A Girl Like Me

by Ginger Scott

  His head drops forward and his eyes close. I run my hands up his chest and neck until my hands hold his head, my fingers in the wet strands of his hair, drops hitting my body and leaving a chill in their wake.

  “I love you, Wes. The kind of love that makes my chest hurt and makes me feel afraid,” I say.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he says, his nose grazing along the side of mine.

  “I’m not…not really. I just want you to know that you, that this…” I say, stumbling with my words.

  “I know,” Wes says for me. “It’s like for once we’re in charge and this is exactly how our story is supposed to go.”

  “Yes,” I smile against him, my lips dusting his, then taking hungry passes over his mouth until I’m lost again in his kiss.

  Minutes pass with his lips on mine, my mouth raw from his stubble, my body hot from desire. I let my hands be brave, tracing every muscle of his body, down his stomach, until I find him hard against my thigh. His body reacts from touch, a sharp breath drawn and a moan escaping his lips.

  “Josselyn,” he says my whole name, slow and seductive.

  “I have something…in that drawer,” I say, my hand falling to the right of my bed.

  Wes’s eyes meet mine, his lids heavy, his lips parted. We hold our gaze through pants and unexchanged words that pass as thoughts from my eyes to his and back again. He leaves his gaze on me as he moves to the right, reaching with his hand and sliding my drawer out enough that he can touch the contents inside. When I nod, he looks away, finding a condom and a discarded pack of cigarettes. He pulls them both out and smirks at me, his head tilted waiting for a response as he holds the half-filled pack between us.

  “Emergency pack.” I offer a wry smile—one that says guilty.

  “E-mergency…pack?” He repeats the words slowly, teasing me.

  “Yeah,” I say, grabbing it and throwing it back in the opened drawer. “You know, for those times when your superhero boyfriend goes missing in a river, you ride a bus over a broken bridge, someone tries to ram your house with a car in the middle of the night, or—”

  “I get it,” he chuckles, lowering his head enough to kiss my lips lightly, smiling against me and holding himself there for a few extra seconds, until I smile back.

  “I didn’t smoke them,” I say, shrugging one shoulder against the bed, his eyes go to the movement of my arm, and he falls forward, holding my eyes as long as he can until his lips hit the bare skin of my shoulder.

  He lifts himself completely, sitting between my legs on his knees—all of him.

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I was just kidding,” he says.

  “I know, but…I didn’t. It’s…” I shrug my shoulder again, and his eyes glance at it, his smile growing just a little. I love the way he looks at me. “It’s just important to me that you know I didn’t give in…that I’m strong enough.”

  His smile falls slightly, still there, but his expression softer now. If I had to give it a word, I would say he’s amazed—he’s amazed by me.

  His eyes sweep shut in patient blinks as his focus turns to the small packet in his hand. I wait as he tears it and slides the condom on himself, tossing the wrapper to the side. Wes lowers himself on his elbows, caging me in underneath his powerful body, and as his eyes meet mine, I nod again, letting my knees fall open just enough that he easily finds me ready, guiding himself with his hand until I feel him sink inside.

  We both breathe deeply, our chests growing, our eyes shutting—as his head falls forward, mine falls back, my body arching with his movement. Wes pushes in deeper, sliding forward against my skin, and I roll with the sensation.

  “You’ve done this before,” I say, not meaning it as an accusation or a jealous statement. It’s naïve to think I’ve slept with guys, but Wes has never had sex. His eyes meet mine, his mouth a hard line as he nods slowly. My lips curve and I let my eyes close with my grin.

  “I’m okay with that. So have I,” I say, tilting my head forward. “It’s never mattered before, though.”

  My eyes lock with his, and I feel him pulse inside of me, leaving me hungry and full all at once.

  “This more than matters,” Wes says, and I nod, holding his gaze.

  “It does,” I whisper, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

  Wes dips down, tugging my lip loose gently with his own teeth. He pushes into me again, and I gasp, arching and wanting him to touch me everywhere. My lips part and I ache so much that I’m unable to make a sound.

  I crave.

  Wes moves into me, then backs away.

  I beg, my head coming forward and my eyes finding his.

  I demand.

  Wes pushes into me, rocking his body against mine as his hand pulls my thigh up around his hip.

  I cry out, bringing my hand to my mouth and biting my knuckle.

  Wes reaches for my wrist and moves my hand above my head, holding it down as his body continues to move him in deeper before falling away.

  My hips roll, and Wes grunts. His guard is down, and he’s showing me his selfish side. I want him to be greedy with me, so I arch against him again until his mouth covers my breast, warming the cold peaks with his breath, his lips, his teeth and his tongue. Every pass of his mouth against me accompanied by the smooth stroke of his hips, the fullness of him creating a building sensation that I have only felt a few times in my life—and never during sex.

  I’d been drunk. I was stoned. The guys were temporary, and they used me like I used them. Some I didn’t know well, others I never saw again. I pretended, and I cried out with pleasure like I thought I was supposed to, like I’d seen in those late-night movies at Kyle’s house—the way the boys would tease when they’d follow me in the halls at school.

  I see now, though, all that I’d been missing. My body quivers with every movement of Wes inside. My lips hum with sounds of pleasure. I whimper and pant, my body moving faster with every stroke Wes takes.

  His eyes open on me, and his chin dips, trapping me in a look that tells me I will never experience something quite like this again. This is special—a rare fusion of first love and lust. I feel beautiful, and I never want to climb the peak that my body seems to be racing toward, but it’s inevitable. I am the girl who wants to dive over the edge, the girl who demands to taste the wild side—and when I feel it’s close, I let it take me completely.

  “Oh my god, Wes,” I cry out, my hands finding his back, my arms holding him closer as my legs squeeze his thighs.

  Every pulse builds until finally it’s nearly unbearable, and I become his—my body dependent on every push, every touch, every wave he lets me ride as his mouth falls into the crook of my neck, his lips parting with his groan as he pushes again and again. My nails dig into the skin on his back, and his hips rock forward a final time until his muscles relax and I’m drowning in the weight of his body.

  We lay like this for minutes, Wes still inside me, my body listless, arms draped over chests and tangled legs. I want to thank him. I want to tell him something important. But there’s nothing that can do service to how I just felt, and we’ve been through the fires of hell together. Words would fall short, and this feeling…I think maybe it’s enough.

  His fingers begin to trail along my arm, long slow drags to my shoulder and down to my wrist until my fingers curl and his thread through them, our hands a perfect fit. I get lost in the way they look.

  “Do you think you held my hand? When we were little kids,” I ask.

  I feel his body shrug in response before he speaks, so I turn my head enough to look at him.

  “I don’t know,” he says.

  His eyes flit to mine, then back down to our hands. I don’t look away. I study him, watching his light brown lashes as he blinks, his nose wriggles with an itch, and his pupils open with the light.

  I think of the picture I saw of Wes and me, the one in the album, at Shawn’s. I make a silent promise to myself that if I’m ever at Shawn’s again, I will collect all of th
e things Wes deserves to see. I hold his gaze, feeling the weight of guilt that I know a piece of him that’s been kept from him.

  His head shifts more, and he lifts himself enough to look at me more directly. The feel of our bodies, still naked and sticky, makes me blush. Wes notices, smoothing out my hair with one hand as he leans in to kiss the side of my face.

  “Hey,” he says, a nervous swallow as he looks away, moving his body away from mine, closer to the edge of the bed. I wait, allowing him this change in subject. “We still have hours…and this drawer of yours,” he says, pulling out another condom.

  Wes puts the packet between his teeth and rolls back toward me, dropping the package between my breasts and resting his chin just below it as he looks up at me.

  I breathe out a giggle, but my body begins to tingle at his suggestion, and within seconds, my hands have woven themselves into his hair, and his mouth is leaving a trail of kisses down my body, lower…lower…and ah.

  Fifteen

  Wes went home to pick up his brothers before the sun was fully up and they were awake, slipping in as if he’d never left. Even though his brothers knew where he was, he didn’t want his parents to see him not home and worry. It doesn’t take much to trigger the panic now. I felt it—the moment he left. It’s this irrational rush of adrenaline that leaves behind a sour taste and strange feelings I may not see him again.

  I ate my Pop-Tarts by the front window, and when I was done, I sat there with the empty packet in my hand watching the car outside my house with the officer inside whose job it is to babysit me—babysit us, I guess. I sat there until Taryn’s car pulled in my driveway and life picked back up as it normally does, only it was nothing close to normal.

  If it ever was.

  I filled Taryn in on everything on the drive to school. It’s hard to hide an unmarked police car in front of my house. It’s also hard to hide the smile on my face. I shouldn’t have one—my tiny family is being threatened. But I smile anyway. I did it with my head turned away as we drove here, and I smile now in the gym, as Wes and I exchange quick glances and speak to each other with single looks and lingering touches. His fingertips ran over mine when I hung my jump rope as he reached for it, and his knuckles brushed against my thigh while bending down to adjust the weights on the bench press I was standing near.

  Every touch shocks those parts of my body alive that he now owns, and my grin can’t be helped.

  “Hey,” Taryn says, kicking her toe toward me and knocking me out of my trance. I’ve been lifting the same light weight in a bicep curl for minutes, poorly masking my stare at Wes.

  “What’s up?” I turn away from her and walk a few steps away from the training table she’s sitting on. It’s a move to avoid her that she calls me on the minute I walk back.

  “Heyyyyy?” The awkward hey slides slowly from her mouth, and I can’t help but silently laugh at it. “Are you okay?”

  I suck in my lips and think of the best way to answer her. I shouldn’t be okay, and a lot of me isn’t. But then…

  “I don’t really know. I…I slept with Wes.”

  This isn’t anything shocking—not to Taryn, not to anyone really. For most of my small world, this is just a less-than-hushed rumor being whispered about Joss Winters sleeping with a guy.

  But this—what happened between me and Wes—it’s different to me. I wouldn’t be able to put it to words, other than love, and it feels so cliché and hokey to say that he’s special because I love him, and this means more, but it’s the truth.

  This…it means more. Wes Stokes means more than anything ever has, other than my own dreams. And right now, the two run parallel.

  I stare at Taryn, my lips closed, wanting to curve, but also not wanting to draw any attention to our conversation. I slide up on the table to sit next to her, and she quirks a brow, puckering her lips, ready for juicy gossip, I’m sure. I don’t need other people hearing my stories, though, because it will just become this joke with the rest of the guys in here. I’ve always been treated differently by the guys at my school—somewhere between being one of them and being this conquest they want to tame. But Wes isn’t a joke. There is no game. There’s only us and trying to survive this story we’re in.

  “When?” Taryn says, her voice hushed.

  “This morning,” I answer. “He stayed over…and I woke up early. I know how it sounds, but the time was just…I don’t know…right?”

  I avoid her stare, though I feel it hot on my cheek. Instead, I look out to Wes, standing with his brothers, as they should be. I haven’t thought much about Shawn and his relationship since we briefly talked about it, and I think maybe that’s for the best, because these boys…they are his family. There’s a difference between biology and real love, I’ve learned. My own mother has taught me that.

  “All right,” Taryn says. I don’t turn in response, even though her reaction surprises me. I half expected her to make an off-color joke about how only I could find time to let a boy get in my pants when my world was falling to shit again. But she didn’t, and I think it’s because she knows just how special this thing between me and Wes is, too. Instead of talking about the details, we both sit with our backs against the wall watching the two boys we love—brothers—spot each other on the bench press while their third brother and Kyle sit close by, laughing.

  “Sometimes I can almost see us all as kids,” my friend says.

  I hum, picturing it for myself. There’s so much of the little boy who saved me in Wes, but I think maybe I’m the only one with the ability to see the subtleties masked by the man he’s quickly become.

  “Do you think we would have been friends?” Taryn asks.

  This time I look to her, and she turns enough to meet my gaze.

  “You mean all of us?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says, rolling her head along the wall to look back out at the boys who, I know in my heart, any one of them, would do anything for us. I turn to do the same, and think about her theory, picturing smaller versions of ourselves, knowing what I know about who I was then, who Taryn and Kyle were—who Christopher was.

  “I don’t think so,” I say. Seconds pass before she speaks.

  “I don’t think so either,” she says.

  We don’t dissect the conclusion we both came to, but I know our reasons are the same. Kyle, me, Taryn—we were this close-knit threesome that sometimes…sometimes…allowed Kyle’s brother Conner to make us a group of four. I’ve always thought it was just me, that I was the hard bubble to crack, but I was never in it alone. None of us were. No kid is. We fought just to be the kids that weren’t noticed for being different. We couldn’t let the different kids ruin the picture we’d worked so hard to paint for everyone just to be nice to them.

  But we got older, and I’m disappointed in my younger self.

  “I could have found him…Christopher?”

  I feel her shift, but she remains silent, her eyes on the boy full of secrets.

  “I think about that a lot,” I say, pausing to suck in my lips. “I replay the day at my house…the races. I wasted too much time; I was never really looking for him. And I bet he was alone. At the hospital, and later with the Woodmansees. He didn’t have any friends, and his foster family was so awful.”

  My eyes move to my knees as I chew at the inside of my cheek, thinking about how deep that story goes—the details only I know, about Shawn being Wes’s real father.

  “We were kids,” Taryn says, trying to soothe my conscience.

  I shrug.

  “He was a kid,” I say.

  It’s what I always come back to. He was just a kid, but he still chose to save me rather than look on at the horror like everybody else. I wonder if I would do the same.

  “You had a lot going on,” Taryn says quickly, not letting me slide into guilt too deeply.

  I feel her hand brush against my thigh, so I turn to her.

  “You never really answered,” she says.

  My brow pulls in.


  “Are you okay? You didn’t really answer.”

  I hold my friend’s gaze, my insides still feeling twisted and uncertain about almost everything.

  “It’s because I don’t really have one,” I say. “But…” I pause, nodding back toward our boys, laughing loudly at something Kyle said. “I love him, T. I love someone, and that has to mean I’m okay in some ways, right? Like…some ways I never thought I’d be okay again?”

  “Yeah,” she says, and I can hear her smile in her tone.

  I push off from the training table to walk back to where the boys are standing, and I make it most of the way before my brief moment of feeling good is shot to hell by a dick football player.

  “Dad try to run you over again, Josselyn?”

  I barely have time to register the chortle of laughter from a meathead who amused himself. The words come out of Zack Ramsey’s mouth in one breath, and before I can turn to face him, Wes’s fist is crashing into Zack’s nose, sending a gush of blood to the concrete floor. The slap of flesh pounding bone comes hard and fast followed by the rush of feet along the floor and young testosterone shouting, sliding heavy metal weights back to the walls, giving Zack and Wes space.

  I don’t want this. Wes doesn’t need it in his life, and the kinda shit Zack said is really nothing I haven’t heard before. People around here can be assholes. I would know—I was one of the assholes.

  “Wes, stop!” I shout, moving close to the brawl where Wes is straddling Zack on one knee, his punches falling into him hard.

  Zack pushes Wes’s hands out of the way, grabbing his wrists with every blow, rolling his body loose from the hold Wes has on him until his leg breaks free enough to fly at Wes’s face and hit him square in the eye. His face should be bruised or swollen—but it isn’t.