My best girl and her hush-hush love sit on the bottom step of the stairs talking. I walk between them. Becka grabs my ankle, and I almost fall. “Where are you going? I thought we were going to raid the dessert tray.”
“I already did.” I slip her the napkin-wrapped cream-puff I snatched. “I have to wake up your brother. Your mom needs his help.”
“Ha! Good luck,” she yells. I’m already down the hall.
I open the door expecting Thomas to be laid out in bed, but he’s fresh out of the shower in front of his closet with a gray towel around his waist and another draped over his shoulders. His window is open, but his room still smells like bad habits mixed with hot water and soap. The air is thick from the steam, and when I close his door and slip into bed, his sheets are cold, like he hasn’t been in them since I left.
“We can ditch this party,” he says without looking over. He searches through his hangers before pulling down a white tee shirt. “And never come back.”
He drops the towel. Unfortunately, he already has a pair of boxer briefs on.
“And miss out on panna cotta? I think not.”
Thomas turns around, slipping the shirt over his head. “You would choose sugar over love.”
I smile. “Sugar is love.”
My boy pulls down a pair of cargo shorts and steps into them. I pout, and he laughs. “You want some of this?” He jokes, cupping himself.
I slump into the pillows, laughing. I have to hold my stomach and bite my lip.
“Is something funny?” he asks playfully, pulling the covers from me like Becka did earlier this morning. “You think my dick is a big joke, sunny side?”
“It’s big, but it’s not a joke.” I slap my hands over my mouth the moment the words pass my lips. Thomas’ dark eyes widen before he leans his head back and laughs, holding his hands over his stomach.
He falls into bed beside me and chuckles. “You’re killin’ me, Bliss.”
I push myself against his side, laying my head on his chest. I’ve grown accustomed to his accelerated heartbeat and used to the darkness of his eyes, because like his blues, his dilated blacks show me so much. He’s in a good mood now, so the black is soft, maybe even happy. But when he gets upset, the black is devilish, too bottomless-gone and untouchable.
“You’re not afraid of it anymore?” I ask softly, holding my hand over his heart, wishing I could slow it down myself.
Thomas takes a deep breath and sighs. He knows what I’m talking about: what no one else in this family is brave enough to bring up. “No.”
My boy doesn’t just smoke a little pot anymore. He’s in deep.
“Will you stop when school starts again?” I ask. We’re only six weeks into summer, but it feels like it’s been months. These ups and downs are hard to keep up with. I can’t imagine dealing with this between classes and homework.
“I can stop whenever I want.” His smirk is delicious, and I want to smack it off his face. He must notice, because he smiles higher and slips his arm under me, holding my sides with both hands. In one swoop, I’m straddling his hips. “Come on, Bliss, it's my birthday weekend. You have to be nice.”
I roll my eyes. “You don't think we’ve outgrown the rules yet?”
Recklessness slips his hands under my sleep shirt and circles his thumbs slowly on my stomach. “You’re only fifteen. You haven’t outgrown shit.”
I playfully punch him in the chest once, twice, three times. He grabs my wrist and flips us over so he’s on top, in between my thighs.
“Don’t fuck with me,” love whispers against my skin, softly kissing my neck. His throaty tone makes me wild, and the rumble in his chest makes my skin light up, sensitive and alive. His hands are on his mattress at the sides of my head, holding himself up, and it’s killing me that he’s not touching me somewhere … anywhere.
He’s being too careful, too slow.
In my need for more, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side. Dusty palms my breast and kisses my lips. He tastes like mint and smells soft and soapy clean.
I reach down between us and unbutton his shorts. Thomas rests his forehead on mine with pouty lips and slightly flushed cheeks. His black is so sweeping, all fucked-up and honest.
When I have him out, I wrap my hand around his base and move as slowly as he kissed me, making his eyes close and his lips lift at their corners.
“Too slow?” I whisper.
Crazy-love shakes his head, but covers my hand with his anyway. He strokes faster and harder, but his grip is gentle over my own.
I love the faces he makes.
I love making him feel good.
Love is slow-hard strokes and knitted eyebrows.
“You have to hurry,” I say quietly, leaving heavy kisses at the side of his mouth, soaking in his sweet, warm breath.
Then I have an idea.
This time I’m flipping him, and he falls back on his elbows with wide, glossy eyes and the sweetest swollen lips. His hair is still damp and pushed up where my fingers were.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, breathlessly.
I bite on my bottom lip and crawl between his knees. I have no idea what I’m doing, or how to do it, but Becka talks about it sometimes. She said it makes Smitty feel crazy good when her mouth is on him.
When I wrap my hand around his length and push my hair to one side of my shoulder, Thomas catches on.
“Wait … wait—Leigh, no.” He tries to pull himself away, but I hold on, and now we’re in this weird struggle over his penis, and it’s so funny we start to laugh way too loudly.
Then there’s a knock on the door and everything is real again. We’re a secret, doing secret things, in his bedroom on secret stolen time.
“Dusty,” Tommy says from the other side of the locked door, “get up.”
“You're fucking nuts.” My boy slips himself back into his shorts and buttons them before I get any more ideas. He gets out of bed. “You stay over there.”
“You would have liked it,” I say, staring because he’s still showing through his shorts.
The boy who denies me simple pleasures lights up while I redress myself with a contagious smile. Fully clothed, I jump onto his computer desk and sit beside him while he smokes. We talk about normal things—school, friends, family—and it’s good. So good, that when Becka and Petey knock on the door, Thomas lets them in and our conversation carries on for over an hour.
It’s so okay, that I think, maybe.
Just because we’re having a good time doesn’t mean Tommy is. She’s been trying to get her only son out of his room for a couple of hours and grows incredibly frustrated with her birthday brat.
“Dusty, get your ass down here before I beat you!” she yells from the bottom of the stairs.
Becka and Pete laugh, and in their distraction, I lean in and whisper, “Are you ready to party, party boy?”
“BIGGER, BLISS. Make it bigger!” Becka takes the teasing comb from me and dives into her huge pink hair. “My goal is Amy Winehouse, not J-Woww.”
When it's as big as she wants it, I help pin it back, leaving her side bangs down and softly curling cotton-candy pink ends.
“Your turn.” She laughs, coming at me with the tube of lipstick.
My long strawberry hair is board-straight and pulled back into a tight ponytail. My makeup is light and natural with the exception of my matches-my-best-girl’s red lips. My parents are going to be here later, so while I want to be dressed up, I have to keep it toned down until they leave.
"Why’d you invite them?" Becka asks, slipping out of her gray cotton shorts and into her denim boyfriends.
I carefully pull my black tube top over my hair and down my chest, slipping on a cream-colored sheer tank top over that. “Your mom did.”
The party’s in celebration of Thomas turning eighteen, but it’s also a pretty important event. Lucas invited co-workers and distinguished clients. Rebecka and Thomas have family coming in from all over the place, and it’s all that
anyone has been talking about for the last couple of weeks. My mom actually questioned me about the party before I even brought it up.
My parents have to be here, so I have to be on my best behavior. They have to see that I’m the same girl at the Castors' that I am at home. I follow rules. I’m innocent.
“Maybe they won’t stay long,” Becka says, slipping her feet into a pair of simple, black platform heels. After she has on a tube top that matches mine, she helps me squeeze into my black super-skinnies. “You need to lay off the fucking Twinkies, princess.”
Downstairs, Tommy did a really good job about keeping the party outside. The kitchen crew is still completing the finishing touches on dinner, and the dessert guy is MIA, so I take the opportunity to snatch a few more cream puffs.
“I saw that,” my teenage dream whispers to me from behind, caught for the second time today.
I turn around … and melt.
He’s beautiful.
Black slacks, black shirt, white skinny tie; my boy is to die for. He’s even wearing dress shoes. Thomas's hair is gelled and brushed over, like Jack Dawson, only better. His eyes match his shirt, and he smells like mischief and bad intentions.
I bite into my puff when he smiles. It’s all I can do to keep from jumping him in front of his family and the caterers.
“Are you sure you don’t want to ditch this place?” he asks very quietly, reaching over my shoulder to steal a chocolate covered strawberry.
“Leigh, let’s take a shot before your parents get here.” Becka fist pumps from the other side of the kitchen island, showing up out of nowhere.
Ben and Petey follow in after her, looking like clean and proper versions of themselves. Lucas strolls quickly through as his daughter pours rum into glasses.
“Judge McCloy is going to be a guest,” he reminds us before walking out the back door after his wife, who is stunning in a floor-length charcoal gown.
My cheeks burn. My dad … The fucking party wrecker.
The guests, including my parents, arrive and the party starts, beginning with a sit-down dinner in the backyard. The table I share with my parents is right beside the Castors’. Rebecka and I make funny faces, and she shows me her chewed lasagna.
The backyard is crowded with people. The low beats of “Let It Be” swim in the warm summertime air. Forks and knives scrape across plates while laughter floats from different corners of the yard, and my boy sneaks a look that makes me blush.
Two tables over at my left, Oliver sits with Smitty and his family. He smiles, and it’s enough to warm my cheeks and lift my lips.
“This is a nice party,” Dad says. “Kind of a big deal for a teenager.”
“He’s eighteen, Dad.” I take a drink of my water. Thomas’ entire table erupts in laughter; I look over in envy.
“It must have cost a fortune,” Mom adds.
I slide asparagus around my plate with my fork.
After the tables are cleared and the music plays a little louder, no one at the party is drunk enough, or brave enough, to dance yet. All of the suits are still suiting, and Thomas is smiling, playing the perfect son for his father’s acquaintances. Mom has a drink at the bar with Tommy, and Dad gets with Smitty’s father to talk about boring dad stuff, thankfully leaving me to do my own thing. I still can’t drink, but Becka has a few.
“Dance with me,” she begs, pulling me to the dance floor by my wrists.
From the bar, Tommy is all smiles, happy to see us happy, but Mom’s eyes are looking a little harder. I don’t know if she can tell if Rebecka has been drinking, or if she doesn’t like the way my hips sway, but it’s suffocating under her microscope.
And as I kind of, sort of look around, Teri and Tommy aren’t the only ones staring. With sunglasses on his face and his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks, trouble’s attention is on me. So is Oliver’s, from the table he hasn’t moved from since he got here.
Their stares pull me in three different directions, and they all want something different: the uncorrupted daughter; a told secret; more than friends.
It’s almost too much to handle, but I know freedom comes with nightfall.
AN HOUR later, my parents stand with me in front of the car.
They want me to leave.
“Leigh, I don’t know those people. There’s going to be drinking …” Mom trails off, waiting for Dad to finish.
“You can come back in a couple of days,” he says dismissively.
I cross my arms over my chest and bite my tongue. “Mom, I’ve been looking forward—”
“I understand, Leighlee,” Mom replies tightly. “But it’s time to go.”
Dropping my arms to my sides, my eyes water as I say, “I need to get my things.”
“Everything okay?” Tommy asks, suddenly beside me. She’s my saving grace.
“Leigh wants to stay, but I’m not comfortable with the drinking,” Mom answers. She doesn’t sound aggravated with Tommy for involving herself, which is a surprise.
Mrs. Castor puts her arms around me, hugging tightly. “Oh, let her stay, Teri. The party’s almost over anyway.”
Dad looks at me as if he’s checking for a crack, an imperfection, a sign that I can’t be trusted. It’s his job to seek untruth in people, even in his own child.
I resent him for it.
I’m the liar, but I detest him for knowing what to look for—for making my life harder than I’ve already made it myself.
Tommy sweet talks and fake smiles well enough for my parents to let me stay. But I know she's drowning in wine. It’s why she sneaks inside every fifteen minutes. In the house, up in her room, probably in her dresser, is her hidden bottle.
We’re both good deceivers.
“Call me if anything happens,” Mom says. She kisses my forehead and hugs me tight.
Tommy and I wave as my parents reverse out of the driveway. Mom flips down the visor, and the orange-yellow light from the mirror illuminates her as she wipes mascara out from under her bottom lashes. Dad doesn’t take his eyes off of me until he puts the car in drive and slowly moves down the road.
A few other people make their way out as Tommy and I stroll back to the party. She stops to say goodbye, but I keep going. I walk until I’m at the back door, through the kitchen, and up the stairs. Once I’m back in Becka’s room, the first things I change are my shoes. Brand new heels make me three inches taller and ten times more comfortable. I reapply red lipstick and tighten my ponytail. I smile and mean it.
Even though guilt decays my insides.
I push it away, deep down with regret.
Pink hair isn’t easy to miss. The sun is completely down and the twinkling lights around the party set the mood. Thomas’ slacks sag and his tie is undone. His hair isn't so perfect. The same goes for the few suits who stay with Lucas; they're not so pristine anymore, but laid back and carefree.
“Let's get drunk,” I whisper into my best friend’s ear.
Liquored up, we toast to birthday fun and sweet summertime nights.
I feel weightless after a few drinks. My lips are numb, my eyelids heavy. And I have to pee.
While my best girl gets down on the dance floor, I head toward the house, walking past Thomas’ table and his glare. My heels tap on the wooden porch, and when I go to grab the handle to the back door, I miss it the first time.
My balance is shifty, so I decide not to climb the stairs to use the restroom and use the half bath next to the garage. But the door is locked.
“Hello!” I shout, knocking on the door. “Can you hurry up?”
It opens, and Valarie stands on the other side.
“Little sister,” she says. “Why didn't you say it was you?"
She pulls me in.
The small bathroom is filled wall-to-wall with Sluts, giving me a space big enough to pull down my pants to pee. I sit on the toilet with my knees pressed together and my eyes wide. They act like I’m not here listening in on their conversation.
Valarie has her
face right up to the mirror, rubbing lipstick out from under her lip.
“You can’t keep it, obviously.” She rolls her dilated eyes.
I pull toilet paper from the roll.
Val scoffs, “It’s not like Casper would ever be around.”
Mixie sniffs.
“He's a fucking lowlife,” Kelly adds.
Katie, leaning against the wall across from Mixie, shakes her head. “You guys don’t know that.”
Kelly finally looks at me as I pull my pants back up. I’m quickly overlooked, and they continue their conversation.
“He didn't care when you told him,” Valarie points out, turning away from the mirror only long enough to look at Mixie.
I kind of step between them to wash my hands, but I’m still invisible. That’s until Val says, “Cute shoes, little sis.”
I nod, pumping soap into my palm.
“I don’t know.” Mixie finally weighs in, sniffing. I turn on the water and lather my hands. “I don't know if I can do it.”
“You don't want a kid with him, Mix.” Valarie’s tone softens, like she might actually care. “Trust me.”
My hands stop moving. My heart doesn’t beat. Air catches in my throat.
“Would you do it?” Mixie asks her, tears falling from her eyes. “If Thomas or some shit got you pregnant, would you do it?”
Without hesitation—without a second to think—Valarie hands me a towel to dry off my hands, not looking up as she says, “Yeah.”
I can’t get out of the bathroom fast enough.
Only to run right into Thomas.
“What the fuck, Bliss?” he whispers harshly, puling me deeper into the hallway leading to the garage where the Sluts spoke so freely and easily about the most serious of issues.
Suddenly this boy’s life is bigger than mine. More disgusting and real. It’s a firsthand encounter with the results of his ugly ways. And it’s more than superficial shit: jealousy, secrets, and habits. What’s happening to Mixie is life altering.
And Thomas could be putting himself in the same situation.
“Did you know?” I ask, pulling my arm free from his grip. I do my best not to slur. I keep my footing still and ball my hand. I punch Thomas in the chest. “Did you fucking know about Mixie?”
Delinquents (Dusty #2) Page 5