by Jane Anthony
Her image appears through the right-side dormer. She slides it open and looks out before pulling back in. Her backpack flies through the air and lands in a heap on the grass. A split-second later, her petite foot comes through, followed by the other as she carefully steps onto the roof.
With surefooted strides and arms outstretched, she ambles over the steeply pitched shingles and grabs a sturdy branch, then climbs down with the skill of a feline until she’s safe on the ground.
“That was some circus performance,” I joke as she glides onto the seat and slams the door.
She swipes her knuckle over her cheek, staring listlessly at the house she just snuck out of. “Let’s get out of here.”
With my fist on the shifter, I relieve the clutch then pull away from the curb. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.” She leans forward and pushes the cigarette lighter in with a click. It pops seconds later, silver metal gleaming as she lifts it to the clove held between her lips.
Warm air rushes the windows. She lies against the black leather and rests her foot on the door frame. I’m trying to keep my eyes on the road, but I can’t help but notice the elegant slope of her neck. Her body is dainty, yet graceful. Small and delicate. She lounges out like a cat in the sun, the breeze picking up the chocolate tendrils around her face.
She belongs next to me. Whether in my car or in my bed, I want her by my side at all times.
“All right if we stop at my house first? I have to get this stink off me before we go out and celebrate.” I cast another quick peek to my right before forcing my eyes on the road again.
She pulls her leg in and drops her foot the floorboard with a thud. “I like the way you stink,” she mewls, stretching over the console to run her nose up my neck.
My lips part in a sarcastic grin. “Who knew gasoline was such an aphrodisiac?”
“I think it’s just you, babe.” Gabby falls back onto her seat and threads her fingers over the top of mine. I glance at our coupling, amazed by how tiny her hand looks covering mine. Her creamy skin, pale and perfect against my tanned and torn.
The blaring radio goes silent as I cut the engine in my driveway. She pushes the door open and trots up my walk with me on her heels. “Make yourself comfortable,” I say, unlocking the door. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”
“Okay.”
For a flickering moment, I wonder what she would say if I invited her up. Would she balk at my offer? Or would she consider the possibility of taking our relationship to the next level? I shake the idea from my mind, but it’s already embedded itself deep in my psyche. The thought of her body, wet and glistening, my hands roaming over her soapy skin . . .
I’m going to have to rub out some of this pent-up desire.
Hot water scalds me. I make quick work of washing off the daily filth, but animal testosterone floods my veins, plumping my dick as I think about my rebellious hellcat on the other side of the door. I press my hands to the cool tile, attempting to will away the obnoxious erection that taunts me whenever her gorgeous face comes to mind.
Her legs, her ass, her incredible tits . . .
Visions of them swaying as I drive into her tight pussy dance in my mind. Taking matters into my own hands, I grab my cock. Slow at first, the teasing touch tingling my balls as I jerk the shaft, imagining my hand is her body, soaking and hot.
A groan echoes in the small, enclosed space. I sag against the wall, losing myself in the erotic fluster, my fist pumping hard and fast as my impending release takes hold.
Cum erupts from the tip and trickles down my hand like lava. Shallow breaths fight against the steam. I take a moment to recoup before washing my shame down the drain and exiting the stall.
This is what I am now. A sexual deviant jerking off in the shower while my girlfriend sits ten feet away. I’ve been cock-blocked by Jesus. I must be out of my fucking mind, but when I finally have her, I’m going to make sure it’s fucking epic.
A layer of mist clouds the mirror, save for a few random drips that part the fog. I wipe my hand over all of it, clearing the view of my reflection.
Dark stubble stipples my jaw, my hair flat against my head. I shake it out, droplets flying around my fingers. A perfect mix of both my parents, I’m stocky like my dad with my mom’s ebony eyes and bronze complexion.
It’s weird.
Some things I remember clear as crystal — the powdery scent of her perfume and the way her eyes lit up when she laughed — other things leak from the crevices of my hands. No matter how hard I ache to hold on, I can’t recall the sound of her voice. It filters through my brain in waves. Her laughter, the way she sang me to sleep when I was a boy. The older I get, the harder it is to conjure it up.
Memories of my dad are much duller. He tried his best, but I wasn’t something he wanted at his age. I was a side effect of marrying a younger woman. The baby she wanted, the one he acquiesced to in order to keep her. Far as he was concerned, he’d had a son to take his name. He didn’t need a second.
Daniel.
A pang pierces my chest like a stake through the heart. No one knew his secret but me. It wasn’t until after our father died that he was free to be himself, but he was struck down too young.
The tile feels slick under my feet. I pass through the tiny bathroom en route to my room to continue getting dressed, but the sight of Gabby asleep in my bed stops me at the door.
Hair the color of cognac fans out over my pillows. Half on her side, her legs bent at ninety degrees, she rests peacefully, one arm curled around her head, the other draped over her stomach.
I move about the room quietly, hoping not to disturb her as I pull my jeans over dampened skin. My sweet rebel, my sleeping beauty. Dark lashes cast shadows across her cheekbones. The mattress dips beneath my palms as I crawl in, the soft sound of her breath whispering to me, calling out in hushed tones. I lower my head, feathering my lips against hers, tasting her mouth with tender little licks that stir her awake.
Leaning in closer, I feel her breath hitch. I know this is wrong. I’m a goddamned thief stealing entry into her mouth, wanting, aching, needing to savor the meager moan that slips off her tongue, but she pulls me down, bleeding into the kiss as her knees part around my hips.
My cock is solid steel pressed against her warm center. All I want is to tear off those panties and sink inside her wet heat, but I have to take this slow.
“Anthony.”
Need drips off the single word. For months, I’ve been holding it together, staving off my desire to make her mine, but the second my name falls from her lips, I feel myself passing the point of no return.
My body screams as I tear myself away. I have a whole evening planned for us; this isn’t the time to get my rocks off. I sit on my haunches, her legs falling on either side, her little plaid skirt hiked over her thighs. Nipples pebble beneath her shirt, her lips pink and puffy. She reaches for me, but I take her hands and pull her back off the bed.
“We should get going.” My voice comes out as a husky growl. If we don’t get this party started, we’ll never leave this room.
I dip to the right and pull the little gift box off my nightstand. “Happy birthday, baby,” I croon, holding it up between us.
She bites down on her lip and smiles, plucking the gift from my fingers. I watch with anticipation as she peels back the wrapping and pops the lid, her eyes widening at the unconventional gift inside.
“Oh my God, this is so rad!” She pulls the Zippo from the box, her thumb grazing the engraving on the gleaming silver case. “AM & GD Forever,” she whispers.
“I thought you’d like it.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, the whites of her eyes a dusty shade of pink as she tucks the gift into her palm and presses it to her chest. “I love it. Thank you so much.” Her glittering eyes grow serious as she flips the lid and snaps it shut. “I’m sorry about my dad.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Her sweet smile falls to a frown. “You don’t
deserve to be treated that way. He can be such an asshole sometimes.”
I press my fingers to her chin and tilt her face back up. “He just wants to keep you respectable.”
She cocks her head. “Being with you doesn’t make me tainted.”
“Is that why you ran away from home?”
She pulls her legs back and tucks them under ass. “I’ll go back, it’s just . . .” She purses her trembling lips, her gaze veering into the distance. “I just wanted one night without rules, without consequences. One night to be young and in love. It’s not too much to ask.”
Warmth spreads in my chest. “Young and what?” I ask, attempting to catch her feeble stare, but she buries her face in her hands and slips off the bed.
“Never mind, it’s not . . . I didn't mean, like, love love . . . Ugh.” Grinning, I grab her wrist, quieting her hysterical rambling. She stops short. “Why are you smiling like a psycho?”
“I’ve never had a girl say that to me before. At least, not one that I loved back.”
Her eyes turn round as saucers. She blinks twice, standing like stone. “You love me?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
A pink hue darkens her cheeks. “Well . . . yeah,” she admits.
“Well, I do.” I pull her in, wrapping my arms around her back.
“I love you, too.”
“Good,” I say with a quick kiss. “Now get dressed. I have another surprise for you.”
Chapter Thirteen
GABRIELLA
A group of children huddle around Kohr’s ice cream stand as Anthony and I stroll past hand in hand. Seagulls caw in the salty sea air. The Ferris Wheel turns in the distance, the wooden planks of the boardwalk disappearing on the horizon.
The Jersey Shore is my happy place.
Every summer when I was a kid, my dad and I would rent a house and go crabbing off the pier. When the day grew on, we’d sit in the sand and watch the birds fly, soaking in the last of the sunshine, our toes buried in the hot sandy beach.
The year I turned eleven was the last year we came. I remember the fight as if it were yesterday. I walked out in my swimsuit, and my dad got mad. He refused to take me to the beach unless I covered up my newly formed curves.
He shamed me. I felt punished for hitting puberty.
Our relationship wasn’t the same after that. He treated me differently. Inside, I was still a little kid, only my outside had changed, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t me anymore. The body was all he saw.
Gusts of wind blow off the ocean, lifting the tips of Anthony’s hair. He fluffs it with his fingers, coming down to scratch his jaw with the blunt tip of this thumb. “I think the place is coming up.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, adjusting the cup on my lace corset top. The sweetheart neckline plunges between my cleavage and hugs my curves. My father would hate this outfit on sight. It wouldn’t matter that I’m mostly covered by a denim jacket and jeans. But Anthony’s eyes lit up from within. Two burning embers that smoldered with heat as I stood before him, exposed and unsure.
“Here we are.”
Music bellows from the gaping maw of the open-faced establishment. Patrons on barstools line the perimeter, their backs hunched over bottles of beer. I peek into the darkened corners then shift my gaze back to Anthony. “It’s a bar,” I announce as if he hadn’t noticed.
A mischievous twinkle glitters in his gaze. “Just come on.” He touches the small of my back and leads me through the wide entrance.
Sand crunches under my feet. I follow along, silently mimicking the screaming bite of Joe Elliott demanding sugar through the speakers above. A yell pulls my attention. I follow the sound, my face breaking into a smile when I meet its maker.
“Jesus Christ on a cracker, what took you guys so long?” Maribelle swivels on her stool and jumps down, her red boots clicking on the poured concrete as she scampers over. “Happy birthday, bitch!”
I pull back from my best friend’s tight embrace. “What are you doing here?”
“Anthony called me.”
My jaw goes slack, my gaze darting from Maribelle to Anthony, wondering how he even got her number, but one look at Lizard traipsing from the bathroom and I have my answer. “You little sneak,” I joke with a playful push on Anthony’s broad chest.
“Surprise, baby.” He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“So, what are we drinkin’?” Lizard slips his fingers into an asymmetrical slit cut into his Union Jack tee. The sleeves and bottom are artfully torn, as are the cuts sporadically placed around the torso.
Maribelle grabs him by the studded belt and pulls him next to her. “You got what I want.”
“Fuck, Belle, you’re like a goat.”
She looks up with narrowed hate swimming in her gaze, but the quirk in her lips tells the story of a different emotion. “And you’re a drunken Vince Neil wannabe.”
With a Billy Idol sneer, he grabs her by the throat, tilts her neck, and licks her lips. After pushing her away, he turns and leans his lanky forearms on the wooden top, signaling for the bartender.
She clutches her shirt, practically swooning on the spot. “I love it when he’s rough,” she mutters swiping at his saliva with her tongue. “You need a shot to catch up.”
“No, I’m good.”
But no sooner do the words leave my mouth, Lizard twists toward us with a shot glass in each hand. “Take the damn shot, tottie.”
Amber liquid glimmers in the dim light. I pluck the drink from his slender fingers. Anthony takes the other, then Lizard swivels back for two more. Raising his glass, he toasts, “To being young, dumb, and full of cum.”
“What the hell, man?” Anthony winces.
“Oh, right, you gotta fuck her first.” Lizard snorts, raising his glass again. “To getting fucked.”
“I’ll drink to that one!” Maribelle giggles.
A hiss falls through Anthony’s teeth. “Here’s to never having to ask permission, never being told what to do, and always following where your heart leads. To Gabby.”
“To Gabby,” Maribelle and Lizard toast in unison.
“And to maybe getting fucked, too,” I add with a shrug. Anthony’s heated stare locks on mine. With a devilish smirk, I swallow the shot.
The acrid whiskey burns my esophagus and stews in my stomach. I choke down the instant bile, hoping to God I don’t puke on my leather flats and make a complete fool of myself.
I light up a smoke, and Maribelle reaches two outstretched fingers to steal a drag. “So, how’d you get Rocco to agree to let you out? I thought you were grounded until nineteen ninety-nine.”
Chills turn my blood cold. Right about now, he probably has the FBI scouring the state looking for me. I wonder what would happen if they found me here, tucked under the arm of my captor and taking underage shots. “Oh, I am. I had to sneak out. You know he followed me to the gas station after school?”
The cherry glows a brilliant shade of orange as she takes a long pull from the filter. Blowing it out from the corner of her lips, she passes it back. “Are you kidding me? Guess this means the Italian Stallion’s no longer a secret, eh?” I nod, and she laughs. “Well, we better make this the best night of your life then.”
“It already is.”
“This is only the beginning,” Anthony interjects. Tingles follow the graze of his fingers falling down my arm. His hand finds mine to drag me closer.
“Oh, yeah?” I simper, melting against his sturdy frame. Heat radiates off his skin, the masculine scent of his soap swirling with the smell of cloves lifting off my lips. It thaws the freeze, making my blood pump.
He peers over my head to Maribelle and Lizard. “You guys ready to head up?” I cock my head with a questioning glance, but he turns and pulls me toward the rear of the bar.
A hidden door blends with the glossy black walls. Beyond it, a stairwell awaits. Small squares illuminate the steps with dirty bands of yellow light. Years of paint
cling to the ancient wood as we traipse over it single file. Each one dingy shades of purple and gray with scuffed checkerboard accents adorning the risers.
My heart bursts against my ribs as I ascend into the unknown, the fear of flight fluttering my belly when we come to an unmarked landing. Heavy bass thumps through the door. It vibrates through me, pulling me in as Anthony tugs the handle and ushers me inside.
Like Charlie Bucket stepping into Willy Wonka’s forest of treats, I gawk with wide-eyed wonder. The inlaid checkerboard floor weaves around small pub tables and curves in the same pattern as the blacktop bar. Turquoise lights shine down, highlighting the plum and gold fur on pushed in barstools, but my bewildered gaze doesn’t leave the floor. It follows its flow up two small steps to a blackened alcove with flashing lights. Blue, yellow, violet, and pink, they move to the beat of the blasting music fighting over the rumbling sound of a thousand tiny wheels.
The feel of Anthony at my back pulls me from my stupor. “It’s a roller rink.” I close my eyes to the idiocy of my announcement. Like, duh. Thank you, Captain Obvious.
“It is,” he agrees with a wide smile.
“A roller rink with booze,” Lizard shouts, smacking his hands then rubbing them together with fiendish excitement.
“Don’t worry. They got milkshakes, too.” Maribelle links her arm in mine and yanks me toward the skate rental. “A seven and a five,” she yells to the guy behind the counter.
A barely there dirt-stache darkens his upper lip. He pushes greasy strands of Jheri curl behind his ear and rests his elbow on the ebony counter. “I need a shoe from each of you.” His deep baritone is hard to make out over the warbly whine of Cyndi Lauper wailing overhead. We each hand over a shoe for collateral. He disappears behind a curtain only to reemerge seconds later with a hideous pair of tan and orange skates in each hand. “Two bucks.”
Maribelle unzips the fanny pack resting on her hip and pulls out the money to pay the man. A few seconds later, we’re suited up and ready to roll. Anthony walks over holding up a bright yellow key dangling from a curled wristband. “Here, I got you guys a locker,” he says, slipping it over my wrist.