The Coincidence of Callie & Kayden

by Jessica Sorensen

Page 36

 

  I’m about to tell her no, and that it sounds like the last thing I want to do, when my phone beeps, announcing there’s a text message waiting.

  Kayden: Did you know that Mrs. McGregor is having an affair with Tom Pelonie?

  Me: Um… what?

  Kayden: Or that Tina Millison is getting a new Mercedes for Christmas?

  Me: Should I know this? Because I’m really confused.

  Kayden: I think my mother needs a friend. She’s been following me all over the house, telling me the latest gossip. She even wanted me to take her to get her nails done.

  I snort a laugh, but quickly erase it when my mom looks at me questioningly.

  Me: I guess she misses you.

  Kayden: No, she’s bored and needs to lay off the wine. I think my dad’s been on a lot of trips while I was gone and the empty house has made her lose her sanity more than she already had before I left.

  Me: Mine wants me to go get my hair done with her.

  Kayden: Yeah, but you’re a girl.

  Me: Oh, I forgot for a sec. Thanx for reminding me.

  Kayden: I haven’t forgotten at all. In fact, it’s all I think about all the time.

  Me: That I’m a girl???

  Kayden: That ur a girl I very badly want to touch right now.

  I press my lips together, uncertain how to respond. We’ve barely kissed once since I dropped my secret on him and suddenly he’s talking dirty to me.

  “Callie, what’s wrong?” My mother asks with concern. “You look flushed. ”

  I glance up from the message at her worried eyes. “I’m fine. ”

  She reaches for my phone. “Who are you texting?”

  I turn my back on her and walk to the table, so she can’t see my face.

  Kayden: Did I scare u off?

  Me: No, I was just thinking about something.

  Kayden: About me touching you?

  “Callie, the pans are boiling over,” my mom says. “Can you turn the temperature down?”

  Me: I have to go. My mom’s having a cooking crisis

  Kayden: Okay, I’ll text u later. Be prepared to give me an answer ;)

  My skin is hot as I run over to the stove and turn the knobs to low. Steam fills the air as I take a lid off one of the pots and stir the noodles in the water.

  “So, about getting our hair done. ” My mom picks the conversation up right where we left off. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m going to go up to my room,” I evade her question, wiping my hands on a paper towel. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. ”

  “But it’s break time,” she says. “We’re supposed to be spending time together. What are you going to do up there besides be bored?”

  My mother has always wanted me to be things I’m not, even before I changed. When I was six she wanted me to be a ballerina and I wanted to be a football player. When I was ten she thought it would be neat if we bought me a whole wardrobe of dresses for school and all I wanted was to pierce my ears. When I was eleven I decided I wanted to learn how to play the guitar. She signed me up for beauty pageant lessons.

  “Being bored isn’t all that bad. ” I put the knife in the sink and walk toward the back door. “I’ll come back in a little bit. ”

  It’s cold outside as I head for the garage, a light frost glazing the windows and railing. While I was away at college, my mom and dad put a ton of boxes in my room, along with my dad’s football memorabilia. I could either sleep on the couch in the living room or stay in the apartment above the garage. I chose the garage for privacy reasons. Plus I like that I don’t have to stay in my room, haunted by memories that will keep me awake all night. Up here it’s peaceful and quiet—my mind is somewhat clear from the storm.

  I climb the stairs and shut the door behind me, cranking up the two space heaters before grabbing my journal out of my bag. I take out my iPod and put my ear buds in, scrolling to “Seth’s Awesome Playlist. ” Seth has a very broad taste in music and I wonder what’s going to turn on when I click on the first song. “Work” by Jimmy Eat World flows into my ears as I flop down onto the mattress and kick my feet up on the metal headboard.

  I open my journal and put the pen to the paper, my heart and mind racing wildly.

  I’ve been wondering over the last few days what it would be like to be with Kayden. Like really, really be with him. The more I explore the idea, the more I wonder about it. Sometimes, it feels wrong thinking about this stuff, but other times, I enjoy my thoughts and very vivid images. It’s like I’m not me anymore, like he’s changed me into a girl who thinks about the possibilities of life and love.

  I was daydreaming the other day in the living room, picturing his mouth on my breast, like it was that night before I flipped out, when my mom came into the room.

  “You look so happy,” she said, sitting on the couch beside me. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you smile like this. ”

  I looked at her, and I mean really looked at her for a moment. Did it ever once cross her mind, even for just a split second, that maybe something terrible happened to me? Did she wonder, but the idea was so dark that her mind couldn’t grasp it?

  A warm hand touches my shoulder, startling me, and I wrench my arm away as I bolt upright, dropping my pen and notebook on the bed.

  Kayden takes a step back, putting his hands up in front of him as I breathe profusely, kneeling up in the bed. He’s wearing a pair of cargo shorts, a black hoodie, and sneakers. His hair is tucked under a beanie and his mouth moves as he says something.

  I quickly tug on the cord of my ear buds. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your mom told me you were up here. ” He glances around at the tiny room that has no carpet and only sheetrock for walls, his gaze lingering briefly on the unmade bed. “Is this your room or a guest room or what?”

  I set the iPod down on the bed and stand up. “It’s supposed to be a guest house. My parents have been working on it for years, but this is as far as they got. ”

  He smiles at a small hole in the wall that needs to be spackled. “My parents would flip if any part of our house was like this. ”

  “Mine get sidetracked with other stuff; sports, town meetings, pie baking contests, trying to beg my brother and I not to go so far away for college. They have attachment issues. ”

  “So they would rather do life. I like that. ” He faces me, his emerald eyes sparkling. “Your mom seems nice. I know I’ve met her before and everything, but she seemed really chatty this time. ”

  I internally cringe. “What did she say to you?”

  He pulls the beanie off and tousles his hair with his fingers so the bottom ends flip up and wisps hang over his forehead. “Not too much. ”

  I aim a doubtful look at him and arch my eyebrows. “Really? Because I kind of doubt it. In fact, I bet she said a lot to you. ”

  He’s working hard not to smile. “She was completely nice. ” He circles around me, and I revolve my body to face him. “She said she was so excited that we were hanging out and that she’s so glad we’re good friends. ”

  “I didn’t tell her any of that,” I tell him, feeling embarrassed. “She just assumes things. ”

  He steps around behind me and I start to turn to follow him again, but he wraps his fingers around my upper arms to hold me in place, pressing his chest to my back. “Why wouldn’t you tell her that?”

  I shrug, shivering a little from his breath on my neck as he leans his head over my shoulder. “Because I don’t tell her anything. I-I don’t…” I drift off as his mouth moves beside my ear and grazes the tip of it.

  “If we’re not good friends, then what are we, Callie?” He pulls my earlobe into his mouth and drags his teeth gently along the skin. “Cause I would really like to know. ”

  “I don’t know,” I breathe, wondering where the hell this is coming from.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about that text and I decided I just needed to come
here and hear your answer,” he whispers, his voice husky. “I actually would have come over sooner, but my dad’s been making me work out. He said… he said I let myself go a little while I’ve been gone. ”

  His rock hard chest that is pressed up against my back indicates just how big of a liar his dad is.

  “Are you… okay?” I ask cautiously. “I mean, your dad hasn’t… done anything to you, has he?”

  “I’m fine. He’s barely been there. I guess he’s been going to a lot of town meetings and charity events. My parents always were good at putting on a great appearance for the outside eye. ” He pauses. “Are you okay? We haven’t really talked much about stuff. I wanted to talk to you in the car, but Luke was there. ”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t really feel like talking. ”

  He hesitates, breathing in and out, my back rising and falling with the steady movement of his chest. “Then what do you want to do?”

  What I was writing about in my journal. “I don’t know…” A soft whimper flees from my throat as he bites softly on the spot below my ear.

  His arm snakes around my waist and up my stomach, between my breasts, and up to my neck. Pressing his fingers against my jawline, he turns my head toward him while holding my body in place. Up close, I notice there’s a scratch on the side of his cheek and a little bit of stubble on his chin.

  “Are you okay?” I reach up and trace my fingers gently down his cheek. “Where did this come from?”

  “It’s just a tiny cut. ” His pupils shrink as his eyes open wider. “I’m okay. I promise. ”

  My chest presses against his arm as my breathing accelerates and his eyes focus on my lips. He inches his mouth closer to mine, and my eyes shut on their own accord as his lips graze mine. His mouth moves leisurely as he keeps one arm across my chest, while his other travels along my stomach, his hand gripping onto the fabric of my shirt. I try to figure out what to do with my hands and finally just grab onto his arms. Letting my lips part, my head falls back as his warm tongue delves into my mouth and it steals the air from my lungs.

  Suddenly, he tenses and leans back, looking me in the eyes. “Do you want me to stop? Because you can always tell me if you need me to slow down. ”

  I consider it, but only for a moment and then shake my head. “No. ”

  “Are you sure?” He checks and I nod way too enthusiastically.

  Sliding his hands to my sides, he spins me around to face him. I stand on my tiptoes, hooking my arms around his neck, and he pushes on my lower back so my body arches against him. When our lips connect I feel a spark that tickles down my body and I moan ridiculously loud, my knees buckling. My cheeks start to heat, but he lets out a groan, cupping my face between his hands as he steps forward, leading us somewhere. My feet tangle with his as I back up and seconds later, we’re falling onto the mattress.

  I pray to God that this time the moment will last; that nothing from that day will catch up with me.

  His body conforms to mine as one of his hands knots through my hair, his other hand kneading my thigh. I slip my hands underneath his shirt and feel the lines of his muscles and the bumps of his scars. His stomach tightens under my touch, but he continues to explore my mouth with his tongue, the tip running along the roof and then his teeth bite softly at my lip. His fingers begin to drift along the top of my jeans and my insides quiver. I rub my feet together, tightening my legs, trying to figure out how to relieve the tingling between my legs.