Waiting Game: Ocean Bay #2

by Chloe Walsh

  And still, I didn’t move an inch.

  I couldn't get my feet to move me in the direction of common sense.

  Because this girl was in my veins. I knew that sounded contrite, but it was the truth. I'd known it when I was five years old and I knew it now. I was connected to her in a way that Rourke or any of the guys could never understand. Hell, screw the guys; I didn’t understand it myself.

  All I knew was I had walked into a burning house because the fear of losing her from my life was worse than the fear of losing my own damn life.

  Even at ten years old, I knew I couldn’t live without this girl, and when she was taken from me, I stopped living and went into fucking auto pilot mode.

  Molly thought that I had gotten on just fine without her these past eight years, when the truth was anything but. I hadn't been fine since I was ten. The only way I'd managed to survive what I saw that night was countless sessions of therapy and hypnotherapy. I practically had to train my goddamn mind to forget about her. It was the only way I could cope with her absence.

  And now that she was back?

  Right here in my arms, sleeping softly and looking like something God almighty himself had brought down from heaven and placed on my chest?

  Well, I hadn't felt so alive in years.

  I wasn’t sure what my feelings for this girl meant, or whether they ran deeper than a regular emotional attachment. I wasn't sure if they were veering away from platonic and moving closer to sexual, but they were hotter and more potent than anything I'd ever experienced before.

  I guess the only way I could explain it was that Molly Peterson eclipsed me. It was something she had been perfecting since childhood and now, at eighteen, had down to a fine art.

  In other words, I was in some deep shit.

  Daryl

  Several hours later, we were downstairs, attempting to put right the apparent tornado we had made the night before, and I was quickly losing the will to live.

  "What the hell did we do to this carpet?" I asked, vacuum in one hand, as I dragged the couch out of the way, only to reveal yet another huge red stain on her father's white carpet. "Aw Christ, Molls. I found another one."

  "It was the wine!" Molly wailed, dropping to her knees with disinfectant spray and a dishrag. "Ugh – I can't! The smell of alcohol is too much –" Gawking and heaving dramatically, she pinched her nose with one hand and scrubbed the stain with the other. "My father is going to kill me."

  I frowned in confusion. "We had wine?" My gaze flicked to the numerous empty wine bottles littering the coffee table. "Shit, we had wine."

  "And beer, and tequila, and –" she slapped a hand over her mouth and took a moment before whimpering, "scotch."

  "Jesus." I shuddered. "No goddamn wonder I feel like a marching band has taken up residency behind my eyeballs."

  "I'm right there with you," she agreed glumly.

  "Coach is gonna flip." I blew out a pained breath. "I missed this morning's practice."

  "Can you turn it off?" Molly asked then, pointing to the vacuum. "I swear it's trying to kill me."

  Chuckling, I switched off the vacuum. "You know, when you're this hungover, there's really only one cure."

  "Yeah?" Crawling onto the couch, she grabbed a cushion and cradled it to her stomach. "Well, whatever it is, I want it." Shivering, she curled up in a tiny ball and winced. "Because I really think that I might be on the way out here, D."

  Swiping a half bottle of vodka off the coffee table, I flopped onto the couch beside her and nudged her shoulder. "Bottom's up, Molls."

  "Oh god, you were right yesterday," she grumbled, swiping the bottle out of my hand. "You do corrupt me." With a teasing lilt to her voice, Molly unscrewed the cap on the bottle and asked, "Are you sure this isn't your way of getting to sleep over again?"

  Yes.

  Forcing a smile, I pulled out my last blunt and grabbed a lighter.

  I rarely drank, and I smoked even less, but the thought of going home and facing Wren had me clutching at straws.

  I didn’t want to leave her.

  This was the most at peace I had felt in a very long time.

  Molly

  I was drinking.

  Again.

  On a school night.

  Again.

  At least I didn’t feel like the walls were moving anymore… Well, the walls were definitely still moving, the floor had joined them by spinning, too, but I felt freaking fantastic.

  With my iPod pumping out Bowling For Soup's Girl All the Bad Guys Want at full blast, I jumped up and down on my bed, bouncing along to the music with animated dance moves.

  From his perch on my bedroom floor, Daryl watched my every move with an amused expression. His cheeks were flushed from the sheer volume of alcohol we had consumed, his eyes bloodshot from the weed, but he looked more at peace in this moment than I had seen in the past two years. His mask was down, and I was looking at the real him tonight. The version of Daryl King that had always belonged to me.

  When the song ended and was replaced with The Ballad of Chasey Lain by The Bloodhound Gang, I upped the ante, comically lip-syncing along to the music, pretending Daryl was the girl, Chasey, from the song.

  Daryl's infectious laughter only encouraged my antics, and I pulled out the lamest dance moves that were far from ladylike. Any other girl my age would be mortified to dance like a dude in front of the quarterback of our school's varsity football team, but I was too drunk and having too much fun to care.

  For the first time in years, I was behaving like a normal teenager, having real, normal teenage experiences with an actual friend.

  Daryl's eyes locked on mine, and his face broke into a huge smile.

  Laughing, I beamed back at him, feeling something warm and fuzzy settle inside of my chest.

  When my iPod shuffled up songs and 50 Cent's Candy Shop came on next, I waggled my brows and grinned devilishly. "Oh, D, this is my jam!"

  "Hell no!" Laughing, Daryl threw his hands up. "No taking me to any damn candy shop," he slurred, dragging himself to his feet. "Seriously, you gotta stop, or I'll never get the image of you licking a damn lollipop out of my head." Grabbing my iPod off the nightstand, he tapped on the screen until he had the song switched and the volume lowered to background music. "Thank Jesus!"

  "You're a killjoy," I laughed, crashing onto my back and breathing hard from my theatrical exertion.

  "And you're a never-ending ball of energy," he chuckled, flopping down beside me.

  Our bodies aligned, shoulders touching, as we stared up at the ceiling and sighed in contented unison.

  "I'm drunk," I hiccupped.

  "Me too," Daryl replied.

  And then his thumb grazed the back of my knuckles.

  The physical contact was minimal but it caused my heart to buck wildly in my chest.

  His touch felt so freaking good...

  Clenching my eyes shut, I held my breath to stop the world from spinning, and concentrated on the feel of his thumb gently grazing my skin.

  Encouraging me?

  Pulse spiking, I released the fist I had unintentionally made and let my hand fall open.

  When his hand covered mine and our fingers entwined, my heart raced erratically in my chest.

  Shivering, I turned my face to look at him.

  He was already watching me.

  "Hi," I breathed.

  A smile ghosted his lips. "Hey."

  "So…" I let my words trail off and let out a nervous chuckle. "You're holding my hand."

  "Yeah," he agreed, exhaling heavily, green eyes still glued to mine. "Do you want me to let go?"

  "No." I shook my head slowly, never taking my eyes off his. "Don’t let go."

  Daryl's eyes blazed with tender approval and his hand tightened around mine.

  The sensation caused a flood of heat to roll through me and I shivered, my breath hitching in my throat.

  What was happening here?

  Did he…?

  He shifted closer
until our brows were touching, and then he gently nuzzled my nose with his.

  "I'm not casual," I decided to blurt out in my drunken stupor. "That's not me." I wasn’t sure why the words fell out of my mouth, but he was looking at me in a way no one ever had, touching me like no one ever had, and I was completely thrown. "Intimacy is a big deal for me," I continued to ramble. "Taking off my clothes is personal." I blew out a shaky breath. "Letting you in is more."

  "More?"

  "More," I confirmed with a nod, heart racing wildly as his green eyes burned holes right through my soul. "Deeper… Further… Permanent."

  I could hear Oktoba's CHANCE playing in the background, but only barely above the sound of my heart that was beating like a war drum against my chest bone.

  I was feeling too freaking much in this moment. Common sense wasn't sticking around, not with the alcohol rushing through my veins.

  Daryl seemed to consider my answer for a long time before saying, "What about kissing you?"

  I felt faint.

  Like I was about to pass out.

  "That's a bad idea," I managed to whisper, breathing hard and fast.

  "A bad idea." Releasing my hand, Daryl rolled onto his side and gave me his full attention. His hand moved to rest on my hip and the sensation caused my breath to come in short, frantic puffs. "Why is kissing me a bad idea?"

  "Because I might catch feelings," I offered weakly, body shaking now.

  "Well then..." His hand moved from my hip to my arm before tenderly cradling the side of my face. His eyes burned with heat when he said, "Let's hope you catch them," before crushing his mouth to mine.

  Molly

  Everything inside of me shook and shuddered when Daryl's lips closed over mine. Sucking in a sharp breath, I lay on my bed, drowning in the sensation of my first kiss, as his lips gently glided over mine. Soft at first, and slow… gentle. And then deeper…hungrier. More urgent.

  When I opened my mouth to tentatively touch his tongue with mine, he exhaled shakily, and the shudder that rolled through his big body gave me comfort.

  He was feeling this, too.

  This kiss meant something to him.

  I meant something to him.

  "I've wanted to do this since we were kids," he admitted, his alcohol scented breath making me drunker than I already was. Or maybe I was just drunk on him. I didn’t know and I couldn’t think too much about it. I was too invested in the way his body felt as Daryl King leaned over me and kissed me like his life depended on it.

  "Do what?"

  "Kiss these lips."

  His hands were in my hair, cradling my face, as his lips devoured mine. His tongue was dueling with mine, our bodies flush together, as my heart threatened to escape my ribcage.

  Giving into temptation, I let my legs fall open, inviting his big body to settle between them. When he obliged, I wrapped my arms around his neck and hooked my legs around his narrow waist, knowing that I didn't stand a chance against the feelings that were battering my heart. We started something a very long time ago and time hadn't changed a single thing for me. I loved him when I was five years old and I loved him now. I still only wanted to be with him. Be it friends or something more, he was the other part of me. The part that I wanted to stick to like glue.

  He pulled himself up on his knees between my spread legs and reached behind his back, yanking his shirt off. Tossing it on my bedroom floor, he pushed his hand through his dark hair before reaching for the hem of my shirt. The minute he did that, I turned to stone on the mattress below him.

  "Trust me," he whispered. Leaning down, he kissed me deep and slow before pulling back once more. "Trust me."

  Trembling, I let him pull me into a sitting position. Daryl's eyes never left mine as he reached for the hem of my shirt once more and slowly pulled it over my head.

  His lips closed over mine again and then I felt his hands on my back, unclasping my bra, and revealing my body entirely to him.

  My burns...

  My scars…

  My ugliness…

  Fear spiraled inside of me.

  Every insecurity and imperfection I had was on full display for the person whose opinion meant more to me than anyone else in world.

  Tears sprang to my eyes and I quickly clenched them shut. Shame and self-loathing filled every inch of my body. I knew what I looked like. My arms and legs were severely scarred from the fire. One of my breasts was charred and crinkly. The disfigured skin of the right side of my chest and stomach was a horrible reddish, purple coloring.

  "It's okay." Sniffling, I flopped back down on the mattress, fully expecting what Daryl was seeing to sober him up and run for the hills. "You can go now."

  That wasn’t what happened.

  "You're beautiful, Molly-Dolly." Still kneeling between my jean-clad thighs, he cupped my face in both hands and breathed against my lips. "So fucking beautiful it hurts."

  I shook my head. "Don’t lie! I look like a monster –"

  "Don’t call me a liar," he growled and claimed my lips again; his kisses hungrier and more desperate than earlier. "Just lay there and let me show you how fucking much you make me ache."

  And then his lips were moving, roaming over every inch of my skin, his tongue licking and gliding over my imperfect flesh, almost as if he was trying to soothe an ache inside of me. And in a way, he was.

  Daryl was drunk, we both were, but even if he were sober, I didn’t think he could have made me feel more at ease. More comfortable in my own skin.

  "So fuckin' perfect," he groaned, fingers moving to the waistband of my jeans, as he teased and tasted my hard nipples, paying special attention to my scarred breast.

  Flicking the button of my jeans open, he quickly unzipped them and dragged both the denim fabric and my panties down my thighs, leaving me completely naked beneath him.

  "If you're not ready, I can stop –"

  "No!" I blew out a ragged breath. "Don’t stop…"

  "You sure, Molls?"

  I nodded weakly, never feeling surer of anything in my life. I might not know what I was doing, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want this to happen.

  Desperately.

  When his head moved between my legs, and his nose grazed my slit, I all but jackknifed off the bed.

  "Relax," he coaxed, breath fanning my most intimate area. "Let me make you feel good."

  And so I did.

  Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to enjoy, to revel, in the feel of him enjoying me.

  Where his hands touched, his lips quickly followed, until there wasn't a lick of skin that he hadn't touched or caressed.

  Shedding the rest of his clothes, Daryl returned to my body, hips moving to settle in my most intimate place.

  He was breathing hard and fast, and the desire burning in his eyes was something I couldn’t deny.

  I could feel his erection, hard as steel, pressing against my entrance, and a sliver of fear trickled down my spine. "Go slow," I whispered, reaching up to cup his face with my small hands.

  Nodding slowly, Daryl reached for my thigh and hitched it around his waist. Resting his brow against mine, he blew out a shaky breath.

  And then he pushed himself deep inside of me.

  Daryl

  The bedsheets were stained in her virginity. Her presence was scored on my heart. I would never be the same again. Not from this day forward.

  Dermot Kennedy's What Have I Done drifted from the speaker synced to her iPod as I moved inside her.

  She was so small, so fragile, so fucking breakable.

  Feeling something deep inside of me entwine with her, I blew out a shaky breath and lowered my head to rest against hers.

  I couldn’t take it.

  Not the song that was playing in my ears, reminding me of everything I'd been desperately trying to deny, or how right she felt in my arms.

  Keeping an arm hooked around her thigh, I took the opportunity to pull her deeper against me. Shivering when I touched her, Molly didn’t recoi
l. Instead, she placed a tentative hand on my shoulder, settling the other palm against my cheek.

  Fuck, I was drowning in my feelings as I watched her watch me.

  Sliding my free arm behind her head, I cupped her neck and pulled her closer, angling into her deeper as our bodies moved in unison to the music.

  I felt like I was ten years old again, standing on a precipice that would alter my life forever. The decision I had to make now was as compelling and lifechanging as the one I had made that night eight years ago. But the girl was the same. Small and fragile then, and now? Fiercely brave and hauntingly vulnerable.

  I wanted to tell her that I loved her. That I'd loved her since childhood and had never stopped for a single second. That I was sorry for the choices I'd made. For not being a good enough friend to her back then and not a good enough man for her now. I wanted to tell her the truth about what happened that night. About what I'd seen…heard...did. I wanted to be the one person in her life that didn’t lie to her, but I was scared. I was too drunk, and emotional, and fucking terrified of losing her again to get my words out.

  "Molly." Breathing ragged, I continued to move inside of her as I battled with my conscience. "I have to tell you something…"

  "Don’t do it." Her breath hitched, eyes widening in fear. "You're drunk. You won't mean it and everything will change."

  "I'll mean it," I replied gruffly, stroking her nose with mine. "And maybe I want everything to change."

  "No." She placed her small hand over my mouth. "Please don’t. Not tonight." Moving her hand from my mouth, she reached up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. "Tell me when you're sober."

  Molly

  When I woke up for school on Monday morning, it was to a heavy, muscular arm draped over my stomach.

  For a long time, I lay perfectly still, trying to take in every cloudy flashback and hazy, drunk-fueled memory of the night before.

  It didn’t take long for me to recall last night's events, especially not when Daryl was naked in my bed.