by Nessa Morgan
I look over at him, smile, and lean up to press my lips against his, feeling the softness, like silk, of his lips, as he invites me in his tongue meeting mine as the first rain drop hits my neck.
***
I zip up my bag—after setting very heavy objects on top of it to weigh it down—and set it next to the door. There are only five more hours before I’m on a plane to Texas for winter break. Just as we’ve done since I moved in with Hilary. We’re going to fly down there to spend two weeks with my grandparents for the holidays. They came up here for Thanksgiving; we always go down there for Christmas.
I don’t want to leave Zephyr for two weeks, I don’t even like the idea of it, but that’s the main reason Skype was created. Not entirely true, but don’t rain on my parade.
“Are you ready?” Hilary asks, leaning against the doorframe, crossing her arms, as she stares at me.
“Just zipped the suitcase,” I tell her, pointing to the large pink-and-gray suitcase in front of her. She looks down, scrunching her mouth to the side when she realizes she could see it from the hallway.
She shrugs it off. “Cool, we’ll head out in an hour or so,” she tells me. “Do whatever you need to do now, okay.”
I fight the urge to salute, instead I smile, and grab the large wrapped tube on my bed. I dart down the stairs, passing Hilary as she steps into her room. I cross the yards, sliding slightly on the wet grass, and knock on Zephyr’s front door. Molly opens the door, gracing the world with beauty as she stands before me in a gown—an actual ballroom gown.
Did I miss a gala?
“Well, hello,” Molly beams. She opens the door wider.
“You look beautiful, Molly,” I tell her, in awe of the gown. She looks stunning in red.
“Oh, this.” She looks down to the dress like she forget she’s wearing it. “My friend designed it and she needed a model.” You can’t go wrong with Molly Kalivas, former runway model. “Are you ready for your trip to Texas?” she asks, inviting me inside.
“I’m never ready for Texas,” I respond, slightly bitter. “Is Zephyr here?” I ask, waving the wrapped gift in my hands.
At school, I gave everyone gifts and watched as Harley smiled over her new t-shirt and Kennie scoffed at the bacon perfume. She still loved it, I know her, it will sit on her vanity next to the other perfume bottles with pride. I just didn’t give Zephyr his gift because I wanted it to be private. He, in agreement, is waiting to give me mine.
So as I run up the stairs to his room, I try and hide my excitement. It’s not easy. I knock on the door, hearing something rustle behind the door, before it swings wide open, displaying a shirtless Zephyr… my favorite kind.
“Ah, get in here.” Zephyr grabs my hand and pulls me into his room. He closes the door and presses me against it, firmly pressing his lips against mine. “I can’t do that for two weeks, I need to kiss you as much as I can while you’re still in this time zone.”
“It’s going to suck, I know,” I whine like a toddler. I reach my hand up and cup his cheek, feeling the scruff scratch against my palm. “But I got you this,” I say after a moment of staring into his chocolate eyes. “I hold up the wrapped tube, using it to playfully hit him in the head.
“And I got you that.” He points to a long box on his bed wrapped in beautiful Christmas paper.
I press the tube into his hands and run to his bed, snatching the box away from the top blanket.
“I can’t wait for you to open yours,” I tell him, a large smile stuck on my face. He’ll love what I got him. I know it.
For his birthday, with Christmas right around the corner, I decided to combine his gifts. I also won’t be here for his birthday, which makes me feel like one shitty girlfriend. But to make up for it, I bought him two posters. One is a poster of Alphonse Mucha’s Les Saisons. Alphonse Mucha isn’t Zephyr’s favorite artist, but it ties in with the second poster. The other is Jeph Jacques’ take on Les Saisons featuring characters from his webcomic Questionable Content. I wrapped them both in a tube covered in birthday wrapping paper. Just to make it more holiday friendly, I wrote Jesus on it.
“You first,” he offers, using the box in his hands to point at me.
“Okay.” I rip open the paper and find a poster tube. Maybe we think alike. I pull off the top and pull out two posters. One is a poster of Hannelore from Questionable Content sledding down a hill holding a cup of beer in the air—which is spilling—while Marten, Dora, and Steve watch from the top of the hill; drunken sledding or Speed Beer as they call it on the strip.
The second poster is a black-and-white silhouette of a giant wolf following a little girl wearing a cape and hood. Obviously the story of Little Red Riding Hood but upon closer inspection, I can see tiny words. After reading a few, I can see that the picture is comprised of the Grimm’s Fairy Tales. I saw one of these a while back, one of Crime and Punishment.
“Do you like it?” Zephyr asks, smiling at me from his chair.
I nod quickly, biting my lip as I stare at the posters. They’re awesome.
“Now, you open yours.” I demand, setting my gift aside.
He rips through the wrapping paper, pulling out his own posters and holding them up to see them better.
I guess that we think alike, huh?” he asks, grabbing the tape from his desk and taping them to the wall by his bed. “I love them.” He sticks the final corner and leans down to kiss me lightly. “Just like I love you.”
His words never fail to make me blush.
“I love you, too.” He crashes onto the bed. I bounce up and down, not of my own volition. He grabs my shoulders and presses his lips to mine. It’s shocking but sweet. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, softly biting until, soon, his lips my find my neck. “What are you doing?” I stammer out nervously while my hands move on their own, snaking up his back. My fingers thread into his hair, fisting the silky tendrils.
“Nothing,” he murmurs against my neck, trailing soft, sweet kisses down my shoulder, tasting my skin as he moves along. His hands grip my waist and pull me onto his lap. He slides down the strap to my tank top and kisses down my arm.
“This doesn’t feel like nothing, come on,” I beg quietly, wishing my mouth would stop talking, stop forming words, because I now believe that heaven is Zephyr’s lips on my skin. “Your parents are home.” Why won’t my mouth stop working? I don’t want him to stop. No, sirree.
“Only my mom,” Zephyr says. His eyes peek up at me through his long lashes. His lips leave my arm and find mine again, briefly before he says, “And that’s the joy of a door with a lock.”
He flips me onto my back before I can protest—not like I would. His lips find my neck again, trailing lazily where they want to go, as he slowly tastes my neck. I let out a low moan, my hands gripping, clutching, onto his bare back. He feels like fire when I touch him but I don’t want to turn away from him, I need him, here with me.
What am I saying? I’m not even sure anymore.
His hands glide down my arms, leaving a trail of electricity as they scour over my body, seeking new territory. He groans as my nails claw down his back and I can’t describe what that sound does to my body. Heat blossoms within me and spreads faster than wildfire. I arch my back, feeling his body press against mine.
Zephyr moves toward my mouth, my lips, and, rather than push him away, like I know I should, I let him kiss me again, his tongue diving into my mouth in search of mine. I know he’s savoring me, devouring me, before I leave him for break.
“I am so about to be banned from your house,” I mutter against his lips, feeling his smile against mine. He laughs, back away to look in my eyes.
“Can’t happen,” he tells me, rolling away. “You mean too much to me.” His hand reaches up and he runs a finger gently down my cheek, lightly tickling me.
“I have a plane to catch,” I whisper when he stops rubbing my cheek.
His hand reaches down my chest, tugging at the long chain around my neck. He grabs the locket, holdin
g it in his hands and staring at the owl on the front of it. “If you miss it, will you stay?” he asks me with his eyes fixed on the owl. His thumb rubs over it lightly.
“You know I can’t do that, Zeph,” I murmur, really wishing I could stay with him, just like this, forever. There’s peace in his eyes when he looks at me, a quiet peace that makes me feel at home. I don’t want to leave that, I just want to stay in his arms where I belong.
“I’ll miss you, Jo,” he whispers quietly.
“I’m only going to Texas,” I tell him, leaning up on my elbows to look him in his chocolate eyes. “I’ll be back before New Year’s. It’s not that long. And we’ll start this New Year off right.” Hopefully, with a lot of kissing.
Zephyr smiles, his happiness dwindling slightly as he realizes I’m about to be across the country. He leans forward until his forehead presses against mine. “I can’t wait.” His hand pulls lightly on the chain until I move closer and kiss him, teasing his bottom lip with my teeth.
It takes a few moments for me to realize that we’re lying in his bed, practically spooning. He’s hands rub up and down my arms softly, electrifying me as they move. Right now, we’re in an intimate setting, anything could happen. Does he want something to happen? Do I want something to happen? I do, really, but if he wants to do something now, you know, before I jump a plane to head over two thousand miles across the country, I’m not sure how I’d feel about that. Wait.
I can’t do stuff, no, not yet. Clearly, from the way he’s touching me—this could be considered heavy petting, right?—he wants something to happen. Like, right now… right here… on this bed.
Looking into his eyes, I see love, so much love for me, that I quiet the argument warring in my head.
Maybe we should have the talk.
Although, I have no idea what exactly to talk about.
Time to wing it.
“Hey, Zeph,” I start when I move away, putting some safe distance between us. I’m nervous with the things bouncing in my brain, the worries about him and me and… the act of… well, you know. “There’s one thing that we haven’t discussed since we started, you know, dating,” I mutter quietly, feeling my cheeks heat in a flush, the burn trailing down my neck.
“How you have great taste in guys?” Out comes that cocky grin of his I both love and hate. “I think we’ve got that covered.” His hand reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering for the feel of my skin.
I lean away. His touch is too distracting. I sit up on the edge of his bed, putting more distance between us, even my back to him. “No, I mean, like…” I trail off, darting my eyes around the room looking at random objects. Why does wanting to talk about this embarrass me? It’s a natural thing between two people in love. It happens, Joey, just remember that, I tell myself.
The bed shifts and dips as Zephyr’s head become more visible. I try not to look at him but I can never avoid his face. His eyes narrow as he looks at me, trying to figure me out. Shit, I knew this was a stupid thing to do. “I don’t…” Then his eyes widen with understanding. That smile plays on his lips, widening into a large grin. Sometimes, I really want to smack it from his face. “Are you talking about sex?” he nearly whispers, excitement and shock clear in his voice.
“Well, yeah,” I quietly admit, turning my gaze to the poster on the wall—but I can’t focus on it—as I feel my blush move further south, covering my torso. I bet I’m as red as a cherry.
He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him, until I’m leaning against him. “And why do you want to talk about sex?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.
Is he mocking me?
“Because, well…” I can’t talk about this, damn it. It’s official, like very official, I’m not a teenager. Not a normal teenager that can go around school talking about who slept with who and how many times at whatever party over the weekend. If I were to talk about… the, uh, act of coitus—I watch too much The Big Bang Theory—I may just run from the room before any details are exchanged.
I may run now.
“Joey,” he starts, his voice sounding serious. “Do you want to have sex?” he asks. There’s no hit of humor in his words or his eyes.
“Well, not now,” I blurt out loudly, feeling the blush run to my toes. I didn’t even know that was possible. I clap my hands over my mouth as Zephyr starts laughing. “I mean, I don’t know. Don’t you?” I ask quietly when I’m sure that my mouth won’t betray me again by blabbing and confessing anything more.
“I’m a guy.” He sits up, facing me, laughing lightly. “It’s genetically wired within me.” I know that, dude. “And when I see you, I just want to lie in bed and do very fun and naughty things with you.” I blush more while wondering who says naughty anymore. “But I refuse to pressure you.”
“But, about…” I start, not really sure where I want to go with this conversation. I’m not sure what I want to tell him, or what I even want to say.
“Jo, from this,” he begins, gripping my hands in his, forcing me to look at him, “I can tell that you’re not ready for sex.” He may have a point there. “We can wait until we are both ready and you can actually say the word sex.”
My mouth drops open, I’m offended… okay, really. Or maybe I am. I think. Ugh. “I can say the word.” I tell him, trying to defend myself. My blush grows hotter, meaning that I’m the brightest of reds.
He raises his eyebrows. “But not in reference to yourself.” He makes another great point, damn it. “Go on. Say it.”
“Say what?” I ask sheepishly, casting my gaze down to the comforter on his bed.
“Whatever you are trying to tell me,” he says. “And you suck at this, by the way.”
But I relent and say, “Well, one day, in the future, you know, with you.” Dear God, this is going horribly. “I would like to have, um…”
Damn! I hate it when he’s right!
“Sex,” Zephyr finishes for me, smirking.
“Yes, that,” I answer quickly. Zephyr starts laughing. “This isn’t funny.” I whack him on the top of his head, watching his shoulders shake as he laughs at me, makes fun of me. Before too long, I can’t help it, either. I start giggling, laughter erupting through my body. It’s funny and it feels good to laugh with him. He is right, if I can’t say it then I probably shouldn’t be doing it.
Ha, get it?
“Really, I should’ve taped this,” he mumbles between bursts of laughter. “Because that was hilarious.” Does he notice my embarrassment or is he ignoring it? His laughter finally calms, his breathing slowly returning to normal before his gaze settles on me, my face. “Look, I love you and I’ll wait forever if I have to.” His hand starts to caress mine, his fingers lightly gliding along my palm. The feeling of his touch is so light it feels like a feather against my skin.
“Uh, you haven’t…?” What am I asking? Why the hell did I start that? I don’t want to know. Wait, yes I do. No, no I don’t. Shit.
Please say no! Please say no! Please say no!
Zephyr looks down, avoiding my eyes. Oh, shit! “I won’t go as far as to say that I haven’t…” he trails out, taking a brief pause to figure out what to say, “because it would be a lie.” My smile falls from my face. I’m not mad, just a little sad. I always guessed but I was never sure. “But I thought it was the thing to do at the time.” Don’t say who, please don’t tell me who it was. I may just have to hunt her down and punch her pretty face in. “It’s a stupid excuse, I know that, but it happened.”
“So I won’t be your first,” I mutter sadly, quietly letting the words leave my lips.
“You’ll be the first girl that I love,” he whispers, leaning closer to me. “And when we do ma—”
I quickly clamp a hand over his mouth to prevent the next word from leaving his lips. “I will say sex before I ever say that.” I pull my hand away from his mouth.
“What?” he asks. “Making lo—”
“Don’t even.” I squirm in front of him
. “That one just sounds weird and old, and I don’t know about you, but I haven’t aged twenty years.”
That makes him laugh again. Why does he find me I so funny right now? “You’re so adorable, you know that?” Zephyr pulls me closer. It’s some place I want to be.
I beam up at him, grinning like a little kid looking underneath the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. “I’ve heard that from time to time, yes.”
“I should let you catch your plane.” But he doesn’t release. After five minutes, I pry his unwilling arms from around my waist and stand away from the bed to gain much needed distance.
I turn to face my boyfriend. This will be the last time I see him for two weeks. He stands up, following me the five steps to his bedroom door. I turn, leaning against the door, stalling my exit and wrap my arms around his neck while staring into his beautiful eyes. “I love you,” I tell him.
“I love you, too.” He leans forward, capturing my lips with his, kissing me deeply, passionately claiming my lips one last time.
“And I will text you constantly.” I kiss him, fighting the urge to just maneuver back to his bed. I don’t want to leave him, not yet.
“I’ll ignore the time difference,” he struggles to say against my lips.
If we keep this up, I’ll need a new flight to Texas.
Nineteen
After a long flight, one I wish I could’ve slept through or, if only to numb the pain from the annoying kid that sat behind me who repeatedly kicked the back of my seat, drank through just to calm the hell down. I hate flying. I mean I hate this so much; I would rather walk to Texas because this is scary shit to do type of hate. I guess that isn’t so much hate as fucking terrified I will die, God forbid there be turbulence. Spending that amount of time defying gravity, and I don’t mean in Wicked terms, I realize how much I love the ground. There’s just something about a large, metal tube soaring through the air that just doesn’t make sense to me, like, that is not kosher, people. If I were alive and hanging around Orville and Wilbur back in 1905, I may have smacked them.