Chapter 25 – Chelsea
After nearly an hour of riding in Wesley’s car, I just can’t stand the suspense any longer.
“So how far away is this place we’re going to?” I ask him.
“Not very far at all now,” he says.
“And what exactly is it?”
“Well, I decided there’s nothing hotter than taking your virginity in the bed I’ve slept in since middle school.”
“What?” I exclaim.
He doesn’t answer me as he turns into a residential street and then pulls up to a cute brick house, complete with a proverbial white picket fence.
“This is your house?” I exclaim again. “I mean, like, your parents’ house?”
“Yep,” he answers, with a sly shrug.
“It’s so adorable!” I squeal.
“Looks can be deceiving,” he says, mysteriously and rather glumly.
“Meaning…?”
“I can’t believe their car is in the driveway. They weren’t supposed to be here. But just remember. What’s inside doesn’t always match what’s outside,” he says, which doesn’t explain much.
“Well, geez. I’m honored.”
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and gets out of the car. As he walks around to the passenger side to open the door for me, I can’t believe what’s happening. I’m thinking I have to be at least a little bit special, for him to bring me to his parents’ house.
As he knocks on the door, he says, “Brace yourself.”
“For what?” I ask, but then a smiling, attractive woman opens the door.
“Wesley!” She exclaims. “What a surprise! It’s so nice to see you!”
“Hi Mom,” he says, and gives her a half hug.
I’m surprised that his mom is so young. Not everyone had kids as young as my dad and mom were when they had me and I’m used to seeing parents who look old enough to be my grandparents.
“And who did you bring to meet us?” she asks, pointing her big smile at me.
“No one,” he says, annoyed. “I mean, sorry, Chelsea. I didn’t mean you were no one. I just meant, Mom, that I didn’t bring her to meet you. We just came to chill out. I thought you and Dad were on a cruise.”
“Your dad’s knee flared up again, and so we postponed it,” his mom says. “We want to be able to do a hike around the islands that the ship stops at.”
Wesley sighs, and says, “Sorry, Chelsea. I really thought we’d be alone.”
“Hi, I’m Chelsea,” I say, and extend my hand.
“I’m Silvia,” she says, smiling again. “Wesley’s mom. Nice to meet you.”
I don’t understand why Wesley sounds so negative about everything. I would love to be able to have him meet my mom.
But as we enter the house, a big booming voice calls out, “Silvia, who the hell is it?”
“If you’d have just answered the door yourself like I’d asked you to, dear, you would have seen that it’s our darling son!”
Her voice is dripping with so much passive aggressive resentment that I can’t help but shoot a confused look at Wesley.
He raises his eyebrows at me, as if to say, “I told you so.”
“You know I have this bum knee,” he says. “I can’t be up and about answering the door and doing everything else you think I should do for you, when I’m the one who’s injured.”
And then his tall, towering figure appears in the living room.
“Ronnie, this is Wesley’s… friend… Chelsea,” Silvia says, her smile looking even bigger now, but obviously fake.
“Oh no you don’t,” shouts Ronnie, although I’m not sure if he’s talking to Wesley or his mom. “Don’t be encouraging him to bring his little hook-ups to our house. I did all this work to save his ass and now he’ll never get back to Huningdale if he goes and does all his stupid shit with this blonde little cheerleading-looking girl all over again. No offense, hon.”
He looks at me and nods, and then aims his glare back at Silvia.
“Honey, I think it’s great that Wesley’s found a nice girl,” she says, obviously unperturbed. “You should just let him live his life…”
“Let him live his life!” He shouts, as if Wesley and I aren’t standing right there. “Let him live his life! Look how good that’s turned out so far!”
“Come on, Chels,” says Wesley, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs.
His chin is tucked down and his cheeks are slightly red. This isn’t at all the cocky stance I’m used to seeing, and I can tell he’s so embarrassed.
As we head to his bedroom, I can still hear his dad going off about “letting him go up there to make all the same mistakes, because he had to be raised with a coddling mother like you,” and his mom saying, “Oh calm down Ronnie, he’s just a handsome boy who can’t help but attract girls…”
“Wow,” I whisper as soon as Wesley closes the door. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Yeah.”
He sits down on the bed, looking defeated.
I sit down next to him, not sure of what to say and fearing I’d already said too much.
“You were so open with me at the amusement park that I feel I should tell you something,” he says, his eyes wide open and looking rather fearful.
I take a crazy guess.
“Is it about why you were afraid to ride The Beast?” I ask him.
“Something like that,” he says, looking obviously embarrassed once again.
And I don’t know what I’m more shocked about— the crazy scene I just witnessed between his parents, or the fact that badass, cocky as shit Wesley Reynolds is about to tell me something that makes him vulnerable.
Chapter 26 – Wesley
“I’m not saying I was scared to ride The Beast,” I quickly tell Chelsea, not being able to stand her piercing blue eyes boring into my own.
“Okay, so what, then?” she asks, laying her head on my shoulder.
I’m beginning to regret bringing it up. But I was so touched by how she’d told me about her own inner demons— and mortified that I’d accidentally brought her around my crazy parents— that it felt like the perfect time to share.
“I just… this one thing happened when I younger that made it so that I wasn’t a huge fan of stuff like roller coasters.”
I begin giving her another back massage, just to have something to focus on besides my embarrassment. And because touching her feels so damn good no matter the situation.
“Oh?”
She’s looking down at her hands, obviously trying not to seem overly interested and I appreciate it. I guess it’s time I told this story to someone, since I never have.
“My parents have been married for ions, but they should have gotten divorced a long time ago if you ask me,” I say, kneading her shoulders with my hands.
“That feels great,” she moans, and then she returns her head to my own shoulder. “Sorry. Go on.”
“As you can tell, they just fight all the damn time. It’s always like this. It’s so annoying. And as a kid, it was confusing, because they act like a big happy family, but everything is always so chaotic. All the time. I began to realize they never paid any attention to me, because they were so busy hating each other.”
“That sucks,” she says, sounding righteously indigent on my behalf.
“I’d often go over to my grandpa’s house,” I continue, “because he would focus just on me, whereas when I was with them I often felt like I didn’t even exist.”
“Makes sense.”
She nods, into my shoulder, as I continue massaging her neck.
“It’s good that you had a close bond with your grandfather.”
“Definitely,” I agree. “Sadly, he’s gone now. So I can…”
I pause.
Fuck.
I always say the wrong thing. This is why I hate talking about anything like this to anyone.
“Relate to the fact that my mom’s gone?” Chelsea guesses.
“Yeah. I was going to say
that. But I know it’s not the same thing. And I don’t want to act like it is.”
“I’m sure it’s very similar,” she says. “You were really close with your grandfather from what it sounds like.”
“I was. He was like a second father to me and sometimes a better one, as awful as that sounds.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But anyway,” I shake my head, trying to focus on the good memories I have with my grandfather instead of how much it sucks that he’s no longer here. And then I continue. “At the park near our house there was a big structure kids could climb up on. This was before the days of everything having to be so safe to avoid litigation.”
Chelsea chuckles.
“It was one of those things built out of metal, that had stairs to climb, a flat circular place to rest on, and more stairs to climb, and then once you get up high there’s another smaller, flat circular place where you can see all around, all across the playground and everything.”
“Oh yeah,” Chelsea nods again. “I think I know what you mean. I vaguely remember those. They were much more fun than the litigation- safe playground equipment that kids have to settle for today.”
“Exactly,” I say, and laugh again. I love how she thinks. “Well, I loved to climb on it and once I was all the way at the top, I’d cry out, ‘Superman!’ and I’d say, ‘Are you ready to catch me, Grandpa?’ He’d nod his head— he was always the strong but silent type— and I’d jump down from the highest part. He’d catch me and swing me around, making it seem like I was flying, like Superman.”
“Awesome,” she says, smiling. “Those were the days.”
“They sure were.”
I pause here, remembering my days at the park with Grandpa.
“Well, once I was at the playground with my mom and dad,” I continue, reluctantly. “It was one of those days where it seemed like they were actually getting along for once, and I thought it was going to be a nice time. I climbed up to the top of the structure, and somehow, in the meantime, they’d started fighting.”
“No way!” Chelsea exclaims, sounding truly mad for me.
“Yeah. I have no idea what it was about, but as usual something set them off in the short amount of time that it took for me to climb up there. Sure, I’d had two matchbox cars in my hand and I’d played with them a bit on the top. I guess they thought I’d be up there for a while. But I was used to the game I played with Grandpa, you know?”
“Oh my god,” Chelsea says. “I think I can see where this might be going…”
“Yep. When I got bored of being up there I stood up and said, ‘Superman! Mommy, Daddy, are you ready to catch me?’ And my dad nodded. Actually, they both nodded at me, but I was focused on my dad, assuming he’d be the one to catch me.”
“Naturally.”
“So I jumped off. Only no one caught me.”
“Oh my God. That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. They had been lost in their stupid argument, and had only nodded at me because they heard me talking— not because they’d heard what I’d said, or known what it meant. Then they’d turned back to each other and had gone on fighting, leaving me to nearly face plant on the ground below. And this was before the days of the nice, padded mulch landings. I was about to get a face full of concrete.”
“Wow. That really sucks, Wesley.”
“I tried to break my fall, and for that I earned myself a broken wrist and a trip to the hospital for a re-setting and a cast. And also, a lifelong fear of heights.”
I sigh, still not completely able to believe that I’m actually admitting it.
“Well no wonder!” She exclaims.
Her face is full only of understanding, and solidarity. I’m relieved.
“I would be afraid of heights too, if that happened to me!” she says.
Suddenly I have an overwhelming feeling, as if the fear is being lifted from me. I’d been too afraid to ever tell anyone else this story, and I’d just made sure to avoid places that made me fearful of heights.
But maybe what I truly needed was someone else to truly understand and sympathize with my experience.
Maybe what I truly need is Chelsea.
Chapter 27 – Chelsea
“I can’t believe your childhood was so bad,” I say.
And then I grimace at my own remark.
“Oh my god. That wasn’t a good thing to say. I’m sorry. I’m just a bit shell shocked by what you just told me.”
He laughs, and I’m relieved that I didn’t offend him.
“Completely understandable,” he says. “But I didn’t tell you to be all woe is me. There were some good times too. My dad and I always played a lot of football together. He actually played for the Wildcats, back when…”
He pauses.
“…the team was actually good,” I finish for him, knowing he didn’t want to say it.
“Exactly,” he says. “And I mean that as no offense to your dad. He’s a great coach but the talent just isn’t there and once a team goes downhill, no good athlete wants to play there.”
“I know.”
Poor Dad. I’m glad at least he’s having a winning season now that Wesley has joined the team.
“Anyway,” Wesley continues. “It’s been hard to have to grow up as the child of someone who sees themselves as this star athlete. There was a lot of pressure. But there were definitely good times too.”
“I understand,” I tell him. “I’m Coach Thompson’s daughter, after all. Everyone thinks I’m only the head cheerleader because of him. Yet he thinks I can always work harder, no matter what I do or how much success I legitimately earn. So I can’t win either way. And I have a brother who could probably tell a similar story. He plays football too.”
“I totally get it,” Wesley says. “And I know you work hard. Every day I watch you working your ass off. But not really— because it’s still there and I still love it.”
I laugh, trying not to blush.
“I guess part of the reason I told you is that, since you had the unfortunate experience of seeing my parents in action, you know what it looks like to have unhappy parents,” he continues.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Just that if your dad has found happiness, you should be happy for him. It’s much better than having an unhappy dad.”
“I see,” I tell him.
I appreciate what he’s trying to say, but I don’t think the two comparisons are exactly the same. My dad was happy. With my mom. They rarely fought and when they did, they were quick to make up.
But I get what he means about being happy for my dad and I’m determined to try to do it, especially now that I see what the alternative looks like.
“Thanks,” I say, but I can’t even get the word all the way out because he’s kissing me.
“Psychotherapy time is over,” he announces.
I laugh, but I’m starting to get turned on. Which is odd, considering the very serious conversation we’d just been having.
“I want to see your body again,” he whispers, one of his arms pulling me into a standing position while the other tugs at my pants. Now I’m standing up in front of him while he’s still sitting on the bed. “I need to be inside you, finally.”
“I want you inside me,” I say, as he takes off my clothes.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he says.
He spins me around and runs his hands over my butt cheeks. He squeezes them gently.
“You’ve got the most perfect ass. Full and firm. I’ve loved how your body looks ever since the first time I saw you on that football field,” he says.
Then he turns me back around and slides his finger into me while he puts one of my nipples into his mouth. I know he can feel my juices dripping out onto his hand as he fingers me and rubs my clit. I’m so wet and I want him so badly.
He stands up to take his own clothes off, kissing and touching me the entire time. I squeeze his muscular forearms, mesmerized by how cut and buff his body is. I can
’t get over his chiseled chest and washboard abs. I’d never understood the point of tattoos, but now I love how his decorate his biceps and triceps.
This is it.
My heart pounds fast as if it can hear the Universe announcing that it’s time.
As Wesley sucks my nipple and continues to play with me, I can’t get over the fact that I’m about to lose my virginity to the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
Then he says, “Here, let me do something I’ve been thinking about since I first met you.”
He guides me towards the bed and stays standing at the foot of it. I’m on all fours looking back at him as he squeezes my ass once again. I never thought I’d like the doggy style position— especially not for my first time— but I’m so turned on that it feels perfect right now.
I love the way he’s staring at my body. And I love how his huge cock is inching towards me.
“God, you have the most perfect pussy,” he says. Then he adds, “I’ll go slow.”
I can feel the tip of his cock on my pussy. He holds my hips while he gently slides it into me. In this position— or maybe it’s just because of how wet and ready I am— I’m completely opened up and it goes in much more smoothly than I’d always imagined it would for my first time.
I’d expected pain or fear but I just fear complete abandonment and pleasure.
“That feels so good,” I moan, as he pushes it all the way inside me.
“Oh my god,” he says, groaning as he thrusts in and out of me now. “Chelsea. This is amazing.”
He spreads me completely open, and I lean back into him, wanting— no, needing— his cock all the way inside me. He pumps harder, saying, “Is this okay?” but I’m sighing, gasping, holding onto his pillows for support as I feel a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over me.
“I’m coming,” I tell him, collapsing my head into the pillow as he continues to thrust himself into me.
“Good,” he says, grabbing my hips and ass even tighter. “Come on my cock.”
“Wesley, Wesley, Wesley.”
All I can manage to do is moan his name as I come.
Out of Bounds: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 10