Wilson Mooney, Almost Eighteen

by Gretchen de La O

  I guess I had to be grateful that one of us was looking out for our best interests, because I sure wasn’t. He had me so worked up, I could’ve sold my soul to the devil and wouldn’t have discovered it until it was too late.

  Damn, his honorable intentions made me want to be with him even more.

  “What if I don’t want to wait? What if I told you I was ready right now?” I rubbed my hand across his bare stomach and pressed his chest. The mountain of pillows was wedged firmly behind him.

  “I know you’re not.” He caught my hair and pushed it behind my ear.

  “No, I mean, what if I changed my mind and am saying that I’ve decided I wanted you to make love to me right now? Just take me—right here, right now.” I felt the butterflies agree with my decision. I swung my leg across him and sat low on his lap. He clasped his hands quickly around my waist, and I could feel how much he wanted me.

  I smoothed my hands against his and grabbed them from my waist. I locked my fingers with his and pinned them down above his head as he pretended to try and break free. My lips tickled his, soft and warm.

  “Wilson, you know you’re making it really hard for me to do the right thing.” He thrust his mouth open against mine when I pressed downward against his lap. My lips trailed his chin, then his neck, and the span of his chest. When I let go of his hands, he grabbed around my waist. I was expecting him to lift me off but, instead, he drove me down against him. His hands sped up under my shirt, caressing my back, weighing me solid on his chest. Our mouths locked, tasting the sweet flavor of ecstasy. Rolling me over, his body pressed heavy against mine; at the same moment his breath caught a low growl, deep in his throat, as he pulled away.

  “Don’t stop.” My body shivered.

  With the tips of his fingers, he brushed my skin and pushed the hair back from my face. Our eyes met.

  “I have to wait. I have to. It’s important to me. I need to wait for both our sakes,” he tried to convince me. Yeah, like I should believe in fairytales or the Easter Bunny, too. I didn’t need anything to persuade me. I knew what he wanted, and I was supposed to respect that.

  “How long?” My heart thrashed.

  His brows crumpled unevenly. “A month.”

  “Thirty days!”

  “Once you’re eighteen.” He stared at me.

  I sat up on my elbows, causing him to back off me. Those weren’t the words I’d expected to come bolting from his mouth. I thought he wanted to wait because it was going to be my first time and he wanted to make sure I was ready for all the emotional baggage it carried. I could feel the pressure in my chest explode and roar to life, a blaze that burnt deep to my core. I sat up and pushed my hands to my eyes.

  “Wilson, when I look at you—when I am with you—I don’t see a seventeen-year-old girl. I see a beautiful woman I want to spend time with. But that doesn’t erase the fact that you’re seventeen and I am twenty-two.” He seized my wrists and pulled my hands off my eyes.

  “I wish it wasn’t so complicated.” I twisted off his bed and swiped up the ski suit that brought me there. “I’d better change so you can take me back.” I headed to the door, stretching; he caught me at my waist, “Hold on.” He pulled me back onto the bed, his expression plastered with burdens I’d never considered. He struggled with what to say.

  “There is this part of me that keeps battling with these thoughts of you resenting me—for being the guy that took your virginity. I don’t want to be that guy. The last twenty-four hours have been incredible—spectacular—but, in less than another twenty-four hours, we’ll be back at Wesley. You will still be seventeen and considered under-aged. I will still be twenty-two. You’ll still be my student and I’ll still be your teacher.” His eyes tightened as he searched for my reaction.

  As ridiculous as it was, I could see his point. After all, he was the one who had the most at stake. He could lose his job and be thrown in jail for sex with a minor; his life would be ruined. Me, I would most likely be treated like a victim.

  “I understand. I wish it didn’t matter. But what’s a month?” I leaned back between his legs against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me.

  “Thirty days.”

  “We can wait four weeks.”

  “Seven hundred twenty hours, but who’s counting?” He pressed his face to my ear, his smile caught my hair, and swells of contentment flooded my body. “I’d better get you back before Cindy starts wondering where you went,” he tried to push me up off his chest. I didn’t budge.

  My heart fell into my stomach. I wanted to spend my last night in Aspen with him. Who knew what it was going to be like when we were back at Wesley on Monday.

  “I wish I could stay with you.” I pushed harder against him, I wasn’t going to let go until I absolutely had to. He felt so soothing.

  I heard a soft knock at the door.

  “Maxi?” a silky warm voice swam through the air.

  He pushed me up and grabbed a shirt from on top of his dresser. “Yeah, mom.”

  “You decent?” her voice was soft and comforting. He pulled the tee shirt over his body and opened the door just enough to peek out.

  “Yeah.” He made sure she saw him.

  “You coming…downstairs? I have the Vaughns coming over for dinner tonight; your sister and Dan are coming too. I was hoping you could help me with dinner.” He tried to say something. She continued to talk. “Have you seen your brother? He mentioned something about bringing a friend tonight.” She reached up and pulled a little at his bangs. “You need another haircut.” He took a breath to respond and she sustained the one way conversation. She slid her hand around his waist. “What are you eating down in California? You’re getting too thin.”

  “Ma! I’m fine.” He shifted and shrugged without letting go of the door handle or the door jam. She released his waist and walked down the hall. “Hey I’m bringing someone to dinner tonight, too, okay?” he told her, trying to ask without looking like he was asking. He leaned out into the hall and tapped his foot on the floor waiting for her to say something.

  “That’s fine,” she echoed down the hall.

  “She’s from California,” he volunteered. I felt my heart leap in my chest. Her voice grew closer. I wish I could see her but I didn’t want to intrude on their family moment.

  “She? A girl? Well, she must be someone pretty special if you’re bringing her here tonight,” her tone was expectant.

  I couldn’t breathe. Her desire for his happiness took every bitter memory I had stored about my mother and shattered it to powdery dust. She was his mother; he was her son. My memory bank of a perfect family held a zero balance.

  “Yeah, she is,” he said. I heard her kiss him.

  “Well, honey, then I can’t wait to meet her,” she told him and walked back down the hall.

  I took a deep, burning breath. I wanted to be a part of her so bad. I wanted what he had—to own it, live it. Let it pour over me and fill every hole my birth parents had torn into my heart. My body trembled and my muscles cramped; I tried not to cry. I heard his feet land on the floor fast. His hands pushed my hair back from my face and held me tight to his chest. I wept.

  “Hey, shhh. It’s okay. Sweetie, what’s wrong?” His voice was reassuring, his body swayed with soothing intentions. It was all-consuming to acknowledge there were people in this world worth crying for.

  “You don’t know how lucky you are to have normal,” I choked.

  He had everyday interactions—mundane, plain experiences with his mother—something more priceless than gold. Something so rare to me, I could’ve killed for a tiny drop of it, but to him it was as common as grains of sand on a beach.

  “I know I’m lucky; my mom is a very special woman. Wilson, please say you’ll come to dinner with me tonight.”

  Wedged underneath his chin, I nodded against his chest.

  “Good, now how am I going to get you all to myself tonight?” He held his lips to the top of my head. The warmth from his breath sent chills
down through my body. I was where I belonged.

  chapter fifteen:

  The ride back to the ski resort was anything but silent. We were busy trying to figure out how to steal me away from Cindy’s to be with him and his family for dinner. Everything we came up with seemed impossible—I’d been kidnapped, held for ransom, or even that I ran away with a guy I met on the ski slope—they were all too totally creepy to consider. Then it hit me: the fact that Nick knows about us and he hasn’t said anything to Cindy shows me he might be our best option. Now I just had to come up with a way to convince him to help us.

  “I could try and get Nick to cover for me,” I said.

  “I don’t know about that. I think there’s more to him than you think,” Max snapped back, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “He’s grateful to me for standing up to Cindy. That’s all,” I played down his concerns.

  I wasn’t blind. I knew Nick liked me as more than a friend. But I wasn’t going to worry Max with that, or give Nick the opportunity.

  “I can tell when guys are checking out my girlfriend. He’s got something for you.” He glanced at me and back to the road. His eyes widened, trying to assure me he was right. I was too busy replaying the word girlfriend in my head. He called me his girlfriend. My butterflies cheered. My heart overflowed with so much excitement I had to keep reminding myself to breathe.

  “Maximillain Goldstein, you’re not jealous are you?” Watching his profile as he drove, I got my answer.

  “Jealous? No. Fully aware of other guys checking you out? Absolutely. And he’s one I gotta watch out for.” He glanced at my reaction, his hand glided through the air between us and landed on my thigh. “And to have my girlfriend dressed in this curve-catching, body-hugging suit just makes my job that much harder.”

  Oh my God. Okay, if I could climb over and start making out with him I would. He was so good at nurturing my butterflies. They loved it when he touched me and used words that feed their insatiable appetite. I was silent for a delectable moment.

  “I’ve noticed you’ve used that word quite a few times,” I said looking down at his hand rub across the baby blue satin fabric of my ski suit.

  “What word?” he was confused.

  “Girlfriend.” I took in his expression as I looked at him. His face ran warm, his lips curled to catch my excitement, and his eyes danced glimpses with mine.

  “Is it okay to call you that?” He pulled over.

  “I guess that depends on your definition.” I followed his eyes tracing up my body. His jaw flexed and he pitched a growl low in his throat.

  “Well, how would you like the definition to read?” he asked.

  Now that wasn’t fair. I know exactly how I wanted it to read and it included words like relationship, exclusive, and monogamous. The problem was, I didn’t know what his definition was going to be. What if I go and blurt out what I want it to be and it doesn’t match his ideas? I will be the fastest ex-girlfriend of a relationship that never developed beyond a misinterpreted definition.

  “Tell me one word that represents your definition.” I got him now. I watched his face as he thought about it. If he came up with a word, then I could just build on that one with a meaning that satisfied both our interpretations.

  “One word? It would have to be—what if I can’t come up with one word?” he teased. I reached over and tried to push him, he grabbed my hands.

  “Wilson.” He looked me in the eyes. I was still trying to battle past his hands to his chest.

  “Yeah?” I stopped pushing.

  “That’s my one-word definition of my girlfriend,” he said. I froze. He did it again. He never stopped making me want him entirely way too much.

  “Your turn. What one word would define being my girlfriend?” He leaned toward me as he asked.

  “Okay, it would have to be—yes.” His eyes smoldered, stirring a desire that was automatic within me. I captured his neck and pulled him across to kiss me.

  I didn’t care really what words defined the feelings, emotions, and events that had taken place this weekend. What I had right now was so much more than I truly ever thought was going to happen. Name it, define it, and even own it; I loved the fact that he was with me, calling me his girlfriend, and wanted me to meet his family.

  “Magnificently sensual,” he breathed as he pulled away. His eyes slowly opened to look at my lips.

  “Only one word at a time, that was the challenge. You lose and I win.” I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer to me.

  “What do you win?” he spoke against my lips.

  “Any question I want to ask. Nothing’s off limits.”

  “Nothing’s off limits?”

  “Nothing,” I answered. He pulled away; I watched his mind tilt off to another world, one I wondered if he was ready to share with me. Maybe I should’ve thought this through before I decided to put it out there. There I went again, my mouth speaking before my mind was ready.

  “What do you want to know?” he interrupted the dialogue in my head.

  Great. Was I ready to ask what was racing through my mind? Or would it be better to pretend I wanted to know some safe answer to some random question? Of course I pulled the “same old, same old” and decided to put it out there.

  “How many—‘Wilsons’ have you had?” I felt the question scratch out of my throat and fill the car. He looked out the front window. His cheek caved slightly into the side of his face and I watched the muscles through his jaw tense up past his temples. He turned to me, indicating he wanted some clarification on the question. I nodded.

  “When you say had, does that mean serious ones? Ones who I’ve been…intimate with?” His eyes tightened and his eyebrows curved to a serious expression.

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.” I swallowed, waiting for him to think carefully about his answer. His eyes rounded, reminisced by the bridged memories I shouldn’t have asked him to remember. His mouth broke to a slight smile that flooded his eyes.

  I’ve changed my mind. It wasn’t too late, was it? I’ve decided I don’t want to know. I don’t care how many girls he’s slept with. My question became the perfect excuse to relive his life before me.

  “Wilson, do you really want to know the answer to this question?” He tapped the heel of his hand onto the steering wheel. His attempt to give me the time I needed to decide.

  “Because once it’s out there, I can’t take it back. I can’t make it okay or change my history before I met you.” He stared at me. I could tell he wasn’t comfortable telling me.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” my voice broke.

  “Three—I’ve been intimate with three people.” I stared at him; he grabbed the wheel looking at his hands.

  A silence filled the car. There was the irrational part of me that was worried he was going to tell me double digits. Three wasn’t horrible. Ideal, for me, would have been one; but if you think about it, three is actually a pretty reasonable number. He was twenty-two—with high school and college alone he could’ve easily had a lot more. I’m okay with that.

  “Were any of them serious girlfriends?”

  What was I doing? It was like I wanted to be tortured. Who owned the car before I bought it, right? Not even close. This was so much more emotional. At least you can get a car detailed and remove evidence of personal ownership. You can’t remove the evidence of an emotional memory imprinted onto the soul of a person. Each experience with every one of those women had left a part of his essence changed forever.

  “At the time I was with them, at that particular point, they all held some type of significance in my life. Can I say I was serious with all of them? I would be lying if I said I yes.” He shifted his body to face me, bouncing his fist on his knee.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” He looked around the car scowling.

  “For being honest enough to share that with me. As hard as it was to hear you say it, it had to be even harder
to tell me.”

  “Well then, you’re welcome.” He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to curl back off his face and down around his ears. “We’d better get you back. It’s already twenty to four.” He started the car, pulled down into the parking lot of the ski resort, and found a place to park away from the front curb.

  “I think this is the best spot so we aren’t seen,” he said as he hopped out of the car, raced around, and held open my door. He grabbed my hand to help me out. He pushed the door shut and leaned against it. I noticed his eyes glistening as he pulled me close to him. His hands tracked around my waist and rested across my back. I lost my hands in his hair. I felt him take a deep breath and exhale it across my neck as he leaned into me.

  “Dinner’s at 6;30. I was hoping you could be there around 5:30.” His hands pulled out from around my waist and anchored up around the sides of my head, pressing against my ears. I heard the echo of his lips as he dragged them across my cheek to my mouth. A primal deep moan in his throat vibrated to my center. He was deliciously warm, creating in my body a flash of hope that he wasn’t kissing me goodbye. I didn’t want him to leave.

  “Max? Your parents…what are you going to tell them?” My heart thumped sturdily in my chest. He pulled me closer.

  “About what?” he asked against my skin.

  “About us.”

  “What about us?”

  “They’re going to want to know how we met. What are you ready to tell them?” I pulled back. I wanted to look at him and see what he was going to say. He curved his lips to one side of his face and shook his head. His eyes squinted tight. He took a deep breath and I watched as his words mingled with the condensation that swirled around our taboo.

  “I’m not. They don’t need to know.” He stood straight, his muscles turned firm and cold.