Wilson Mooney, Almost Eighteen

by Gretchen de La O

  His shoes echoed as he cautiously walked toward me. I felt his hand stroke down across the top of my head. It felt so good. It reminded me of when I was a little girl and I would lie in my grandma’s lap while she rubbed my hair. The hypnotic rhythm she kept with the light pressure of her hand made me feel calm and protected. I could have sworn I smelled butterscotch, her favorite candy. She must be here with me, telling me to get up and pull it together. An ache welled in my heart, for losses she’d never know. I turned my head to feel his hand sweep across the side of my cheek. Tears formed a lake, cradled in the corner of my eye.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized. The tip of his fingers tickled across and pushed my hair back off my face. The butterflies that were desecrated in the pit of my stomach fluttered back to life. It took my brain a couple of seconds to register what my eyes recognized at once.

  It was him.

  I stared, unable to formulate words to express the mix of emotions that raged in my body. He came back.

  “You’re here,” I said as he bent down in front of me.

  He was the smell of familiar butterscotch, and the taste of raw heart break.

  “Hi,” Max whispered. His eyes were red and his lips were pulled straight across his expression. I knew he had his own set of demons he was fighting.

  “You came back?”

  “I needed to know you were okay.” He rested his hands on my knees. Desperation surged in my body. What was he doing? He told me that we couldn’t be together. Did he change his mind? I couldn’t let him hurt me. I wasn’t that type of girl.

  “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” I pushed his hands off my knees and stood up. I left him standing at the sofa as I washed my hands and splashed water on my face.

  “Wilson, it’s complicated.” I caught his reflection in the mirror.

  “I get it.”

  I was so emotionally twisted; right could’ve been wrong, up could’ve been down, and I wouldn’t have known the difference.

  “I didn’t plan on this. I never anticipated the feelings I have for you.” He started toward me. Passion raged hot in my body, weakening my glacial anger. I tried to hold tight.

  “Stop, please. I can’t do this. I’m not one of those girls you can tease and walk away from. I don’t have the luxury of a family to pick me off the floor. It’s only me, that’s all I have.” I turned and faced him. I felt the tears roll down my cheeks. I didn’t want to cry. He stood close to me; too close to keep my pain personal.

  “I’m not one of those guys. There are a ton of reasons why I shouldn’t be with you, but none are convincing enough to keep me from being here, tonight.” He pushed his hand to my face, drying my tears with his fingers. I felt my knees bend. I leaned back against the bathroom counter for support. His other hand pushed my hair away from my neck and slid up, cradling my ear. His touch was so warm and soft. Every movement he made was in slow motion. I felt his fingers press strongly against the back of my head. The muscles in his arms flexed, and I watched his eyes dance from my eyes to my mouth and back. My lips damp, I parted them and closed my eyes.

  “You have me,” he whispered across my lips before I felt him press delicately against my mouth. His lips tasted sweet, better than I ever imagined. He pulled away. I tangled my hands in his hair and brought him back to me. I didn’t want him to stop kissing me. I opened my mouth and, with his tongue, a whole new world was exposed to me. Uncontrollable urges flooded my body and I was scared. Not of him French kissing me, but of what could happen next.

  He dragged his hands down, pressing them firm against my back, locking my body against his chest. His mouth left mine and he mapped his way down my neck. I didn’t want him to stop, but I needed to tell him I wasn’t that experienced. In fact, I had no experience at all. Something I’d failed to mention before. Not out of embarrassment; I just never had a reason to talk about it. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had opportunities—I’d never met anyone I thought was worth sharing that part of my body with—until now. Physically, I was a woman, and my body was more than ready. Problem was, my mind was still wading in the pool of inexperience and the innocence of my first real kiss.

  “I’ve never, you know…with anyone before.” I felt my face flush red. I’d never visualized telling him anything like that before. He stopped kissing me. His lucent green eyes studied my expression, looking to fill in the blank.

  “You’re a virgin,” he whispered as he pressed his lips on my forehead. I could feel his smile.

  “Yeah.” I pulled away from him and looked down at the floor.

  “Hey, wait, where you going? You think that changes how I feel about you?” He grabbed my chin and looked me in the eyes. “It doesn’t. I can wait.” He locked his hands behind my waist. I felt a huge brick of fear crumble under the reassurance he created about sex. I stretched up and kissed him.

  “Not all guys are about one thing.” He pushed my hair off my face and tucked it behind my ear. “Look, it’s really late. I should probably go.” He opened the bathroom door and waited to follow me out.

  I didn’t expect to see Nick passed out in the hall. His room was just down and across from the bathroom. I guess it was too far to go when you drank way too many beers on a Friday night. Max turned him over and tried to wake him up. He was out. We were able to anchor him enough to get him to stand up. I pulled his arm around my neck and helped Max take him to his room. Nick woke up and wasn’t making any sense.

  “Well, what do you know—it’s the screaming, crying Wilma that wouldn’t let me in to help her.”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I want to get you to your room. You need to go to bed.” He pulled his left arm tight and I twisted close to him. I could smell the tequila and beer mix on his breath.

  “You’re ready to take me to bed? Wow, I just met you today, too.” Nick pulled me to his face, trying to kiss me. Max adjusted his weight to lean toward him.

  “Who the hell is this guy? Do I know him? Do I know you?” Nick was sloppy and slurring his words.

  “No, I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Max, a friend of Wilson’s.” Max curled his hand around to give an awkward handshake.

  “Okay, well—yeah, I need to get to my room. I think you’re in the second bedroom over there, WAN-DUH.” He laughed and pointed down the hall. He was getting really heavy and I was already done carrying him.

  “Thanks. Here you go… let me take off your shoes.” He plopped down on the edge of his bed. Max got one shoe off and I got the other. I wrapped the comforter around his body so he wouldn’t get cold. I frickin’ hate taking care of drunk people. I clicked his lamp, and closed his door.

  Max headed down to the second bedroom. He turned the knob and it opened right up. The maids must have locked it during the party. He checked it and the room was empty. The bed was turned down and inviting. I closed the door behind me and pressed the lock. Max furrowed his eyebrows.

  “I don’t want you to leave, it’s too late. Just sleep here tonight.” I swallowed the huge, anxious ball of nerves. I just hope we’ll be able to fall asleep.

  “I don’t know if that’s the best idea with Cindy in the next room.”

  I pointed across the room to an oversized floral-patterned sofa.

  “Sleep on the sofa, then. We’ll keep everything innocent enough.”

  He paused for a moment, then reached across the bed and grabbed one of the pillows. I took the wool throw at the foot and handed it to him. My hands tangled in the blanket, he pulled me close. I lost my breath. Endorphins electrified my body and I wanted him to kiss me again. He let out a low growl as his lips found the space below my ear.

  “I don’t know if I can stay on the couch,” he whispered, tickling my neck. Chills chased each other rapidly down my spine. He was making it hard to justify my need to wait.

  “I’ll wake you up early so you can leave without being seen.” I wanted him to stay so bad I could come up with any plan better than his excuses.

  “It’s not that. I don’t know if I ca
n stay on this couch with you in that bed.” He pressed his lips to mine and tasted my desires, which spoke louder than words.

  I felt his hands slide up my back and pull me closer to him; my hands released the blanket and wrapped up around his head. I felt my feet leave the ground as he kissed me and carried me across the room. Like a feather, he set me tenderly on the bed and pulled away. I didn’t want him to stop. All sense of self preservation, moral values, and fears of the unknown disappeared in the flash of his eyes. I wanted him forever. I caught him around the neck and pulled him down on top of me. He was comfortably heavy in all the right places. I pulled his shirt from his pants and slid my hands up under across the skin on his back. He was scorching hot. Urges stronger than any addiction rushed my body. I tried to pull his shirt over his head. I wanted to see him. The hair on his chest, the muscles forced under his tight skin, the trail below his navel—I wanted to see all of it. He pulled away from my lips and lifted his body off mine.

  “I think I’d better go to the couch.” He bounced up off the bed. His shirt fell back over his stomach. I didn’t argue. I was steaming, and if I didn’t cool down, I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Odds were already stacked against me that I wasn’t going to wake up early tomorrow to go skiing. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and shook it out before falling onto the enormous floral sofa. I lifted my head from the bed and watched him curl up, by himself, before I got up to change into my pajamas.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get my PJ’s out of my bag and change.”

  “You can change here. I’ll close my eyes.” He adjusted his body under the blanket and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “I want to brush my teeth, too. I’ll be right back.” I grabbed my stuff and snuck out the door.

  Before he could miss me, I was back—with fresh breath and comfortable flannel pajamas. Not the most attractive outfit, but I really hadn’t planned on sleeping in the same room with him when I packed. I shut the door, ran, and jumped onto the bed. I turned to say goodnight and my heart dropped into my stomach. He wasn’t on the sofa. His blanket was pushed toward the end and his pillow was on the floor. He was gone. I felt a rush of panic flood my mind. There had to be a logical explanation for him not being here. I had to keep it together; I could do this. I slid off the bed and sauntered to the door. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom. Or he needed to get a drink. But what if Cindy saw him? Or he got spooked and left? What if he decided I wasn’t worth it? All the insecurities embedded by my mother flooded over me.

  I was only six years old when I woke up at three-thirty in the morning, terrorized by a nightmare and my mom was nowhere to be found. Seven hours later, at ten forty-five, she stumbled into the apartment smelling of burnt cigarettes and cheap booze. When I tried to tell her I was scared, she wouldn’t listen; instead she lectured me about her long night and how selfish I was for not letting her sleep.

  The door swung open and Max was carrying two glasses of water.

  “Nice PJ’s. I thought you might be thirsty. Besides after you drink alcohol, you should hydrate.” He pushed one of the waters at me.

  Tears welled in my eyes. Damn it! I didn’t want to be one of those girls.

  “What’s wrong? You okay?” He held me, searching for answers.

  “Nothing. It’s just I guess I’m not use to things like this.” I held the water glass up to him.

  “A glass of water?” He looked at me crazily, I smiled.

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Well, maybe you should—get used to it.” He pulled me closer and gave me a delicate kiss on my forehead before he turned and went to the sofa. I crawled into bed.

  “Max?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you sleep next to me?” My hands tingled and my feet went cold. He looked so inviting. I wanted his arms around me and his body against me.

  “I thought you’d never ask. Yes, please.” He flipped his blanket off, hopped over me and crawled into bed behind me. I felt his hand slide up my thigh, across my hip, and tuck around my waist. His face planted into the curve of my neck and the space between our bodies lessened. I could really get used to this.

  Chapter nine:

  “Wilson, get up! We gotta go,” Cindy yelled and pounded on my door.

  Good thing the door was locked. Last thing I needed was Cindy jumping to all these crazy conclusions about Max and me.

  She kept on pounding and yelling, “Come on, let me in.” I would have thought she was still bent out of shape about me telling her off last night.

  “Okay, hold on,” I yelled back. Hopefully I was loud enough to shut her up.

  I turned to look at Max and noticed he wasn’t there. I pushed my hand around the sheets. His side of the bed was still warm. I popped up and looked around the room. He was sitting on the sofa frantically tying his shoes.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “I can’t take the chance of her finding me with you,” he whispered. He snuck his belt and his jacket from the sofa.

  “Who are you talking to?” Cindy hit the door again and Max jumped behind the arm of the sofa. He was like a spooked cat that had found a dead snake. He was so worried about her, it almost ruined my morning.

  “Nobody, I am trying to get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs. Give me five minutes okay?” I walked over to the door and waited to hear what she would grumble under her breath.

  “Fine, but hurry up. I want to get there before the Vaughns. They are so last season.” I listened for her footsteps to disappear down the hall.

  “That was a close call.” I turned and he was right in front of me.

  “Yeah, it was. What are we going to do?”

  “About what?”

  “About getting out of here without being seen?” his voice strained.

  “I don’t know. That jump you did over the arm of the sofa was pretty impressive. Maybe you’ll have to climb out the window?” I teased him. I am so glad I did, because he grabbed me around my thighs, hoisted me up on his shoulder and tossed me on the bed.

  I totally screamed—loudly—when he let go of me. He stood there, his finger across his pursed lips. I couldn’t stop laughing. Next thing I knew, he was laying on top of me. His legs straddled mine and his hand was cupped across my mouth.

  “Shhhhh. You don’t want Cindy back up here, do you?” His eyes blazed wickedly and I liked it.

  I shook my head; he was still covering my mouth.

  “I’m going to let go, don’t laugh.” He pulled his hand from my mouth. “Don’t laugh,” he teased.

  I didn’t know how I was going to keep my feelings for him a secret. He looks at me and I melt. How was I going to keep that from Cindy? How was I ever going sit in another room with him and not totally broadcast how I felt? How were we supposed to act when people were around? Couldn’t I just stay in this room with him forever? I could just live in his eyes all day; breathing in his scent for the rest of my life. I loved that idea.

  “Hello? Where are you?” He rested his forehead on mine.

  “Right here, with you.” He lowered his mouth to mine, teasing me, barely touching his lips to mine. So, not fair. Then he kissed me and I didn’t care about the sounds we made. He was on top of me and I wasn’t able to get up. I could feel him wanting more than we had time for. He pulled his lips from mine and trailed down my neck to my collarbone. I leaned my head back and I wanted him to go further.

  “Aaahhh, I can’t—wait. You’re so impossible to resist,” he sighed. “I gotta wait. I gotta wait,” he chanted, reminding himself of his self-imposed limits. I guess they were my limits, too. But at the rate we were going, they were going to be impossible to keep much longer. He crawled back off me. I laid there for a minute to regroup the butterflies that had decided to fly south, bring them back to the cage in my gut.

  I had to get up; get ready to go skiing. I had to leave Max all day so I could put long skinny planks on my feet, sticks in my hands, and slide down a hil
l covered in cement-hard, freezing snow. It’s not like I had anything better to do. I so did not want to go. The only thing I looked forward to was trying to find time to sneak away with Max.

  I dragged myself off the bed and rummaged through my bag. I found a pair of fashionably ripped-up jeans and a long sleeve scoop-neck T-shirt. Perfect: today it had to be about the outfit I wore, not the functionality of it.

  “I’m going to change and go downstairs. I’ll keep Cindy busy while you find your way out,” I told him. Not because I wanted him to leave; I needed to remind myself that I didn’t want Cindy to know anything about Max and me.

  “Thanks.” He grabbed my hand, pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll text you when we get to the ski lodge.”

  “Bye.” He pecked me on the lips. Good self-control. Not too long, lingering on the lips. I left and glanced back for a split second while I shut the door.

  That was so hard. I took a deep breath and tried to shake off the disappointment that crept into my mind. I didn’t want to leave him, I didn’t want to ski, and I didn’t want to hang with Cindy for the day knowing that Max was going to be near but unobtainable.

  “There you are! How’re you feeling?” Nick caught me coming down the stairs.

  “I’m fine. A little tired. How ’bout you? You were pretty wasted last night.” I twisted the jeans I was carrying into a ball, adjusting them from one hand to the other. I had to keep busy and look interested.