my throat. Jesus. I’m not sure I’m ready to admit this out loud to the girl of my dreams, but there’s no sense in lying. I don’t want to lie to her. “No. You?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“What about Cole Meyers?”
She laughs. “What? Why would I sleep with Cole Meyers? He’s the biggest player in our school.”
“And yet, you dated him for a whole year.” Shit. She studies me. I feel her eyes burning into the side of my face. Great. Now she thinks I’m a freak and a total stalker. “I mean, that’s ... what I heard.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. Fuck. She’s going to think I’m a total psycho. Right now, she’s probably planning her escape and trying to calculate how far she’d fall to her death if she opened her door and jumped down the ravine to the beach below.
Her hand rests on my thigh and I almost drive us off the road. “Not a lot of guys would notice that.”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “I noticed.”
“I’m glad.” When I glance at her again, her smile is coy. “And to answer your question, no. I’ve never had sex. I’m still very much a virgin, and even if I wasn’t, I’d never give it up to a sleaze ball like Cole Meyers.”
“Then why date him for so long? I mean, if you knew he was a sleaze ball, why devote so much of your life to someone?”
She shrugs. “Why do we do anything? For attention? To feel? To be wanted?”
“You had my attention. For years. You had my attention, and you were wanted ... more than you will ever know.”
“Were?”
“Are.” I let out a shaky breath. I can’t believe I’m saying this shit. Not because it’s not true—it is—but because I thought I’d go my whole life without ever telling this girl how perfect she is. How I’ve wanted her since the day I laid eyes on her in junior high, and how I’d never thought in a million years that I’d get to kiss her, let alone convince her to run away with me. “Fuck, Alaska. I want you so goddamn bad.”
A beat passes, a long, silent beat, and I can’t take my eyes from the road because I’m terrified I’ve said too much. I’m scared she’s going to run, or that she’ll realize that what she feels isn’t what I feel.
“Can you pull over?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you—”
“Styx, pull over.”
“Yeah, okay.” I check my rearview. The road is quiet, so it’s not like I’m holding up traffic as I drive onto the shoulder and bring the car to a stop on a patch of lush green grass. “Look, I don’t want to
make you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said ... I-I can take you home if—”
She scrambles across the center console and climbs into my lap. Her ass lays on the horn, her lips are on mine in seconds, her tongue deep in my mouth. She tastes like cherry cola. When I get over my initial shock, I slide my hands into her hair, and kiss her back, moaning into her mouth. Before I’m ready, she pulls away and smiles down at me.
“I want you too.” She chuckles then bites her lip. “You know, in case that wasn’t obvious with me climbing in your lap like a great big whore?”
“Hey, don’t knock the whores. That’s an honest profession, right there.”
She laughs and rests her hand on my chest. “I may have been a blind idiot for a long time, but my eyes are wide open now.”
“I like you wide open.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh my God, you’re insufferable.”
“Did I say you? I meant your eyes.”
“Smartass.”
I trail my fingers up under the hoodie and the thin shirt she wears beneath it. Her flesh is hot, soft, and as I slide my fingertips along her smooth skin, my dick throbs. I want more. I want all of her. I always have, but I will myself to be patient, not to rush this. The last thing I want is for her to feel pressured. Even though her eyes are closed and she’s squirming like she enjoys my hands on her body, I slide out from under the hoodie, and she frowns. “Coming Down” by the Dum Dum Girls is playing and all at once, I feel like a giant fucking pussy because I finally have the girl of my dreams within reach and I’m letting her go.
She lifts her hips, as she tries to maneuver her body off mine, and then she sighs and says, “I think I’m stuck.”
I laugh. “I guess there are worse places to be stuck, right? Unless, of course, you’re having major regrets about kissing me.”
“No regrets about the kissing. I may have some about climbing into your lap though, since I can’t get off.”
“Oh God, there are so many puns I could make right now.”
“But you won’t because I’m this close”—she pinches her thumb and forefinger together, barely leaving any space between—“to punching you in the face if you laugh at me one more time.”
I press my lips tightly closed to swallow my laughter. Stones laughs too. It does things to my cock, really good things that I’m sure she’ll be mortified by if I let her keep sitting on me. I reach for the handle and open the door.
It takes a little more maneuvering, but she climbs off me and out onto the grass where she stands, laughing. At me? At us? I don’t know. I don’t care because I have to kiss her again.
I climb out of the car and move toward her, but Alaska has other ideas. She runs. I chase, and when I finally catch up, we go down in a heap in the grass by the side of the road. Her lips meet mine and I roll us so that I’m on top. She wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me closer. “I’m so glad we got out of that car.”
“Yeah, gotta stretch the legs.”
“Stop, revive, survive.”
“What?” I laugh, wondering what the hell she’s talking about.
“It was a thing I heard on an Australian cop show once.”
“You’re so fucking weird.”
“Right back at ya, loner.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ALASKA
I sit huddled near the fireplace in our cabin. I’m starving, and I’ve been cursing Styx and his need to see the stupid wilderness since we arrived. As of right now, we have a gas fireplace, a packet of cold hotdogs, and the ingredients for s’mores. A girl can’t survive on marshmallow and graham crackers alone.
I huddle closer to the enclosed fireplace and warm my hands, careful not to let the duvet slip from around my shoulders. This is what I get for following a boy to Disneyland and not packing appropriately.
Outside, in the freezing wilderness of our Big Sur camp, Styx lets out a howl. I shuffle to the window. I’m not opening this door unless he’s produced some kind of caveman skills and created fire.
The idiot jumps up on the picnic table and beats his chest like King Kong. “Stones, you better get your fine ass out here because this guy just created fire.”
I open the door, wincing when the chilly air reaches into the room with icy fingers. “For real?”
“For real.” He nods, and though it’s almost completely dark outside, his smile is a flash of white teeth against the gloom. “We’re eatin’ tonight, sugar.”
I laugh at his yokel impersonation. “Please never call me sugar again. It’s disturbing.”
“Bring the hotdogs, woman.”
I frown and pick up the hotdogs, marshmallows, chocolate, and crackers, and carry my loot outside into the freezing evening. Styx jumps down from the table, but he still manages to gloat by striding up to me, taking my head in his hands, and kissing me hard. I lose my grip on dinner. The items fall to the forest floor, and I couldn’t care less. I slide my hands around Styx’s neck and press my body against his. Heat arcs through my chest, down to my core. It spreads to every part of me, engulfing me in flames. We’ve spent so much time kissing today, it’s a wonder we made it this far at all.
It’s too cold for crickets, but around us, the night sounds envelop us like a shroud. The fire hisses and crackles. Underneath our feet, the forest floor cracks and pops with every movement. When I pull away, our heavy breaths drown out the rest of the forest and the empty campground, and my hunger has been replaced by a deeper need.
“Me, make fire. You, cook sausage,” Styx says with a grin, like a total caveman.
“You are entirely too proud of this feat.”
“Oh, I’m gonna be milking this for a while yet.” He bends down to pick up my dropped grocery items.
I throw my head back and stare at the stars winking into light. “Hazel Grace never had to contend with a caveman. She had champagne and a fancy French restaurant.”
“Who the fuck is Hazel Grace?”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “As if you don’t know.”
He winks. “I’m starving. I created fire, now make my dinner, wench woman.”
“Screw you. Cook your own damn sausage on a stick. Your fire sucks. I’m going back inside where the fire is warm.”
“Fine,” Styx relents. “I’ll cook your dinner.”
“Keep talking.”
“And make your s’mores.”
“See?” I lean in for another kiss. “Better already.”
We roast our dogs and eat s’mores until we’re sick. I sit on his lap by the fire, despite having my own chair. We drink the beer that Styx stole from his dad’s fridge, and my head gets buzzy and dizzy when our kisses turn from sweet pecks to hot and heavy and his warm hands travel my body.
“Should we go to bed?” Styx’s teeth tug gently on my earlobe.
“Uh ... yeah.”
“I’m not trying to pressure you. I don’t need sex.”
A nervous laugh bubbles up my throat. “O-kay.”
“I mean, I want sex. I really, really want sex. It’s not that I don’t want you, I just ... well, we’ve gone this long without it, right?”
I clear my throat. “Right.”
“And hey, we have two beds, so you don’t have to sleep with me.”
“You don’t want me to sleep with you?”
“Yeah, of course I want you to.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “I just ... again, with the pressure.”
I smile. “You should see your face.”
“Goddamn it, Stones. You’re really busting my balls right now?”
“I want to sleep with you, both beside you and in the Pornhub sense.” I scrunch up my nose. “But ... can we just take it slow?”
He presses a kiss to my neck, his hot breath sending a shiver down my spine. “We can go as slow as you want.”
“Okay. Then, let’s go to bed.” I climb off his lap and hold my hand out to him.
“Why don’t you go in?” Styx adjusts himself in h
is seat. “I’m gonna need a minute.”
“Really?” I raise a brow and grin.
“Really.”
“Was it the Pornhub that did it for you?”
“No. Not specifically, but that didn’t help. You should just refrain from using the words ‘bed,’ ‘Pornhub,’ and ‘I want to sleep with you’ from now on.”
I laugh and gather up the remains of our feast.
“And you should definitely avoid bending over in front of me in tight jeans.” He reaches out and grabs my waist, pulling me back down on his lap. I shriek and squirm against him, but his hands pin me tight and his breath in my ear steals the fight from my body. “Really, these jeans should be illegal. So should you wearing my hoodie.” His hands slide under the thick fleece of the sweater and graze my skin. My body is electric.
I grab his hand and guide it up over my bra. He squeezes hard. A cry escapes me. I turn my head, angling my body in his lap. I capture his lips with my own and moan into his mouth as his hands slip into my bra and squeeze my nipple. Heat unfurls in my chest, snaking its way down between my legs. Moisture pools in my panties. The silky fabric sticks to my too-hot flesh.
His fingers glide over my breasts and torso and pause at the waistband of my jeans. I pop the button, lace my fingers with his, and steer him beneath the denim. Our joined hands barely fit, but I don’t want him to stop.
His fingers toy with the edge of my panties. “Are you sure?”
I don’t trust my voice not to waiver, so I nod. I slide his hand lower, over the silk fabric. His erection presses into my back. I want to touch him the way he’s touching me. I want to explore every inch of him, but my heart stutters at the idea, and I can’t move. His hands caress me, driving me mad. My body shakes, my cheeks flush, and just when I begin to feel hot and tingly all over, a gruff voice comes from behind our camp. “You guys okay over here?”
Styx jerks his hand out of my panties and up to my waist, squeezing my body tight beneath his hoodie. I bury my face in his neck to hide my embarrassment.
Styx clears his throat. “Yeah. We’re good. Thanks.”
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