by Ginger Scott
I blink away the threat of tears.
“Why doesn’t he tell me?” I ask.
Hayden levels me with a sideways look, his mouth a flat line. He doesn’t have to say the words. Tory won’t hurt Hayden.
“What do I do with this? What . . .” My words run out.
Hayden leaves his cue and rounds the table, stepping directly in front of me and lifting my chin so he can look in my eyes.
“You tell him you love him, too.”
A sloppy laugh falls from my lips, part nerves and part sob. I nod to him and he pulls me into a hug. Hayden and I were always better friends. Tory was right the first time he said it—he and I, we would always be more.
23
Tory
My dad left yesterday for a business trip to Canada. Playing bachelor was fun for exactly twelve hours. I drank one of his beers but the novelty wore off before I went in for another. I walked around in my boxers for a while, but ultimately, I just ended up cleaning the apartment. Being alone is turning me into Hayden.
A buzz from my phone wakes me from a near nap, my third of the day, so I tap the screen awake to read the text.
HAYDEN: June says if you don’t come to her New Year’s party she is never talking to you again.
I blink twice at the message and decide to call his bluff.
ME: That’s a lie. She’d never cut me out.
When it takes him a few minutes to respond, I sit up. I don’t really believe she would, but I don’t like the idea of disappointing her. I’m sure she understands that I don’t want to see Abby. I know Hayden must. Why does it feel like he’s pushing so hard?
My phone buzzes with a photo attachment from him, and I open it to see a picture of June flipping me off. I shake with a short laugh.
ME: Fine. I’m coming.
I toss my phone into the center of the bed and pace the empty guest room. Hayden has been here once, and only to see it. It’s not very homey, but that’s not really in my dad’s skill set. It seems a waste for him to buy us a bunch of shit here anyhow, since who knows where we’ll be next fall. I should find out about my offers soon. Hayden’s picking between Colorado and Nevada. I could go with him. Both coaches expressed interest in me, too, but I think it might be good to have our own college experiences. I’m more interested in staying in the Midwest. Who knows, maybe we’ll play each other in the Big Dance.
It’s after ten, so I better hit the road before drunks start to spill out onto the backroads I take on my way into Allensville. Tossing a few staples into my duffle, I rush through a shower and land on my gray sweater that buttons at the neck and a pair of dark blue jeans. I look dressed up enough to pass for New Year’s formal, I think. Besides, I know there’s no way June will get Lucas in anything fancier than this.
It takes me more than an hour to get into town, the highway dotted with patrol cars waiting to pull people over. I keep to the speed limit exactly. When I turn onto June’s street, almost every space along the road is blocked. I cruise by her and Lucas’s driveways, and they’re full of cars as well.
“Damn, this is a real party,” I say to myself.
It takes me two passes to find an open space that I can wedge my car into. It’s not the best parking job, but it will do. I plan on leaving early anyhow. I just need to make my friends happy and show some face time. I reach into my bag and grab my cologne, giving my neck a quick spray before getting out of the car. I like to let the scent linger in there; it masks whatever that strange smell is that’s been there since I bought the thing.
The music is thumping loud enough to be heard four houses down. I hope the Mabees invited all the neighbors, otherwise they’re going to get a noise complaint. People can be real assholes about partying on New Year’s. I mean, the entire premise of the holiday is to stay up until midnight.
I’m halfway up the driveway when my palms start to sweat. I know what it is: it’s seeing Abby’s car. I’ve been avoiding her. She messaged me twice after bowling and I put her off, making excuses. It’s the reason I ran to Indy to stay at my Dad’s. Seeing her—and knowing she’s stayed in touch with Hayden—cut something open inside of me—fresh wounds over old ones. My jealousy reared its head, and I don’t like the monster that emotion turned me into.
I’m nearly to the door when someone tugs on my arm and pulls me into the hedges that line June’s house. My fists clench, ready to fend off some drunk asshole, but before I take a swing I realize it’s my brother.
“Dude, it’s wet over here. What the hell?” I brush droplets from my pants and sleeves, then lift my foot to check my shoes for mud.
“I told Abby,” he says. I look up at him and wonder if that’s supposed to make sense.
“That it’s wet out here and she shouldn’t romp around in the bushes? Yeah, man. Good call. You really saved her.” I look back down to the clump of mud on my Nikes. These things were pristine.
“Jackass. I told her you love her,” he says. My eyes shoot up again, and my fists reform.
“What the fuck, dude?” My body is overrun with the falling sensation, the same one I got in that creepy elevator ride at the amusement park that drops you several stories at a time over and over just for fun. I don’t like the ride, and I don’t like this feeling now.
Hayden grabs my shoulders and his fingers dig in enough that I’m forced to give him my attention. I’m also a breath away from starting a lawn brawl with him.
“She loves you, too. You know she does. Hell, I know she does. And I’m truly, one-hundred percent happy about that.”
I stare at him, at a loss for words. The elevator in my gut pauses for a moment while I register everything, but it yo-yos again when my mind processes what comes next in the chain of events.
“No, I went down that road, and it was . . .”
“It wasn’t the right time,” he fills in.
It’s not what I was going to say, but his point is more valid. Chasing Abby Cortez was a rush. Tasting her was a dream, and loving her was an epiphany. The only thing that made it not possible was the damage it created between me and the man squeezing my arms out of their sockets.
“You would be okay with this?” I turn my head in skepticism.
“Tor, you have June. And you know what? I have Abby.” I happen to glance over his shoulder through the window as he says those words, spying inside just as June rushes through the main room with a stack of plates in her hand, playing hostess.
“She has to regret the idea of throwing this party,” I say, changing the subject.
Hayden turns to see what I’m seeing, then laughs.
“She does, especially since her mom is totally lit. The adults are all drinking and the rule was that the seniors should stick to soda,” he says.
“That didn’t happen,” I predict. He shakes his head in response as we take in the scene inside.
I could find more ways to stall, and I think my brother would let me because he knows how very little I enjoy being vulnerable. But Abby cuts across the room we’re studying, dressed in a dark gray sweater almost exactly like mine and leggings that hug her curves. The sight of her makes my fingers flex, imagining the path they could take from her knee up to her breasts. Her hair is down in waves, and her lips sport her favorite shade of pink. She flips her hair over one shoulder with a laugh, and for a moment my breath stops, her eyes looking right at me.
“It’s too bright in there. She can’t see out,” Hayden assures me.
My shoulders relax, but my muscles tense again almost immediately because I know I’m about to do something about what my brother said.
“You’re sure?” I ask again, needing the extra push.
“Tory . . . go,” he says in a low voice, pushing me forward.
I leave the brush and stomp the mud from my shoes, waiting while my brother does the same. Taking away my choice, he opens the door, pushing it wide enough that people see me trailing behind him. If I turned and ran now, Abby would hear about it. She’d look for me, wondering wher
e I went.
I follow Hayden inside and close the door behind me, surveying the room for familiar faces. June spots me first, rushing up to me in her frenzied state. I’m a little proud when I smell a hint of beer on her breath. She’s always been such a straight-laced partier.
“Lucas is out back. There’s a fire pit. But it’s almost midnight so he better get his ass inside,” she says, her mouth near my ear so I can hear over the pounding club-style music. It’s an assault on the ears.
“She’s upstairs,” Hayden says, glancing up and encouraging me to follow his eyes. I look in that direction and see Abby leaning her back against the railing. She’s surrounded by people, probably waiting in line to go to the bathroom or something. I’m not sure I should be so public about this just yet.
“Two minutes,” my brother says, cupping his mouth so I can hear him. I scan the room for a clock and verify the time. It’s actually only around a minute now.
The music dies, and someone switches on a television, the volume cranked to announce the countdown for everyone in the house. My gaze again moves up the stairs in search of Abby, and this time, she’s looking down at the people gathered around me. I will her to find me, and she almost does a few times, but her gaze never completely settles on mine.
Without time to spare, I push through the crowd gathered in the living room to see the big screen mounted on June’s wall. The count is at twenty by the time I get to the steps, and I slice through people on my way up, evading a few shoves along the way.
The count hits fifteen when I’m about four steps below Abby, fourteen when she finally turns and sees me. Twelve when she weaves through the crowd, heading deeper into the dark hallway toward June’s room. It’s seven by the time I catch her, and five when my hand finds her slender wrist. By three, we’ve stumbled into June’s room, her door closed by two.
One.
“I love you,” I say, not waiting a second longer to get the words out of my heart and into her ears. It’s midnight on New Year’s Eve and I should pull her into me and kiss her senseless. But saying those words was far more important.
Her arms remain stiff at her sides, her brow pinched, and her lips quivering—trembling the way they did the first time I felt them against mine.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. It’s okay if you want me to leave. I will. I’ll leave right now, and I’ll be fine with that because I got to tell you I love you. But if there’s a chance you feel the same way, if there’s the remotest chance that your heart kicks a little when you see me, that your breath maybe dropped when I said those words, then I swear to God, Abby Cortez, you better kiss me in this new year. If I love you and you love me, I want to start this right.”
Her eyes dip to my chest, then flicker back up to my face. She’s nervous, and I’m not sure whether she’s weighing her options or looking for an easy way out. “Auld Lang Syne” blares from downstairs, and most of the party is either kissing or shouting Happy New Year while repeatedly blowing those dumb paper horns. My confidence wavers with every second that passes, though I couldn’t possibly give her a better speech than the one I somehow just delivered. My gaze dips down to the floor and I move to step to the side so she can leave.
“I love you, too,” she utters, her voice meek and shaky.
I raise my chin.
“I love you,” she says again, this time the wavering gone.
“I love you,” I say to her again, enjoying this volley of words. I take a step toward her and she does the same.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
We repeat in rapid succession as we erase the distance between us until she leaps into my arms and I catch her as her legs wrap around my waist, our mouths finding their homes against one another’s. We are a perfect fit. Our kiss is natural and explosive. Every time is like this, a rush and a comfort, a death and a birth.
“I love you,” I utter against her, my mouth suddenly unable to stop speaking these three small words. The way her mouth feels when it smiles against me is as potent as her kiss.
She kisses along my jaw as I hold her against my body and walk us toward June’s bed. Her mouth finds my ear and her arms encase my head as she mouths those three words to me again. She straddles my lap as I sit us down, and my hands glide up her sweater, pulling it off in one swift move. She pulls mine off next, and her bra is not far behind.
“June is going to kill you,” I say, chuckling against her mouth as she tugs on the button of my jeans.
My thumbs are already hooked in the waist of her leggings, lowering them over her hips and over her ass as she pushes me down to lay flat on my back. She flips her hair up and her hungry eyes meet mine.
“Let her try,” she hums, a devilish curve accented in her favorite color. Dropping her lips to my chest, she kisses her way down my stomach until she reaches my open pants. My eyes roll back at the sensation of her hand on my hard cock, and when her tongue runs along the tip I nearly pass out.
“What do you want, Tory D’Angelo?” She’s a vixen, her mouth poised over me, tempting me with my own biggest weakness—every man’s thinnest defense.
Knowing the only thing that will truly satisfy me is satisfying her, I sit up and trail my hands to her ass, grabbing the bare skin with a firm grip that makes her gasp.
“I want to be inside you.” I lift her and trade positions, her back now on the bed and her body under my control. She wriggles out of her leggings and panties while I kick off my jeans and search for my wallet to pull out a condom. I tear it open and work it down my length while her knees part, and her trust makes me pause and gaze at her naked flesh. I love how absolutely bold she is with her body. There is no shame in anything she does with me, nor should there be.
She brings her finger to her mouth, biting on it in such an unbelievably seductive way, and I accept the invitation. Lowering myself until our bodies align, I hold my weight up on my elbows so my hands are free to draw gentle lines along her face.
“Goddamn, are you beautiful,” I say, drawing another pale pink smile from her lips. I bite the plump bottom of her mouth teasingly, holding it hostage in my teeth until my own smile makes me lose my grip.
“You’re covered in my lipstick.” She giggles, drawing lines of her own along my shoulders and neck until her palms stop at my jaw.
“Then I’m wearing your favorite color,” I say. Her eyes blink to mine and she stares into them, wordless for several seconds.
“You see me,” she says.
“I do,” I agree, my hands gathering up the soft waves of her hair at the side of her face. I lower my head until it rests on hers, and her eyes close as she hums.
“I love you, Tory D’Angelo.” Her next sound is a sigh of pleasure as I push into her with a slow, deep stroke.
The minutes tick by, and we let them, milking every moment for what it offers. I taste each whimper she makes, kissing her lips raw and tangling her hair in knots around my hands. The party rages on below, the thumping music picking up again to carry on until someone down the road complains. Here, in my best friend’s room, I fall in love for a second time with the same girl I did the first. I fall in love with every touch, with every word, and with each gasp for air we share until our bodies are limp and wrung of energy.
By two in the morning, Abby is fast asleep against my chest, our naked bodies fused together from hunger and passion played out for hours. By three I fall asleep and dream about her. And by four, she’s waking me up to do it all again.
Epilogue
Abby
Keeping us a secret wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to lose a minute of time with Tory before I had to board the plane again, but I also didn’t want to ruin something so fragile and new by throwing it under the microscope of our group of friends. Hayden is the only one who knew, and he promised to keep our relationship to himself until we were ready to welcome more opinions. He believed in us, and that was enough.
We decided prom would be our big coming out. Onl
y now that I’m standing on the top step of Lucas’s winding staircase, June’s mom’s studio lights casting me in a glow powerful enough to spawn angels, announcing that I’ve been in a loving relationship with Tory, Hayden’s brother, for more than three months, seems terrifying.
“Why is your mom so obsessed with taking photos of us walking down stairs in high heels?” I ask my friend. She laughs from just over my shoulder.
“Just a little longer,” she promises. She said that thirty minutes ago.
We’ve been lined up in this same position for about twenty minutes, taking turns standing in different spots. When we started, the guys were all paired with us, and Tory kept pinching my ass. He’s making me regret picking the short black dress. I know I look good in it, though. It works with my curves, and I tested to make sure it wouldn’t ride up while I danced. I intend to put these shoes and this dress to work. Tory has promised me he’ll salsa. We’ll see how long before he bows out.
“Okay, now just one more for each couple,” June’s mom begs. Collectively we groan, but none of us really mind making Kristen Mabee happy. June and Lucas go first, so I take a break from smiling and duck into Lucas’s room.
Most of our parents are here in the house, and June’s mom has been patient letting my mom art direct some of my shots. It’s a habit for her, having been on set with me for so many test shots.
The D’Angelos both came, and Natalia even helped me with my dress. Their divorce is almost final, but oddly their relationship has never been better. Tory said his dad comes to the house every Sunday for dinner, and they usually end up sitting around the table as a family for two hours just talking after the food is gone. Some people are just meant to be friends.