by PJ Sharon
He reached into the fridge and then handed me a coke. No diet, and no ginger ale, I noticed, peeking over his shoulder. I popped the tab and took a sip. I grimaced, my teeth aching from the 30 grams of real sugar. The calories alone would make up for dinner.
His head disappeared into the refrigerator again. He grabbed a beer, popped his head up and then handed it to a tall skinny guy with glasses who had plowed through the masses and was stumbling toward the mother-load of Budweiser. The guy eyed me, grabbed the beer and grinned down at Carter.
“Dude, nice,” he said, bobbing his head and checking me out like I was a rack of lamb that was about to be barbequed.
Carter stood and shoved the guy back. “Watch your mouth...DUDE. And that’s your last one.”
“Sooorrry!” The kid backed away and grumbled as he headed back through the crowd, “What’s his problem?”
Carter shook his head, staring after the kid. “Jerk.” He turned his attention to me. “Sorry about that. Some people don’t know when they’ve had enough.”
I could barely hear his apology over the music, a hip-hop beat blaring from six speakers. “I know exactly what you mean. Can we go somewhere and talk?” I yelled.
He leaned in and spoke into my ear. Louder than normal, but it had the impact of a whisper when the scent of him and the sensation of his warm lips an inch from my cheek registered as a chill. “We could go outside, but the mosquitoes are ferocious out there.”
My heart pounded as I said the words and a flutter of excitement flowed through me. “Why don’t we go back to your room?” I whispered it against his ear and felt his face spread into a slow smile.
“If you don’t mind the clutter.” He was looking at me now, a dubious expression on his face. Eye contact had always been hard for me, but when I made the effort I could see people for who they really were. It was like looking into their souls and I was usually a very good judge of character. What I saw in Carter’s eyes was sweetness and a self-deprecating innocence—a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy.
I took his hand. “No worries, I’m used to clutter.”
Carter smiled and lowered his eyes to our hands. “Okay, then.” He led me through the crowd, towing me along behind, dodging several guys playing beer pong and trying to rope us in. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the bedroom, leaving the chaotic environment of dancing, sprawling, reclining, and mingling bodies to their make-out and grope fest.
“So you’re a figure skater,” Carter said as he closed the door behind him.
“Yeah, I’ve been skating for about nine years,” I said.
“I used to play hockey in high school. Now I just bang around at stick time.”
Even with the door closed the house vibrated with music. Carter set down his beer on the crowded end table, and then jumped onto the bed, resting one hand behind his head and patting the mattress with the other.
I stood frozen for a moment.
“I’d offer you a chair, but there aren’t any in here. I won’t bite you, I promise.” He smiled innocently, a dimpled grin breaking through my defenses. I moved closer to the bed and sat down, attempting to keep my limbs from shaking. I didn’t want him to think I was a baby, but my nerves vibrated with tension. Was I really the one who recommended us coming to his room? What was I thinking? Maybe a chemical crutch wasn’t such a bad idea under the circumstances. I found myself wishing I had one of Mom’s Paxil or a Zanax.
I forced myself to relax and perched myself on the edge of the bed, uncertain about how to get comfortable without showing off my legs in this skirt. I should have just worn my jeans. How did women dress like this and not feel totally exposed?
“Are you okay, Penny?”
“Oh...yeah. I was just wondering if you had another blanket. My legs are a little chilly.”
Carter jumped to his feet. “No problem. Do you want me to close the window?” He rummaged in the closet and came out with an old patchwork quilt. He shook it out and then awkwardly covered my legs.
“No, this will be fine.” I slid back onto the bed and covered my lower half with the quilt so I could move freely without worrying about showing him my world or wondering if he was noticing my thunder thighs.
“So you started skating when you were ten. Tell me more.” He settled back onto his side of the bed and took a hit from his beer. He set the bottle back down on the nightstand covered in car magazines and loose change.
I didn’t correct him. What difference did a year or two make? My parents were nine years apart and had gotten married when Mom was only twenty. I had to let this play out and see which way it was going to go. If he wasn’t really into me, then I would never have to tell him how old I was. I could be on my way and never see him again. And if it turned out we fell madly in love, my omission wouldn’t be that important to him. Win, win, right?
I explained about my skating and my mom’s cancer.
“That’s rough. I’m sorry. How are dealing?” he asked, the only other person besides Mr. Barstow to ask how I was dealing.
“One day at a time, ya know?” I shifted, pulling my knees up and tucking my feet to the side, my skirt suddenly feeling way too short, even under the covers. No matter what I did, I couldn’t hide from the truth for long.
“What about your Dad? What does he do?”
“You really want to know?” I hated telling people what he did. I resisted the urge to lie. “He’s the head custodian at the elementary school,” I answered, staring past Carter to the open window, night falling in a curtain of golden brown from the setting sun. Cool air blew in through the screen, making goose bumps dance across my arms. I rubbed them unconsciously. I should have been proud that Dad worked hard and took care of his family. Even if we didn’t have a lot of extras, he always made sure there was food on the table and the bills got paid.
Mom hadn’t worked since the cancer came back, her job as an LPN at the nursing home was too much for her now. I knew things were tight, but Dad never complained, not about money anyway. Yet I often found myself wanting to lie and say he was a doctor or a lawyer. It surprised me that I’d told Carter the truth.
“That’s not so bad,” he said, obviously taking note of my embarrassment. “He must do okay. You have a nice house. I noticed driving by the other day that it’s got the nicest lawn.”
I smirked, “That’s my dad, always out spreading fertilizer and mowing down anything that looks like it’s out of control.”
Carter laughed at my off-beat humor, adding another point for him.
“I can’t wait to have a place of my own.” He surveyed the room and shrugged. “This is okay for now, but I hate living in such a dump. If I decide to stick around, I’ll see if Sunny lets me fix this place up in exchange for rent. I could save money and help her out at the same time. I bet she’d go for it.” He finished his beer and got up for another one, bringing back two.
I skirted around questions about school and future plans, turning the conversation back on him whenever he got too close to hitting on a topic I couldn’t be honest about. My feelings, however, rushed out in streams of words I hadn’t known I needed to say.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a bad dream. I want to wake up, but it’s like I’m stuck.” I stared at the patchwork quilt, tattered around the edges but doing its job of keeping me warm. “The worst thing is wishing that it was over.” My eyes popped up when I realized what I’d said. “Is that awful of me?”
“No. I don’t think it’s awful at all to not want to see someone suffer,” Carter reassured me, sitting closer and taking my hand. The gesture brought a warmth and peace to my guilty conscience. He rubbed small circles on my thumb with his, a gesture that soothed something deep inside me. “It’s normal to go into survival mode when everything around you feels so out of control.” His voice lowered. A mix of sadness and resentment seeped in. “When my dad left my mom, all I could think was great—no more fighting. I was a little kid but all I wanted was my mom not to cry anym
ore.” He pushed my bangs back and stroked my cheek, his eyes filled with concern. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?”
It felt good to talk to someone about my fear and misery. Carter listened intently, sometimes smiling, sometimes serious, and always easy to be with. I’d never felt so comfortable talking with a boy about real life stuff. Before I knew it, 11:00 flashed on his bedside clock and we’d talked for hours as if we’d been friends for years. He gave me sketchy details about himself, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything.
He liked hiking, cool cars, classic rock and horror flicks—all stuff we had in common. He was turning twenty-one in August, so there were only three and a half years between us. I’d kicked off my shoes and made myself comfortable lying at the opposite end of his bed, propped on pillows with my feet stuck out from under the quilt. By this time, I was at my two drink limit. I didn’t really care for the taste of beer, but I wanted to be social.
“So, how did you get that scar on your lip?” I asked.
Carter shook his shaggy hair and laughed, but I saw an indecipherable emotion behind his expression. “I got into a fight when I was about thirteen.”
“What was the fight about?”
His face darkened for a second, and then his eyes lit with a mischievous spark. “I was fighting for a lady’s honor.” Seeing my surprise, he laughed. “Some jerk was picking on my little sister.”
“How heroic of you,” I said in a fake British accent. I was rewarded with a wide grin. “I always wished I had an older brother to defend me like that. She’s lucky to have you,” I said.
The spark faded along with the easy smile that I was rapidly becoming attached to. “Thanks. I do the best I can,” he said. He took another big gulp of beer, emptying the bottle and setting it aside. “Let’s talk about you some more.”
I yawned and covered my mouth. I should leave, I thought. I could find Sami and we could sleep at her place if we snuck past her mom. In the morning we could tell her we had changed our minds about staying at my house. The thought came and went. I was getting sleepy and feeling quite happy to stay right where I was. No one was looking over my shoulder and I felt more like myself here, hidden away from the world. I no longer felt trapped, but cocooned, with the rhythm of the bass pounding against the walls. My head hummed with the vibration and my vision blurred a bit, but happiness sang in my heart in a new way. Some part of me felt more alive, more connected than I had been in a long time.
“Penny. That’s short for Penelope, right?” Carter picked up the conversation.
“Yeah, but nobody ever calls me that unless I’m in trouble. I’m usually just Penny—or Pen to my friends since I like to keep journals.” It seemed strange how I could be so many different people at the same time. I took another swallow and set down the empty bottle, grimacing at the taste of warm beer.
“I like the name Penny. It reminds me of something shiny and new.” His brows had knit together as if he was deep in thought or maybe he was imagining me with Abe Lincoln’s face. It would take some time to learn his facial expressions, but I had the feeling that I could crack the code given the chance. “Penny, Penny, Penny,” he said in a teasing tone. “I like it.”
“I hate it,” I scowled. “Leave it to my mother to nickname me after the lowest denomination of currency.”
He laughed. “It’s not that bad. I was named after a President that was famous for peanut farming.”
We both cracked up and couldn’t stop. I laughed until my sides hurt. When I caught my breath, I spoke without thinking and asked through the boldness of a good buzz, “Do you mind if I sleep over?”
He hesitated, and then smiled. “Absolutely.” His happy grin grew bigger, showing a set of slightly elongated canines.
I returned the sly smile, thinking of vampires and werewolves, and that made me almost giddy. “Is that absolutely, you mind—or absolutely, I should?”
His face sobered and the smile changed to one of sincerity. “I’d like you to stay. If you want to that is.”
My cheeks warmed as he rested a hand on my ankle, his fingers playing along my skin. I’d never thought of an ankle as being a sexy part of the body, but the way he drew small circles around the bone with his finger tip, and the way he looked at me, made me feel hot from my head to my toes. He sat up and brushed my bangs out of my eyes. “You’re very pretty,” he said when I looked down, trying to escape the heat of his gaze.
“Thank you.” I forced myself to take the compliment and then looked into his eyes to see if he really meant it. What I saw there rocked my world. A large sleeping cat awoke deep inside me, ready to make its escape. My body purred in response to his flushed face and blazing eyes. His fingertips scalded along my cheek. He wanted me. I could see it, feel it—even taste it in the air. Our pheromones, hormones, or whatever else was at work, was drawing us toward each other. I rose up to meet him, and invited him to kiss me, my whole body calling out to his.
As our lips touched, my heart fluttered madly in my chest. I felt the power of his desire, the confidence of his touch. He wasn’t like any other boy I’d known and kissed. He was gentle and sure, and he knew what he wanted. He laced his fingers into my hair and pulled me closer, his lips parting. His tongue felt soft and warm against mine, not demanding, but giving and taking equally. Beyond the salty taste of popcorn and the shared bitterness of Budweiser, I tasted a unique flavor that was his, and only his, and I wanted to drink him down until I was drunk with it.
I had made out with boys before, been felt up and touched in ways that made me cringe at the thought of doing more, but this was different. Carter was different, and I knew I was stepping over a boundary into an unfamiliar and dangerous territory. I’d often wondered what this moment might feel like—that exact moment when I turned from a girl to a woman—the moment when love became something real and more than a fairy tale. A feeling I’d almost believed impossible. Waiting for marriage didn’t seem important at that moment. Life is too short. Live every moment to the fullest, Penny. Make it count.
Any thought I had about resisting was a miniature spark at the back of my mind. I hadn’t planned to go all the way with him, even though I’d invited myself to stay the night—I hadn’t planned anything—but I realized I wanted him to want me, to love me, to take me in his arms and make me forget my life, if only for a little while.
Chapter 7
I woke wrapped in Carter’s warm muscled arms. My cheek rested on his firm smooth chest, the pulsing of his heart gently thumping against my ear. When I realized where I was, the night before came back to me in a rush of foggy, heated memories. I thought it might have been a dream brought on by beer and the abundance of second hand weed smoke, but I ached in places that made the events of the night before very real. My skin tingled as memories rushed in.
Carter’s face illuminated by golden stripes from the street lights shining through the blinds. The expression on his face as he un-wrapped me like I was a precious gift that he wanted to savor. The way he touched me, talked to me, and held me. All of the kisses and nibbles that lit me on fire and made me quickly forget the flashes of discomfort I felt in my body and the doubts that twitched in my head. He made me forget about my thighs, my worries, and whatever existed beyond the walls of his tiny, over-furnished room, and I wondered if heaven had fallen to earth. I was no longer one person, but two in the same body, moving to a rhythm as ancient as the sea.
And then, for one fleeting space of time, I had left my body and traveled with Carter to a star far beyond the moon. It seemed impossible, but profoundly real, as if all else was illusion and our joining was the true reality—the perfection I’d known was missing and always hoped existed. I knew I’d changed in some indescribable way and it was clear that nothing would ever be the same again. I’d fallen asleep in his arms listening to the guttural hum of his breath—not quite a snore, but a deep husky rumble.
I had hardly slept, uncomfortable in a stranger’s bed, and morning had come too so
on. My lips felt slightly bruised and puffy and I smiled at the memories that flooded my mind. I inhaled deeply, taking in the earthy scent of our mingled bodies. It made me want him again. I stretched and untwined my legs from his, tucking my arm under my head so I could study his dark, sleep mussed hair and peaceful expression. I had an irresistible urge to giggle. Instead, I stroked along his mouth, touching the lumpy little scar. I was rewarded by a lazy smile that slowly crept across his face. He stretched his limbs, his body a sinewy mass of rippling muscles. He groaned loudly.
“Hey.” A masculine purr of satisfaction escaped his lips as he opened one eye. He peered down at me in the morning light. Thin shafts of gold streamed across the bed from behind the drawn blinds reminding me again of the night before. “Hi there,” he said, stroking my cheek.
“Hi there, yourself, sleepy head.”
“What time is it?” He asked, yawning deeply.
“It’s about 9:15, I think.”
He turned over, eyeballing the clock on the floor. “It’s exactly 9:15. Did you peek?” By now he was waking up and he pulled me tenderly into his arms, holding me tight and making a sigh whoosh from my lips.
“That’s my internal clock,” I said, settling into the crook of his arm and resting my cheek on his chest. “I’m usually right within a few minutes.” I snuggled deeper into his embrace, enjoying his warmth and the affectionate kiss he placed on the top of my head.
“That must come in handy.”
“It hasn’t kept me from being late getting home. I always seem to wander in an hour after I’m expected to be there.”