by Brit Benson
“Yes, you do!”
“No, I don’t,” I shout playfully and toss a couch pillow at her.
The pillow smacks her in the face, but it just makes Ivy laugh harder, and she makes the squealing noise again.
Fuck, I really hope that’s not how I sounded.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” I accuse.
Ivy shakes her head back and forth quickly, biting her lip to keep from laughing more. “No, I didn’t. I swear.”
“You’re lying,” I say, and I stalk slowly toward her.
Ivy’s eyes get wide, and she sits up straight, inching her body farther down the couch, away from me.
“I’m not,” she says again, breathless and fighting a smile.
“Lies,” I say, and with a predatory grin, I lunge for her.
Ivy lets out a stream of shrieking giggles and jumps over the arm of the sofa, just as my knees land on the cushion. She tosses her tie-dye blanket over my head and tries to make a break for the hallway, but I’m faster than she is.
I throw the blanket off and catch up to her just as she’s rounding the corner into my bedroom. With a burst of laughter, she spins and tries to shut the door, but I crouch down and wrap my arms around her waist, hoisting her up so she’s half thrown over my shoulder.
Ivy is writhing with uncontrollable laughter, and I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.
“Admit it,” I say, walking backward away from the door. “Admit you scared me on purpose.”
“No!”
“Admit it,” I repeat, and I give her side a playful squeeze, causing her to squeal with laughter.
“Never,” she shouts again, so I squeeze her side once more. Her body jerks in response, the sudden movement causing me to fall sideways, landing on my bed with Ivy sprawled on top of me.
It all happens so fast.
At first, Ivy is laughing and I’m laughing, both attempting to out-tickle the other, both refusing to surrender.
And then, somehow, the playfulness vanishes, and it’s replaced with an overwhelming sense of intimacy.
I become aware of our situation milliseconds before she does, because she’s still writhing and giggling when I freeze.
I’m lying on my back on the bed, one hand on Ivy’s upper arm and the other gripping her waist as she lies next to me with her leg hitched up and draped over my body.
Everywhere her skin is touching mine becomes hyper-sensitive, and I try not to focus on the way her thigh is hooked across my hips, precariously close to my now rock-hard dick, or how her chest presses into mine with every inhale, or how her warm breath fans over my neck with every exhale.
I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to get myself under control, and tighten my grip on Ivy’s waist to stop her wiggling. If she moves even an inch, I won’t be able to hide the effect she’s having on my body.
“Kelley,” she breathes out, and I snap my eyes open to find her gazing down at me, face still alight with laughter but her brows are furrowed, questioning.
We look at each other, and I watch the confusion and laugher fade from her features as something else takes its place. Something less playful. Something more complicated.
“Kelley,” she says again, and I feel her tightening her grip on my shirt. Her pink tongue darts out to wet her plush lower lip, and my breath quickens.
Her pupils are blown wide, and as I drag my fingers up her arm, she closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering breath. I trace my fingertips up her neck, across her jaw, and she leans her face into my palm.
“Ivy,” I whisper, and I hardly recognize my own voice. It’s raw and gravely and full of barely restrained desire.
She opens her eyes slowly, and everything I’m feeling is reflected back to me. I’ve seen that look in her eyes once before. I thought for sure I’d never see it again. But there it is. Want. Lust. Need. For me.
I won’t survive another minute if I’m not kissing this woman.
I tighten my grip on her waist, and slowly, painfully slowly, I begin to bring my lips up to meet hers.
But they never touch.
“Ayyy,” Jesse calls from the living room, and the sudden interruption causes Ivy to jump off me. “Who got Chinese?”
What the actual fuck.
I hear his footsteps heading toward us and Ivy scrambles off the bed, fixing her shirt, running her hands through her hair, and looking at everything in my room except for me.
“I’m going to go get Jesse his dinner,” she says quickly, her voice high-pitched and airy. She runs out of the room as if she’s just narrowly avoided disaster, and I’m left lying on my bed, alone, with my hands outstretched, reaching for something that’s no longer there.
I squeeze my eyes shut and allow myself to recall the jolts of electricity that exploded through my body when we touched. The way all of my nerve endings vibrated with excitement. So much more than our barely-there finger brush. More powerful and more pleasurable and more torturous than anything I’ve felt in my life up to this moment.
Then I let myself replay her reaction when I leaned up to kiss her. The way her gorgeous blue irises were nearly swallowed whole by her pupils. The emotions I watched flash over her face. I didn’t imagine it. The way my body burns is proof it wasn’t a dream.
She wanted me.
She needed me to kiss her, maybe as much as I needed it.
I know because I’ve seen that look on her face once before. And I’ll be fucked if I mess it up this time around.
11
Senior Prom
“I look like a fucking idiot,” I grumble as my mom fixes my tie.
“You look very handsome,” she says, finishing the knot and stepping back to survey me. “You look like an adult in this tux, but don’t swear. It’s pedestrian.”
I roll my eyes at her. If she only knew how pedestrian my fucking mouth can be.
“I just don’t understand why Shelby picked out this fu—” Ma glares and raises her hand like she’s gonna smack me. She won’t really do it, but I still throw up my palms, ducking away really fast, and correct myself.
“Fugly! I was gonna say fugly! I don’t know why she picked out this fugly pattern. I look like a circus clown.”
Ma hits me with her I’m not impressed with your antics, young man expression. “Fugly is no better than the other word. But, no, you do not look like a circus clown.”
I turn to look in the hallway mirror and grimace at the maroon tux and pink and maroon polka-dotted tie. What the fuck was Shelby thinking? Was she fucking high when she selected this from the catalogue? I shake my head in disgust and turn away.
“What time is Ivy getting here,” I ask my mom and check my phone to see if she’s texted.
“She and Jacob should be here in about 10 minutes,” my mom calls from the kitchen. Good, I think to myself and walk into the foyer to wait for them.
Things have been weird with Ives and me since our, uh, spat? Yeah spat. Since our spat in the cafeteria two weeks ago. Basically, I fucked up and spazzed out on her and now I think she’s punishing me with the cold shoulder. It sucks.
I was actually dreading tonight until she called and asked if my parents could watch Jacob. Her mom has to work a late shift last-minute, and Ivy doesn’t want to miss prom. Of course, my mom and dad said sure, and now Ivy and Tyler are doubling with me and Shelby.
It’s gonna be awkward as hell.
Shelby and Ivy don’t get along—well, Shelby doesn’t get along with Ivy—and Tyler is fucking annoying. But at least I get the chance to try and patch things up with Ives. I hate this weirdness between us. I just want my friend back.
Headlights flash in the driveway, and I walk over and open the front door, just as Ivy and Jacob are climbing out of their mom’s car. Ivy looks absolutely stunning in a dark blue dress. The straps that go over her shoulders and tie behind her neck are covered in sparkly diamond crystal things, and her waist dips in and her hips flare in a way that makes me choke on my own spit. When she
turns to shut the car door, I see that her back is bare almost to her ass, and I have to look away or else I might actually die. Best friends shouldn’t be allowed to look that good.
“Hi, Mrs. Rivenbark!” I divert my attention to Ivy’s mom and smile at her. She leans over to look at me through the passenger window and throws me a thumbs up.
“Hey, Kelley. Tell your momma I said thanks for watchin’ Jake. I’d hate for Ivy Jean to miss her prom ‘cause my employees are unreliable,” she calls from the car. She’s got a smile on her face that looks a bit like Ivy’s when she’s sad but trying to act like she’s not sad, and I smile back to make her feel better.
“It’s no problem, Mrs. Rivenbark. Don’t work too hard.”
She laughs and waves my comment off. “I told you before to call me Pam, Kelley. Now you behave yourself and stick close to Ivy Jean.” Ivy’s standing next to me now and rolls her eyes at me. The playful gesture lessens the tension coiled in my stomach.
I glance down at Ivy and smile as I say, “Ives can take care of herself, Miss Pam.”
“Oh, I know it,” Pam calls out. “I mean stick close so she can keep an eye on you. I know you’re not as sweet and wholesome as you act, Kelley Pierce.” She points her finger at me with a smirk and then pulls out of the drive with Ivy and Jacob suppressing giggles at my side.
“Okay, okay, ha ha, very funny. Get inside.”
“You look kind of ridiculous,” Ivy says quietly as we walk into the house.
“Hush, you,” I respond, and when she giggles, I feel like things are going to be fine.
I lied. Things are not fine. They aren’t even in the same area code as fine. I’m fucking fuming.
It started in the limo on the drive here.
Every time Ivy laughed at one of Tyler’s stupid fucking jokes, I had to grit my teeth to keep from telling her that his jokes actually aren’t funny. At all. And then Shelby made it worse because every time Ivy spoke, Shelby would sigh really loudly or talk over her or try to make out with me, and that’s petty shit that I just have no patience for.
But that’s not even the worst part.
When we got to the Silver Pines Country Club, the swanky ass banquet hall our school rented out for prom, Shelby pranced off to talk to some friends and brag about how she and I are probably going to be crowned Senior Prom King and Queen, Tyler excused himself to the bathroom to probably adjust the socks he has stuffed down his pants or guzzle some mouthwash or take a bath in more fucking Axe body spray, and me and Ivy settled in at a table on the side of the dance floor. It was going good. Great, even. I was excited to have a few minutes alone to talk to her—to apologize in person for being a dick in the cafeteria two weeks ago. But then Ivy took her phone out to check in on Jacob, and when she opened her small purse thing, something horrible caught my eye.
Foil packets.
Condoms.
And not just one condom. Not even two. But three.
Three fucking condoms.
The fuck does she think two virgins are going to do with three condoms before curfew? I rarely even wank three times in a single night.
I’m seething.
I’m grinding my teeth so hard I think I’m in danger of cracking a molar.
When Dad Joke Tyler comes back from the bathroom, I’m irrationally pissed that his fly isn’t down and there’s no pee stain on the crotch of his pants. He looks dumb and happy, and I want to punch him in his tiny little throat. When Ivy smiles at him and takes his hand, I want to take off my stupid freaking circus tie and strangle him with it.
This night fucking sucks.
Of course, I dance with my girlfriend, and I do the obligatory prom pose and smile for pictures. When the Cupid Shuffle comes on, I go out on the dance floor and make a show of it because that’s what people are expecting. But no matter how hard I try to avoid it, my eyes always find Ivy. And she’s always laughing with Tyler or holding hands with Tyler or her dimple is fucking popped for fucking Tyler, and all I can think about are those damn foil packets.
I can’t let her do this.
She doesn’t love Tyler. She can’t lose her virginity to someone like Tyler. He’s not good enough for her. He can’t even make her laugh for real, because I know when she’s fake-laughing and that’s what she’s been doing every time Tyler cracks one of his lame as fuck dad jokes.
When Ivy gets up to use the bathroom, I make the decision to follow her. If I get her alone, I can talk to her and hopefully make her see reason. Luckily, Shelby is in a group with some of the other volleyball players and doesn’t even realize I’m leaving.
I make it out to the hallway, just in time to see Ivy walk into the restroom, so I post up on the wall across from the door and wait. In a few minutes, she comes back out, and when she sees me standing there, a confused-but-happy smile plays on her lips.
“Kelley.”
“Ivy.”
I walk up to her and take her hand, quickly leading her down a hallway away from the room where the dance is being held. She follows without hesitation, which makes me feel way better than it should, and she doesn’t ask questions until I pull her into a smaller room on the opposite side of the building.
“What’s going on?” she asks as she looks around. “Where are we?”
“It’s a men’s lounge,” I tell her. “I knew where it was because Pops and my gramps come here sometimes.” Yeah, my parents belong to this swanky ass country club. “They also use it as a groom’s room when there’s weddings here,” I add so I don’t feel like such a douche.
“Oh,” she breathes, and she runs her fingers over the back of a gray leather sofa. “Why are we here?”
She looks at me then, and my heart jumps into my throat. She must be wearing her contacts tonight, because her eyes are unobstructed and bright. The color of her dress brings out every shade of blue in them. Her irises are a kaleidoscope of blues, and like a magnet, I’m pulled to her. I’ve spent most of the night looking at her, watching her with Tyler, with irritation clouding my vision. Now, in the silence and privacy of this room, I’m seeing her with clarity, and she’s absolutely beautiful.
With each step toward her, more details come into focus.
Her eyes are lined with some sort of silver makeup, and her lashes look darker and fuller and longer than I’ve ever seen them. Crystals matching the ones on her dress are dangling from her earlobes, and when I’m mere inches in front of her, I reach up and touch one. The warmth coming off her body is a direct contrast to the cool, metallic material of the earring, and it feels fragile on my fingertips.
“They’re not real,” Ivy whispers. She’s barely breathing, and my eyes flick to her mouth. “They’re fake. Costume jewelry.”
I know she’s talking about the earrings, but now her lips are the sole focus of my attention. They’re a soft shade of pink, almost nude, but slightly darker than normal. If I kiss them, will they feel as pillowy as they look?
Ivy’s mouth opens slightly, and her tongue sneaks out to wet her lips, making the plump lower one glisten. Somehow my left hand has found its way to her waist, and my right hand slides to the back of her neck and I slip my fingers into her hair. Everywhere my skin touches her is buzzing.
“Kelley,” she whispers. I look up to meet her gaze, but her beautiful eyes are closed, and I miss them. I want them on me.
“Ivy,” I say and press our foreheads together.
“Yes?” Her voice trembles. I graze my nose along hers.
“I want...” I lick my lips.
“...Yes?” Her soft panting breaths fan over my face, and I pause, willing my heart to stop pounding.
I’m going to kiss her.
I’m going to kiss her and I’m never going to stop.
“Ivy, I want to kiss you.” Her tiny hands grip the front of my suit jacket and my stomach tenses. I can feel her knuckles pressing into my abs.
“So do it,” she says, and I’m momentarily struck dumb.
I can’t move. I’m frozen. I’m an id
iotic circus clown statue.
When the meaning of her words finally sinks into my numb skull, that Ivy Rivenbark just gave me permission to kiss her, I lean forward, brushing my lips lightly over hers. It’s the faintest of touches, but it ignites a fire in my gut. I kiss the corner of her mouth, mustering up the courage to connect our lips for real. To do it right.
And then my phone rings.
What the fuck.
“Crazy in Love” plays loudly from the pocket of my suit pants, the ringtone Shelby set for herself without asking me, and I’m assaulted with our reality.
I have a girlfriend. Ivy has a boyfriend. Ivy is my best friend, and I was just milliseconds away from saying, “I don’t give a fuck,” to all of that.
We break contact and step away from each other at the same time, but I don’t reach for my phone. We’re locked in a silent staring contest when the song stops, and we’re still staring when the song starts back again.
Ivy looks away first, clamping her eyes shut, and I know she’s counting her breaths.
“Answer her,” she commands. There are no emotions in her voice. Just business.
I hesitate.
“Answer her, Kelley,” she insists.
With my eyes set on Ivy, I answer my phone.
“Yeah?”
“Kap, where are you? They’re gonna announce Prom King and Queen any minute!” Shelby exclaims on the other end. She’s been excited about this for weeks.
Ivy still isn’t looking at me. She’s picked up her purse from the floor and she’s running her fingers through her hair to fix where I mussed it up, and I want to stop her. I want to tell her to leave her hair alone—to stop erasing the evidence that just moments ago my fingers were there, buried in those golden strands, massaging her scalp and making her breathless.
I blink hard and look away, focusing back on the music from the dance pounding through the phone.
“Yeah, okay. Be right there.”
“Yay! Hurry!”
I put the phone back in my pocket and watch as Ivy walks to the door.
“We should go,” she says, voice still devoid of emotions. “Shelby is waiting for you, and I’m sure my boyfriend is wondering where I went.”