by Mia Kerick
He raises an eyebrow, and his lip quirks into a smile.
“You want to hold me?”
I’m glad he can’t see my hands as I slip them underneath the covers, because they are shaking like hell. I’m trying to find the knot and end up touching just about everywhere but that damn robe’s belt. The smug look on Seven’s face begins to quaver.
“Hey….”
I stretch up and kiss him, the pressure of our lips sending shivers down my spine. It’s not just being so close to him—it’s what this means. See, I’ve fantasized about finally having sex for a long time, but I’ve always “known” I wouldn’t end up with anyone. If this happens with Seven, I won’t be able to say that I’ve always “known” anything anymore.
Ha! I don’t know shit. I don’t know anything about myself or this world, as my fingers slip into the knot, as I loosen it, as I pull it back.
I’m giving Seven time to reject me, to run away, to laugh, if he’s going to.
Instead he deepens the kiss, his tongue probing, and I can taste the minty coolness of his mouth. He slides his hand up my bare thigh and I groan.
He’s nothing like the Draco Malfoy-esque asshole I first met that day in school. Okay, he’s something like that—but in the good ways. The haughty wall has mostly crumbled, and he’s been kind with me. Kind Seven is amazing.
How do I ask him if he’s been kind with all his lovers?
And why am I fucking this up by thinking about it? I’m going to screw it up.
Shouldn’t I be more worried about not blowing my whole load in seven seconds?
All we need is a condom, and then we can do this thing.
So why do I want to know?
Seven breaks the kiss, puts his forehead against mine, and whispers, “You’re going stiff, Renzy, and not in the way I’d imagined you would. I told you we don’t have to do this.”
But I want to, don’t you get that?
I pull back—far enough back that I can see the expanse of his lean chest from where the robe has fallen open.
I draw a question mark in the air hesitantly. Seven is not as good at charades as his sister is and what if the question really does ruin everything. I shake my head quickly. No. No guessing.
I lay my left palm flat and begin to “write on it” with an imaginary pen.
“You need your paper?” Seven says, swallowing hard. “Uh… right now?”
I nod and shrug apologetically, but then quickly point to him and back to me, again and again, nodding.
I want this, Seven.
I hope he understands.
It doesn’t take long for Seven to find my notepad, but when he produces it, I’m temporarily distracted…. His robe is open completely. It’s my first time seeing someone else’s dick in real life. Wow. Wow. I blush and look down at the paper.
Now or never.
It’s not a question, is it? But I’m asking him a helluva lot.
I slowly look up and try not to let my gaze linger on that amazing part of his body.
“There were others before you? Well, if there were, I can’t even remember their faces. The only face I see is yours.”
Oh, fuck.
“All I want is to find a way to communicate with you that doesn’t involve words, Renzy. I know that sounds like a line.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I don’t think I’m imagining things when the lightest shade of pink comes into his cheeks. “But it isn’t.”
I smile, warmed by Seven, who is so much older than his years.
He looks at the notepad and nods, producing it from the pocket of his robe.
I can’t help but laugh—quietly, so I don’t wake up Morning.
“Wishful thinking?” Seven shrugs one shoulder before dropping the robe onto the floor and then slipping into the bed. “I want you to know something, Renzy. If you get nervous at any time, we can stop. Signal me, and I’ll stop. You’re safe with me.”
I quickly scribble:
I expect him to laugh because, even though I do believe him about being the only person in his mind right now, we both know he’s done this before. But he doesn’t laugh at all. In fact, his silence is so jarring that I look up from the paper to see an expression on his handsome features I don’t recognize.
Has no one ever said this to him before? Has no one ever offered to stop for him?
He takes my notebook and sets it aside and then pulls me into his arms.
What was the worst day of my life has become the night that will change every damn thing. I can feel it.
I love it.
The act hurts, but it feels good too, and it’s confusing and awkward, but wonderful, and it’s over way too fast and after we clean up, I wrap myself against Seven’s sweat-slick body and melt into him.
I think I’ve found my home.
~ Seven ~
I WAKE up this morning with a boy in my arms. A warm, vulnerable, wide-eyed boy who looks at me as if maybe I can be his home. What terrifies me most is that I badly want to assure him that I can be his safe place, but I’ve never been a warm and welcoming presence in anyone’s life. Even Morning and I constantly jockey for the power position.
Everything is different now. Irrevocably, profoundly, terrifyingly different. Because I thought it would be “just sex,” like it has always been before. But it wasn’t, not at all. It was connection. It was personal. Before last night I never considered sex to be personal, as it was merely a physical act. But everything has changed.
Being intimate with Renzy was different for my body. And it begs to be different for my head, and my heart. It needs to be different. But can I be different with Renzy? Do I want to go to the defenseless place this will take me?
I shiver, and it’s one of those full-body shivers—top of my head to tip of my toes. But I’m not trembling. I’m not.
In any case, we need to eat, so I suppose it’s time to do what I do best. Time to take care of my sister and my… my lover. It’s an easy question to address: what’s for breakfast? I can handle this.
I lean up on one arm and look down at Renzy who is, unsurprisingly, looking at me. No, he’s studying me. Analyzing my expression, anticipating my words, awaiting my verdict. Just how “special” was last night to me?
Oh, Renzy, you’ll never know what a singular experience making love to you was because I’m fairly certain I’ll never allow you to know.
I’m a fucking coward. Maybe I’m willing to climb out on a shaky limb to fix everybody else’s problems, but I refuse to address the places where I am broken.
“You must be starving, Renzy. I think it’s time to order a morning feast—we’ll spare no expense. We’ll order omelets and pancakes and croissants and sausage and fresh fruit and….” My voice trails away as I take in the disappointment on Renzy’s face. If he thought I was going to wake up this morning and declare my undying love, he’d been sorely mistaken.
But the truth is, none of us are willing to show our cards: Renzy hides his cards behind silence, and Morning hides hers behind fragility, and I hide mine behind aloofness.
Aren’t we a sorry little travelin’ band?
Chapter Twenty-Three: Renzy
IT’S NOT like I was expecting anything specific from Seven. I wasn’t under the impression he would confess his undying love or some cheesy shit like that. But, “you must be starving”? Really? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I know screwing took a lot out of the both of us so let’s get some bagels. Do you take cream cheese or do you like ’em plain?
Sex bagels. Jeez.
But it’s like this—I wanted to have sex and I wanted it to be with Seven.
Besides, it was good, more than good.
I thought it was fantastic.
“What?” Seven asks, poking a finger between my eyebrows,
and I realize I’m frowning.
I’m not going to pout over this. Really, I’m not. ’Cause one, I’m not the pouting type. And two… it’s much more satisfying to stretch up, put my arms around his neck, and pull him down into a long, fucking amazing kiss, which makes the frightening stuff from yesterday afternoon seem like a distant dream.
When the kiss breaks, I smile vaguely and make a crude gesture that causes both of his eyebrows to skyrocket.
“Are you saying you wanna go again?”
I shrug slowly, my smile becoming a grin.
I hear the bathroom door open and close. The shower starts.
“She takes forever to shower,” Seven promises me on another kiss.
I point to his mouth and then mine. Let’s just kiss for a while. We can delay pleasure, right? That’s totally doable for two horny-as-hell teenagers.
~ Seven ~
“BITE ME.”
When we return from our postbreakfast trip to the convenience store where we picked up toothpaste, razors, deodorant, and shaving cream, Morning is sitting on the couch in the front room, her legs crossed, and a cup of tea in hand, her pinkie extended delicately. She wears nothing but the light blue robe. “Both of you—just bite me.”
Renzy leans over to pick up her clothes that have clearly been tossed into a careless pile on the floor beside the bed. Obviously confused he walks over to my little sister and tries to push the clothes into her empty hand. “I refuse to degrade myself by allowing my pristine body to fraternize with those foul garments.” This is Morning the Diva and I have not seen her in a long time. I hesitate to say I missed her. She takes a sip of her tea, uncrosses her legs—a brazen movement that causes Renzy to blush a bright red—and recrosses them in the other direction.
“Spit it out, Morning. Why are you protesting your clothes?”
“Take a whiff of them, and then you tell me, mon frère nommé Sept.” She doesn’t crack a smile, but does tilt her chin. This is serious business.
Renzy, who is still holding Morning’s clothing loosely in his hands, wrinkles his forehead rather adorably, apparently torn with regard to what he should do next. He’s an agreeable sort, and I’m sure he wants to do as Morning instructed, but he thinks it’s just too weird to stick his nostrils into her well-worn clothing. “Don’t worry, Renzy, you don’t have to sniff Morning’s dirty laundry.” I glance at my sister. “You want to go shopping, don’t you?”
“That would be a ‘duh.’” Ouch. Morning can be one tough customer.
“Well, you can’t exactly go shopping wearing that towel,” I inform her with as much haughtiness as I can muster.
Renzy shakes his head and tries again to press the outfit she’s been wearing for the past several days into her hands. Morning crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Seven, I overheard your pillow talk this morning.”
This time I blush. What exactly did she hear?
“You told Renzy that today we’re going to do some research about some frigging symbol you saw on a parking sticker.”
I’m immediately relieved. “Yes, I thought if we could figure out what the symbol stands for it might lead us to—”
“After. We. Go. Shopping.”
I glance at Renzy who’s already nodding with enthusiasm. Apparently Morning has won his vote.
One more time, she says, “After.”
Although I’m eager to discover what the symbol on Larry Alexander’s parking sticker means, I’m more eager to prevent Morning from proving she means business—with respect to the requested shopping trip—by strolling naked to the hotel lobby to see about a possible linen upgrade. Quite familiar with my sister’s stubborn streak, I nod too. “Fine. You win. We’ll go shopping.”
“And FYI, Seven and Renzy….”
We both look at The Diva as she snatches her clothing out of Renzy’s outstretched hands. “What?”
“You guys could use a change of clothes as well. You don’t smell like roses either.”
With a wink, she’s off to the bathroom to get dressed in the dirty clothes I’m sure she’ll make me burn later today.
“THEY CALL this the Oak Hill Mall? I don’t see an oak tree or a hill in the vicinity.” Morning drags her feet as we arrive at the entrance to the mall that leads through the food court. “I have a strong feeling this is going to be lame—capital L.”
Ugh, sometimes I just can’t please her! I only think this, though, as I’m well aware of her foul mood this morning, and I’ll admit to feeling slightly intimidated. “We’re here upon your explicit command, to find you something clean with which to attire your ‘pristine’ body. So—to be frank—suck it up, frangine.”
I’m tempted to turn around and check out Renzy’s reaction to our siblings’ squabble. The expressions he makes when we “debate” are priceless. But Morning distracts me by storming past as I hold open the glass door, announcing, “And don’t think for one second, my dearest Seven, that I will set a single foot into a Forever 21. I never have, and I certainly never will.”
I truly hate to roll my eyes, but up they go….
Renzy and I follow behind a strutting Morning, as she makes her way past the pretzel vendor, the foamy orange drink store, and the addictive chocolate cookie place. Renzy stops for a split second and stares at the vendors rather dreamily. I assume he’s experiencing the tempting array of aromas emanating from the food court. But Morning snaps around to face him with her hands on her hips.
Watch out, Renzy. Again, I only think this. I’m smart that way.
“Hello, Renzy! May I trouble you to get your adorable ass in gear? The scents in this pavilion are enough to make me vomit.” She is on the brink of out of control. I attribute it to mall stress.
Poor Renzy scrambles to her side, and I fight not to laugh. He’s getting a taste of Morning’s sarcastic-sister treatment, and I have no problem sharing. Ha! He can’t keep up with her, though. The two of us trail ten feet behind as she bolts for the Oak Hill Mall directory. I wonder idly as we follow along if Renzy’s noticed that Morning has transformed into an Olympic-caliber speed walker. Again I fight my giddiness, but it’s just so damned satisfying to share the burden of Morning’s contrariness.
“Are you kidding me—H&M? I don’t think so.” She runs her finger down the list of women’s apparel retailers on the glossy mall directory. “Fucking Old Navy? Are they for real? Who do they think I am, a Catholic schoolgirl on a tight budget?”
I have honestly never seen Renzy’s eyes so wide. Not even last night. He stares at her and gulps audibly, and I wonder how I can possibly be scared of falling for a boy so sweet.
“Like I’d get caught dead in an American Eagle.” She’s on a roll.
I can’t help myself. I want to touch him. Renzy isn’t exactly what you’d call my other half—if he were, he’d most certainly be my better half—but after last night, maybe he’s a little bit mine. And maybe I’ll let myself enjoy this cozy feeling—for one morning. When I reach out and place my hand on Renzy’s waist, the way he looks at me is trusting and open. I feel a bit like a fool. I’m not sure why.
“Oh, thank you.” Morning distracts us. “There is a God—look, a J.Crew. I think I can make it work, but I’m gonna need at least an hour.”
An hour we can do. Renzy and I will return to that salty, buttery pretzel place and I can put the “I’m in heaven” look back on his face. I smile at him, hoping it doesn’t look too much like a leer.
“No, it’s going to take two hours… because there’s a Free People here.” Morning is walking away as she declares, “Be in this spot at one o’clock. And I expect you to shop too. My nose can’t tolerate you guys for more than three days in the same pair of underwear.”
I glance at Renzy to see him lift his eyebrows at her remark. I know he’s thinking the same thing as me—she mustn’t have noticed that we’ve not been wearing any underwear at all.
AS WE make our way out of the food court, I can’t strip from my mind Renzy’s expression when he took
his first bite of the cinnamon streusel pretzel. I’m obsessed by the notion of how and where and when I can get him alone. I want to see if his mouth still tastes of cinnamon sugar.
“You okay with shopping at J.Crew, Renzy?”
He nods but then abruptly stops walking and points to the pockets of his jeans.
“What are you trying to tell me?” It’s strange how I’m not even slightly exasperated at his unwillingness to speak.
Renzy pushes his hands into the pockets and pulls out the linings. Then he again points to them.
“You don’t have any money?”
He shakes his head.
“Don’t give it another thought.”
I start to walk toward J.Crew, but Renzy stays where he is, and again points to his empty pockets.
“Look, Renzy, my parents haven’t given Morning and me much in the way of time, attention, or love. But they give us plenty of money, and I want to share it with you.” I grab his hand, like a real boyfriend might do. “Let’s go. We only have a couple of hours, and Morning will have my head if we’re late.”
He shrugs and steps up beside me.
WE SHARE a dressing room when we try on khaki pants and button-down shirts. But I don’t think either one of us would have bothered to check the fit of the clothes if it weren’t for the fact that we so badly want a minute alone.
As soon as I close the dressing room door, we drop the clothes onto the bench and our hands are on each other. Mine are on the back of his head and I’m pulling his face to mine because, damn, if there’s any sugar left on his lips, I’m going to find it with my tongue. Renzy’s hands are as determined as mine, but they’re moving in a different direction. His fingers slip beneath the low waist of my jeans in front, and I groan just a little too loud for a dressing room.
Who is this guy who’s licking this boy’s mouth with a steely determination to find a trace of sweetness?
Who is this guy moaning like a virgin when fingertips brush his belly?