Crave: Part One

by E. K. Blair

  His reaction is priceless, and I can’t help but giggle.

  “Happy birthday!”

  “Are you kidding me?” His eyes gleam in disbelief, and when I give him the elite board, he runs his hand over the smooth carbon fiber finish.

  “Do you like it?”

  “How did you . . .?”

  “Micah helped me with the customizations.”

  He takes in all the upgraded detailing, and I know he’s probably thinking I overdid it, but I don’t care. He works so hard for everything he has that he deserves to have a top-of-the-line board.

  “No one has ever done anything like this for me. I don’t even know what to say or how to thank you.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to get you something you’d love.”

  He sets the board aside and pulls me over his lap. “If that’s all you wanted, you didn’t have to get the board.” Running his fingers through my hair, he draws my lips down to his, murmuring, “There’s nothing I could possibly love more than you,” before kissing me.

  It’s a kiss laced with gratitude and humility, and I’m happy that I could do something special for him on a day he’s always considered unimportant.

  “I don’t deserve this.”

  “The board?”

  His hands cradle my cheeks. “Any of this. The board. You.”

  “Me?”

  “Sometimes you feel too good to be true, and I wonder what I did so right to have someone as incredible as you in my life, loving me the way you do, because you do it perfectly.”

  “You have it all wrong.” I drop my forehead to his. “I’m the undeserving one.”

  The two of us slip down into the bed, eager as always to be as close as we can with each other. Knowing we have time on our side before my mom is supposed to be home, we take advantage. With hands exploring, I relax into his touch—the only touch I ever want on me.

  I reach to unbutton his shorts, but he stops me. Before I can ask him why, he kisses my lips, nudges my legs open, and grinds himself against me. We move this way for a while, making out and kissing so deeply, I no longer know whose breath I’m breathing.

  Needy for his touch, I raise my hips to him, and he’s quick to give me what I want when he slides his hand beneath my unbuttoned shorts. My fingers press against his back, and he watches me as I ride on how good his love feels when we’re as close we are right now.

  One hour melts into another as we slow down and cuddle into each other. I’m finding it harder and harder to keep myself from going further with him. There’s hardly a day that passes that we don’t find ourselves lost in the affections we share. A few times lately, I’ve had to stop him from touching me before I do something I’m not sure I’m ready for. He’s temptation to the ninth degree, and my feelings for him are unbounding, which makes it difficult not to go the final step.

  After a while, Kason and I go out back and sit along the edge of the pool.

  “Was anyone talking about me today?” I ask as I hook my ankle around his from under the water.

  “A couple of people.”

  “Seriously?” I fret.

  “You can’t skip another day, Adaline. It’s only going to make them talk more.”

  “What if they say something to me?”

  “Ignore them.” He reaches over and holds my hand. “You have me, and no one is going to talk shit if I’m with you.”

  “And when you’re not with me?”

  “Then you have Micah and Trent to fill in the gaps. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  I shoot him an unbelieving side glare.

  “I’m home,” my mom announces as she pokes her head outside. “I picked up dinner from Jackson’s.”

  When we go inside, Kason is quick to tease, “I was hoping you’d cook for me, Cheryl.”

  “You’ve known me long enough to know better,” she quips back, because her idea of cooking is pasta with sauce from a jar. My dad was the cook in our family, not her.

  She pulls out the salads and an array of sushi rolls as Kason helps by grabbing plates and silverware. I love that, after spending so much time over here, he blends right in with my mom and me as if this were his home, too.

  “Did you get the cake I ordered?” I ask.

  “I put it in the fridge, dear.”

  “You didn’t have to get me a cake.”

  I look at him like he’s a crazy man, exclaiming, “That’s the best part about birthdays—the cake!”

  “She’s right, Kason. What’s the point if there’s no cake?”

  “What kind did you get?”

  “Italian cream.”

  We carry all the food into the dining room, and after we sit, there is nothing but silence and the soft clinks of our silverware as we eat.

  After a few minutes, my mom looks between us. “So, did you two get signed up to take the SATs yet?”

  “We registered for next month,” Kason tells her before popping a bite of sushi into his mouth.

  “As if the hundreds of tests we take in high school aren’t enough, they make us stress out and pay for this one.”

  My mom smirks. “Stressed? Really?”

  “Okay, maybe I’m not stressed, but everyone else is.”

  “Because everyone else is taking it seriously, babe.”

  My mom laughs.

  “I’m taking it seriously,” I defend. “I’m just not freaking out about it.” I stab a piece of lettuce with my fork. “I’m not kidding, Mom. It’s all anyone can talk about at school.”

  “Speaking of, are you going back tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Kason answers for me.

  “Why do I feel like the two of you are ganging up on me here?”

  They both chuckle and shake their heads as I chomp down on a crouton.

  “They’re already talking about me, you know?”

  She sets her glass of wine down and drops the humor, saying, “I know this is hard on you, dear. And if there were anything I could do, I would. But this is a high-profile case, one that could do a lot for me if I can win it.”

  “I know. I just . . .” I sit back in my chair. “The man killed his own child, and now everyone knows you’re the one defending him.” As soon as she opens her mouth, I cut her off, saying, “And before you start with all that allegedly stuff, the last thing I want is to be singled out at school.”

  She looks to Kason. “How bad is it?”

  “A few kids are already talking, but I don’t see it getting bad. There’s new gossip every week. This week happens to be about this.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t the one they’re talking about.”

  “They aren’t your friends,” he says, softening his voice. “So, what does it matter what they say?”

  I shove another crouton in my mouth.

  We continue chatting as we eat our dinner. Kason begins asking my mother questions about various trials she’s worked. Long after we’ve finished eating, they are deep in a conversation about one of her previous cases where her client had hired a hit man to kill her husband, only to find out it was all a sting operation. He’s entirely enthralled by the story, asking her one question after the next while I revel in contentment for the relationship they’ve forged this summer.

  My mother’s cell cuts into their conversation when it vibrates against the table. She silences the call as soon as she looks at the name on the screen.

  “Who was that?”

  “Nobody.” She takes another sip of wine and returns her attention to Kason.

  Her screen lights up and buzzes once more, and when I look over the table, I see she has a new voice mail from my dad.

  “Why is Dad calling you?”

  “We’ll talk about it later, dear.”

  “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  There’s reservation in her silence, which only amplifies my curiosity.

  “Mom?”

  “I’ve been trying to talk to him about reaching out to you,�
�� she says.

  “He’s a jerk,” I lash out in irritation. He hasn’t bothered to call me—not once—since the night he threw me out of his house.

  “That may be true, but he’s also your father. And that relationship is important to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re important to me. You’re my favorite,” she stresses. “It hurts me to see the two of you at odds when it was never supposed to be this way.”

  “He made it this way when he chose her over us. He hurt you, too, Mom.”

  She sits back and fiddles with the stem of her wine glass, and I hate him for walking out on us. My mother never let the divorce effect the lifestyle we had been accustom to living, but even years later she’s still working her butt off.

  “So, what did he say when you told him to call me?”

  When she takes her eyes off the glass and looks at me, she tilts her head, and Kason’s hand comes to rest on my knee when I press, “I want to know what he said. His exact words.”

  “That he didn’t see a point,” she answers warily, and even though I’m still so angry with him, I can’t deny the agony that punctures through my heart when she tells me this. “And with the baby coming, he feels it’s best that your holidays be spent here.”

  Kason’s hand leaves my leg when he wraps his arm around me, but I shrug him off with an aggravated, “I’m fine.”

  I’m far from fine.

  How could he just cut me off like that?

  It feels like my heart is caving in on itself and sinking in my chest. I’m so mad at him, and I wish that was all I could feel because being furious at someone is so much easier than being hurt by someone.

  “I’m sorry, Ady.”

  I don’t even try to speak around the emotional knot lodged in my throat. I know if I try, I’ll lose control of my façade and cry, and that’s the last thing I want to do. So, I sit here, stone-faced as the two of them look at me as if I’m a broken doll. I do what I can to swallow the bitterness of my father’s rejection, but when I start to teeter on the brink of falling apart, I scoot my chair back and abruptly excuse myself before rushing up to my room.

  My legs won’t move fast enough, and the first tear falls before I can close my bedroom door behind me. Bracing my hands on to my dresser, I take in a trembling deep breath and attempt to calm myself. But then my eyes catch the stack of photos from the frames that were destroyed in the burglary, and I look into my dad’s eyes as I sit happily on his knee. Memories of how close we once were crumble from all around, and when I cover my hands over my face, the pain I’ve buried erupts out of me in an agonizing sob.

  I fall apart.

  My body hunches over, and I cry because the one man who was never supposed to break my heart is the man who completely shattered it.

  Warmth covers me from all around as my tears free fall, but his strength never wavers as he holds me with everything he has. I cling to Kason as my sadness dampens his shirt. He grips me tighter. Needing his comfort, I let him take care of me, and when my eyelids start to get heavy, he walks us over to the bed.

  My head rests over his heart, and I let the steady beats lull me until I find a semblance of peace. We’re wrapped in each other, and it’s here where I’ve come to find my safety. It’s wherever Kason is. He’s where I can be my most vulnerable when I’m so used to keeping everything bottled inside.

  His lips fall on top of my head in a still kiss before he finally speaks. “What can I do?”

  I lift my shoulders and drop them just as quickly.

  “Have you thought about calling him?”

  “What’s the point? I shouldn’t have to force my own dad to talk to me.”

  “I know.” He drags his thumb across my salt-covered cheek. “I hate seeing you hurting so badly. I wish there were something I could do. Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

  “This is all I want,” I respond as I squeeze my arms around him. “You’re all I want. Only you.”

  “You have me. I couldn’t possibly imagine giving myself to anyone else. You’re everything, Adaline.”

  I close my eyes, and within the sadness flooding this room, I find pure happiness. He never loosens his hold on me, and when night paints the sky with a peppering of stars, I feel myself dozing. A shadow crosses the room, and I sit up as my tired eyes focus in on my mom. Kason sits up next to me, and after she sets the cake box on top of the covers, she crawls onto the bed with us.

  With only the moon casting its glow into the room, I open the lid as we all grab a fork. And without a single word spoken, so much is said as the three of us eat Kason’s birthday cake straight from the box.

  I walk into last period photography and catch a ridiculing look from the teacher as I pass by his desk. The trial for my mom’s case started a few days ago. Most people’s reaction toward me is pretty much the same: long, judgmental stares, and mild whispers. I wish everyone’s despise for my mother would remain just that—for her. But she isn’t here facing the swamps of high school fodder. I am. It’s me they talk about, as if I’m the one in the court room defending one of Tampa’s most hated men.

  We’re nearly halfway through the school year, and I’ve been dodging condemning side-glares this whole time. Surprisingly, most of the negative attention comes from the teachers, not the students. I guess teenagers have better things to do than sit at home and watch the evening news. Thank God, because if they knew half of what the media has been reporting on this case, they’d be treating me a million times worse than the staff.

  “He’s a middle-aged prick,” Micah mutters when I drop my books onto my desk, having seen Mr. Berrystine’s reaction to me.

  “I’m so ready for Thanksgiving break. I’m sick of this place.”

  Micah gives my shoulder a supportive squeeze when I slump in the seat next to him. I glance up to the head of the class to find that old Berrystine is still looking my way, but he’s distracted when Trent strolls in with a loud, “First one done, losers!” and drops his mid-term project portfolio loudly on the teacher’s desk.

  “I said not to turn projects in early.”

  Ignoring Mr. Berrystine’s irritation, he makes his way to the back of the class, responding carelessly, “Shit’ll get lost if I hang on to it.”

  “Language!”

  “Sorry, sir.” He slings his bag over the back of his chair, claps hands with Micah, and turns to me with a smirk.

  “You know he can’t stand you, right?” I say.

  “Can you blame him? He’s expired and still has to show up here every day. Dude’s life has got to suck.”

  When the bell rings, we head back into the darkroom to waste away the last hour of school. I was thrilled when I found out we all got this class together. It’s the easiest A senior class that’s offered even though the teacher has the crotchetiest attitude ever.

  While other students are soaking their photos in the developer, the three of us sit on the floor in the back corner of the room.

  “Bunny alert,” Micah says while I’m laughing at the story Trent’s telling me.

  Within the dim red glow of the room, Katy walks over to the developer station, eyes me as if I’m some gross leper, and sets her film canister on the counter.

  “Is that seriously all you’re going to do today?” she sneers my way, but only my way, because she cares too much about maintaining good graces with the boys in this school.

  I ignore her. It’s hard enough looking at her, let alone actually speaking to her. Knowing that she and Kason hooked up still needles on my heart, and I think it’s even worse since after all this time together, we’ve yet to have sex. Not that Kason doesn’t want to. He does. And I do, too. But I’m nervous and scared. Every time we edge closer to crossing the line, I panic and make him stop. So, having to see Katy every day is far from ideal.

  Micah slips his arm around my shoulders. He understands why I’m so tense around her. Apparently, she made it no secret of what happened between her and Kason during their sopho
more year.

  “I can’t stand her,” I mumble under my breath.

  “She’s only a bitch because she’s jealous. Don’t take it personally.”

  She stands over the soaking trays with such arrogance in her too-short shorts, and Micah grimaces when he hears my teeth grind.

  “What the hell are you guys doing back here?” Kason says when he walks in, opening the door without warning and exposing all the developing paper to light.

  “Dammit, Kase,” Katy snaps at the same time I jump to my feet and throw my arms around him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We had a sub and the teacher didn’t leave her with any work to give to us, so—”

  “Pretty boy is ditching,” Micah teases. “There’s a first.”

  Katy turns on her heels with a huff. “Do you mind? You just destroyed my photos.”

  “Your pictures suck anyway,” Trent says as we walk back out to the classroom.

  “What’s all the commotion?”

  Micah approaches the teacher’s desk and distracts him while Trent and I grab our bags and sneak out the door with Kason. Running down the hall, we turn the corner and wait. A minute later, Micah’s rushing toward us. “Let’s go.”

  Kason grabs my hand, and we make a run for it when we hear Mr. Berrystine holler, “You kids better get back here.”

  I burst out laughing as Kason pulls me through the halls, and the moment we hit the parking lot, my feet drag as I try to catch my breath.

  “Hop on.” Kason turns and bends so I can jump on his back.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Beach,” Trent calls out to me.

  Kason sets me on my feet when we get to our cars. “You two have fun.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “Another day, man,” Kason tells them, still eager to spend as much alone time with me as he can while my mom’s at work, and before Micah and Trent can give us a hard time, we both hop into our cars.

  Trent flips us the bird as Kason and I pull out of our parking spots, and I blow him a kiss in good fun.

  When we make it to my house, the alarm is already off.

  “Mom?”

  “In here,” she answers from her office.

  “Let’s go to my place,” Kason teases, and I nudge him in the ribs.