by Michelle Lee
He rests his chin against my stomach and stares up at me. "I can't believe I'm kissing my best friend. I can't believe you're really here, Zoey…with me, like this. I've wanted you for so long. This just doesn't seem real."
I know exactly what he means. For so long, I've dreamt about being with Evan—dating him, kissing him, making love to him. And it's actually happening. It doesn't seem real.
"I know. I feel like I'll wake up and this will have all been a dream—a beautiful, wonderful dream," I admit.
"If this is dream, I don't ever want to wake up," he tells me.
Evan starts kissing me again, working his way back up to my lips. A want and need ignites between us, and suddenly we are frenzy of lips, mouths, tongues, hands—and entanglement of limbs. His hands roam my body, fire burning with each pass and touch. Wetness pools between my legs. Evan's hardness presses against my stomach. This is happening. This is really happening. The top of my costume easily finds its way to the floor. Evan's nimble fingers, pull and pinch my nipple, causing it to pebble. My body instantly reacts to his touch. My back arches into his hand. I want more. I need more.
"I need you, Zoey. I want you." His voice is a gruff growl.
"Me too, Evan. Me too." My words are gravelly with lust.
The rest of my costume finds the floor, as do his pajama bottoms. I am seeing Evan—naked, for the first time. And he's seeing me. He pulls up onto his knees, his eyes raking over my entire body.
"Beautiful," he mouths.
For the first time, I don't hide myself. For the first time, I don't blush. He comes back to me and captures my lips with his. His hand reaches down between us, and I feel him poised at my opening. His tip slowly enters, and slowly, ever so slowly, the rest of him. We are one. We are still. We stare into each other's eyes. I see nothing but love reflected back to me. My eyes prick with tears. His eyes glisten. A small droplet falls from him and slides down my chest. Evan's Adam's apple bobs. I swallow down the emotion—the enormity of the situation as well. He begins to move inside me—slowly pushing and pulling. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him even closer to me. He squeezes his eyes shut. I keep my eyes wide open—afraid I will suddenly wake up and this will have not been real. The two of us find a rhythm, our bodies in sync, as if they've known each other this way for a lifetime. His eyes open, vibrant hazel stares at me, into me and in them I finally see all the love that’s always been there and more. Evan's lips capture mine, and just as our bodies writhe rhythmically together, so do our lips. With each push and pull, I want more, need more. Our steady rhythm becomes needier, more frantic. Evan trails wet kisses down my throat, nipping here and there. He begins to move in me faster, harder. The room is filled with our heavy breathing and moaning. No words. No words are needed. No words can even express what either one of us is feeling. No words.
His hand reaches down between us and his fingers work fast concentric circles on my clit, bringing me closer and closer to the brink. I dig my heels into him, urging him further and deeper inside me. He thrusts harder, deeper. His finger moves frantically, forcefully against my clit. My insides twist and I feel my stomach coil, that feeling that you are just about to go over the edge is right there. Our bodies glisten with sweat. We easily slide against each other. He kisses me harder. I tug at his bottom lip.
Almost.
Almost.
Evan pushes and pulls even deeper, and with one last flick of his finger, I spiral into euphoria, his name falling from my lips. I close my eyes, relishing in the feeling, and I see nothing but bursts of erratic light behind my lids. Evan thrusts once more, and then his body convulses and goes rigid. I open my eyes just in time to see the most beautiful sight—Evan in orgasmic ecstasy. He is beautiful. The way his muscles strain. The way his eyes squeeze tight. The way he bites down on his bottom lip. Glorious. And I fall in love with him even more. This moment, these feelings surpass any fantasy or dream I could ever have. I finish riding out my orgasm; both our breathing is erratic. Evan opens his eyes, and what I see brings me to the edge. Tears fill his eyes. He buries his head in my neck, his body shaking. I wrap my arms around him—holding him tightly against me. Like a tidal wave, a swarm of emotions overtake me.
Want.
Need.
Relief.
Happiness.
Satisfaction.
Surprise.
Elation.
Disbelief.
Love.
Every one of them crash over and over on me.
"I love you. God, I love you. I never thought…" Evan mumbles against my neck.
All I can do is nod in agreement. The words catch in my throat. We just lay together, our bodies and emotions fused together. He attempts to pull away, but I pull him back. I need the feel of his weight on me, to ground me, to let me know this is still real. Our breathing steadies. Our bodies relax. The shaking stops. The tears stop. The words of love don't. Evan pulls away, only to turn on his side and pull me against him. His body wraps around mine, his arm a welcoming vice around my waist. He kisses my shoulder. My neck.
"Stay," he whispers.
"Always," I reply.
He pulls me tighter, closer. The sunlight creeps into the room, just as my eyes begin to close. I feel safe. I feel wanted. I feel this is where I should have been all along Above all, I feel love. I finally have found that elusive four letter word, and it's wrapped around me. And I'm never letting it go.
Epilogue
Sixteen years later…
"I love you," Evan whispers in my ear after nibbling on my lobe, his hands roaming my body.
Hearing him say those words always feels like it's the first time—like it's brand new. And those three words occasionally still surprise me, even after all these years. I sometimes feel as though I am going to wake up and reality is going to be there, fracturing and then shattering this dream of being with Evan. But each night I go to sleep in his arms, and each morning I wake in them. My dream is my reality.
He continues to kiss and nip against my skin, sending shivers throughout my entire system; igniting a want and need that still burns deep. My hands roam the contours of his back, knowing every nuance, every ripple, and every muscle by heart. I trace the familiar pattern my fingers have come to know. Evan shivers under my touch. I love that I still have that effect on him. His hand easily glides against my slick skin—a sheen of sweat covers us both. He slowly pushes in me, and I gasp at the feel—at the connection. Always a surprise. The way we fit together. As if our bodies were made exclusively for each other and no one else. I am his. And he is mine. Evan slowly pushes and pulls in and out of me. A steady rhythm is created. My hips push up to him, as he continues to push into me. Each one of us giving to the other what is needed, what is wanted. Each thrust symbolizes our time together. Our strength. Our feelings. Our love. Our life. Our everything. We give and we take.
Our hands explore the all too familiar landscape—yet at times, it feels like unchartered territory. Our heavy breathing and words of love fill the room. Our bodies mold together. My insides begin to tighten. I feel the familiar pull to the edge as Evan skillfully plays me. I swear his fingers and hands need to be insured with Lloyd's of London. Our rhythm quickens—intensifies. His thrusts become more passionate—more forceful. He's close too. Our pants, our movements, become more desperate as each of us reaches the top—ready to fall. And then…
Evan stiffens after a final thrust. His body coils, and then it shivers and pulses. I am free falling. Shaking. Overtaken with enormous pleasure. Always. It's always like this. Every time. No matter what. It's our love in physical form—intensified, to the nth degree. It was like this on Halloween night sixteen years ago. And it's the same, this Halloween night. Always.
Evan's body begins to go slack, and his weight rests on me. He always tries to pull away—always afraid he's going to crush me. I promise him he won't. I pull him closer—tighter. Relishing the way his satiated body feels against mine. I need this. It grounds me—lets me know it's sti
ll real. That he's still here. That he's mine. He's mine.
Mine.
Our labored breathing steadies as he tenderly kisses me wherever he can. His lips find my ear. The place his lips started at—the place his lips end at.
"I love you." His warm breath tickles my ear.
"I love you," I echo.
Evan slides out and off of me, pulling me to his side. His form cradles mine. Strong arms wrap around me and I hold onto to them. He nuzzles in my hair—settling in. Slowly, my eyes grow heavy, and Evan's steady breathing lulls me to sleep.
****
My bladder is ready to burst. I need to get up, like now, but Evan's arm holds me close to him—holding me prisoner, a willing prisoner. He says he can only sleep like this. He calls his security blanket and often calls himself Linus. I carefully peel his death grip from around my waist. I know he won't wake up—yet I'm careful just the same. Evan is a deep sleeper; I learned that our first night together. My bladder sighs when I am finally free. When I look at him, his smile slowly turns into a scowl. He knows. He always knows when I am not wrapped up in him. I quietly make my way to the bathroom—my bladder does a silent cheer. After what felt like the longest pee in history, I make my way back to bed. As I do, I notice a faint glow coming from downstairs as I pass the slightly open bedroom door. I grab my robe and make my way into the hall, noting the time on the clock as I do. It's two-thirty in the morning. I go down the hall and open the door to the twins' room. Jason and Kevin are sleeping peacefully in their beds. I can't help the smile that takes over my lips. Jason is still dressed in his ninja costume, while Kevin is still Spiderman. The boys stir, and I quietly and quickly pull the door closed. I don't need a couple of nine-year-olds up at his ungodly hour. It took them a while to come down from their sugar high. Evan always lets them eat too much of their candy after Trick-or-Treating. Boys. Evan partook in the candy festivities—after all, he had to taste some to know if it was good or not. Boys.
I head downstairs, the faint glow growing brighter as I approach the kitchen. I hear the familiar clanging of a spoon against a bowl. When I enter the kitchen, Alyssa is perched at the breakfast bar, a spoon in her hand, scraping away. An empty container of chocolate chip ice cream sits on the counter.
"Hey, honey," I practically whisper.
She peers up from her bowl, a trail of black mascara marring her alabaster cheek, and she gives me a weak smile. She has my skin tone, but Evan's hair color and eyes. She is beauty personified. But right now, my usually radiant, bubbly daughter looks so sad, so conflicted. She is still wearing her Halloween costume.
"When did you get home?" I ask, getting out another container of ice cream and a bowl and spoon for myself.
"About an hour ago," she quietly responds.
Her tone is off. Something is seriously wrong. My heart clenches in my chest—my baby girl is in pain. I sit beside her and dig into the ice cream, serving myself some and then offering her more. She declines. I wonder how much she's had. As being half of me, I'm sure it was a good amount. We, Richards women, always fill up on ice cream when we're upset. I try to be casual, not wanting to have her shy away and not tell me what's bothering her. "So, how was the party?"
Evan was reluctant to let her go as he's very protective of our daughter. With a little convincing from me, he acquiesced, even though he really didn't want to. But he knows going against the two of us is moot. We always win.
"The party was fun," is all she gives me.
I nod and take a spoonful of ice cream. Alyssa twirls the spoon around and around in her empty bowl. I know she's debating how to approach me with what's bothering her. I let her be, knowing eventually she will open up.
We sit in silence for a few more minutes before she begins. "You know Cole?"
"Um, yes, Alyssa, I know Cole. Of course I do. You two have been inseparable since you were about three."
Cole and his family moved in a few houses down when Alyssa had just turned three. They became instant playmates—instant friends.
Alyssa gives me an Evan look, the one that says, "Duh, that was rhetorical."
"Sorry," I mutter, and wave for her to go on.
"He's been my best friend, for like, forever. And tonight for some reason, at the party, when he brought Beth, it…it really, really bothered me. Which confused me to no end. I mean…why…why would Cole bringing Beth to the party be a problem, right? He said he's just friends with her. Of course, he's blind, because everyone knows she's totally crushing on him. I mean it's sooooo obvious, except to him. And then…and then when Max came over to dance with me, Cole got this weird look on his face. I mean, he just looked like he was ready to hurt someone. So confusing. He's just my best friend, right? It's not like he's…he's my boyfriend or anything. He's…he's just my best friend, right?"
She sounds so much like me when she rambles. I know each question she is asking isn't meant for me to answer, but for her. She's just like Evan in that respect, working things out in her head out loud. I see so much of him in her. It still baffles me how she's half him and half me—so much like the two of us. It's still hard to believe that on this exact night—17 years ago—we created her, Alyssa Elizabeth Harris, the most precious thing in our lives. Until the twins came along.
"Mom, are you listening to me? Did you hear a word I said? What do I do?" Alyssa demands, bringing me back to the present.
I shake my head. "Baby, you sound so much like me," I begin.
Alyssa gives me that "you've got to be kidding me" look. The look I think is inbred in all teenagers. That look comes so naturally. Dad would agree. It's true, though. The thoughts and feelings my daughter just expressed remind me of a certain sophomore in high school that started to develop feelings for her best friend. Alyssa is me, and Cole is Evan. I ignore the eye roll she at the moment giving me. "Have I ever told you how your dad and I became to love each other?" Another eye roll.
"Alyssa, I swear if you roll your eyes at me one more time, I'm gonna roll you right out the door." I give her my best "mom isn't kidding" look.
"Sorry," she mumbles.
"Better. I met your dad my sophomore year in high school, when we were assigned to be lab partners in biology. Rumor had it your dad was a big time jerk…" I begin.
"Really? Dad a jerk. I so don't see it," she adds.
"Well, when I got to know him, the real him, I didn't see the jerk either. Slowly but surely, your dad and I became best friends—kinda like you and Cole."
Alyssa's eyes go wide. I simply nod my head.
"But, those feelings of friendship started to change for me. Ultimately, I fell in love with him, although I never told him that. I mean, he was only my best friend and wouldn't see me as anything but. Or so I thought."
Memories flood my mind—different images of the stages of our relationship continue to play as I go on and tell Alyssa, the love story of Evan and me. She is hanging on to my every word. And, slowly but surely, I see the wheels begin to turn in her head, and then click, tumblers in a lock. She's had her "Aha moment."
"So, Uncle Geoffrey, Aunt Ashlee, and Aunt Patrick told you…convinced you of what you kinda already knew all along?" she inquires, just to make sure she heard me right.
"Yep."
"And when you finally decided to admit it to Dad, he felt the same way?"
"Yep."
"So, are you saying you think I am in love with Cole, and he could possibly be in love with me?"
"Yep."
She sits back, and a huge sigh escapes her. Her eyes close, and her lips move without sound. She's contemplating my words and what she knows of herself and Cole. I sit and wait. My baby is a quick learner. Unlike me. Unlike Evan.
Her bright, hazel eyes open. "I am in love with Cole. I love Cole. You're right, Mom. I love Cole. Oh. My. God. I am in love with my best friend. Do you think…"
"Alyssa, I've seen you two together. You're father has had heart palpitations seeing the way you two interact. He knows. I know. Cole loves you, too."
I've always known that those two were so much like Evan and I, except their friendship started and their love grew a lot sooner. My baby girl isn't so much a baby anymore.
"Should I…should I tell him? What if he says he just wants to be friends…what if he ends our friendship…I can't…I can't lose him, Mom. Cole has to be in my life. What if…" My daughter is looking to me for so much guidance.
"Jump."
That simple word has so much meaning. Geoffrey, Ashlee, and Patrick said that same word to me all those years ago.
"Jump?" she questions.
I nod.
"Jump," she reiterates.
I nod again.
"And you think?"
"Baby, it doesn't really matter what I think. Ultimately, you have to decide if this is what you want, what you need to do. I will give you this little piece of advice that someone once gave me…The not knowing, the what ifs…that is what will kill you. It's better to put yourself out there and know the truth so you can move on, rather than sit in silence and slowly torture yourself with what ifs." The words of my three closest friends come from me.
"Jump," she says, and is out of her seat and embracing me.
"Thanks, Mom."
She gives me a kiss on the cheek, and bounces off before I can respond. She's lighter. She's freer. She's ready to jump. I clean up the mess, turn off the light, and head back upstairs. Evan is right where I left him. His position hasn't changed, nor has the scowl on his face. I climb back into bed, and instantly his arm finds me and wraps around my waist. He smiles into my neck.
"Everything okay?" he whispers.
"Everything is perfect," I respond.
He tenderly kisses my neck. I snuggle into him and can't help but smile. It's funny how history has a habit of repeating itself.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michelle Lee lives in the heart of Nascar Country in Concord, North Carolina with her husband and daughter. When she’s not busy working, her days are filled with hanging out with her family and friends, reading, drinking Starbucks, and religiously watching the Food Network.