I search the faces bobbing around me, hoping to snag somebody’s attention for help. No one seems to notice the bear hug this guy has on me or the panic in my eyes. My pulse breaks into double time. The best I can do is swivel in his arms and face him. More of that stench of beer slaps me in the face when I do.
“That’s right, work on him,” he says, pushing his boy-parts into my thigh. “You won’t be the first carpet muncher I’ve had to set straight.”
The fight in me throws up a fist. I clip the bottom of his chin. The chomp of his teeth snap his mouth shut. His hat flips off his head.
He steps back, holding his mouth. “You made me bite my tongue, you bitch.” Now people turn their attention to us. He bends to pick up his hat.
Bren’s lean build steps into the newfound space between Cowboy Hat and me. “Keep your fucking hands off her,” Bren barks. I have never heard her cuss, much less imagined the f-word flying out of her mouth. Her arm blindly reaches back for me, and I latch on to it for dear life. As bold as her words may have been, her body shakes like a leaf. Granted she’s a towering oak and he’s a stump, but she’s still a girl. Surely she’s not going to fight him. I’m vaguely aware of Van and Arthur flanking my sides, huddling more than protecting.
Where the heck are the bouncers?
Cowboy Hat wipes the blood and spittle off his lip with an angry swipe. “Seems like the both of you need a little of this to straighten you right up.” He grabs his groin and gives it a good shake. All eyes scrutinize Bren and me, as if they are just now putting two and two together. The music pulses around us, but no one is dancing.
“Excuse me?” I pop off, shoving past Bren. I stand face to face with the POS. Now that I’m out here, I’m not sure what I planned to say. Old survival instincts kick in and my mouth just dumps the first thought that comes to mind. “Are you hitting on my boyfriend?” I gesture to Bren.
Holy shit, I cannot believe I just said that. Bren’s athletic build and short hair buy me some doubt but not much.
Cowboy Hat scrutinizes her for a quick second, shaking off his uncertainty. He looks like he’s about to say something that will set everyone straight on just exactly who and what we are, but I cut him off before he can speak.
“Hey, just keep your Justin Bieber obsessions to yourself. Okay?” I thread my arm through Bren’s and march us right past him, holding my breath the whole time.
What the hell was I thinking? I glance over to see a jaw-dropped Van and a stoic Bren. Oh man, this is not good.
Outside, as fresh as the night air might be, it’s not enough to fill my suffocating lungs. My heart gallops the Kentucky Derby.
“Holy crap, Kaycee.” Van wraps a congratulatory hug around me and jostles me with his enthusiasm. “You just called your girlfriend Justin Bieber.” His body shakes with laughter.
Nervous laughter tumbles out of me. I squeeze Bren’s hand. She forces a smile on her face but refuses to look me in the eye.
“You shocked the crap out of that redneck,” Arthur says.
“I was sure she was going to rope you and me in there, and call us her bitches,” Van says to Arthur. They both laugh, replaying the scene—especially what I said about Bren. They razz her for having a boyish smile, telling her she should drop basketball and try a career in pop music.
Adrenaline rushes through my body, making my hands shake. I watch Bren politely laugh, but she’s not happy. My feet move forward, headed toward the parking lot, but I’m numb all the way to my toes. I’m not sure what came over me. Yeah, I hated the guy for his cruel words and hateful slurs, but honestly, I said those things because I didn’t want to be called out for being a lesbian.
The reality of what I just did sinks in, and I know I’ve totally screwed up. I’m sick to my stomach knowing how bad I must have embarrassed her. Denied her.
We walk Arthur to his jeep, say our good-byes and nice-to-meet-you’s. Bren and I leave them alone to say their own private good-bye. I lean against the hood of her car, happy the back of the lot is devoid of streetlights. She settles next to me, but not cuddle close like she normally is.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean … it just came out of me.”
Bren sighs and looks up at the stars. I can tell the way she bites her lips, she’s chewing on her words. Her silence tortures me.
“Dang it. I’ve totally effed this up, haven’t I? See, I told you I sucked at this.” I use my shirt to blot under my eyes.
“Don’t go and do that.” Her arms wrap around me, and I bury my face in her chest. “This is not the end of the world. I just—please stop crying. You’re killing me.” She briskly rubs my back. “Hey.” Bren tips my chin up and witnesses a tear drop. “No one’s hurt. We’re fine.” She releases a resigned sigh.
“It could have gotten real ugly, Bren.” I lay my head against her chest again. “And I chickened out and called you my boyfriend. I didn’t even have the balls to defend what I am.” Tears leak from my eyes like they’re spigots.
“Please, babe. No more tears.” Bren eases me off her, gripping my shoulders. Her stern brow pinches tight. “I just … I want to make sure you know what I am—I’m your girlfriend. I can’t pretend to be something else. I don’t want to be something else. And I need to know you’re not pretending I’m anything but your girlfriend. Okay?”
“Boys are disgusting,” I say and get a small smile from her. “You are like smokin’ hot. God, your hair, it’s so freaking sexy.” This gets me a bigger smile. “I swear, I know exactly what you are. I’ve thought a lot about what you are, trust me. Okay that sounded perverted. You know what I mean. Tonight, I was scared. That’s all.”
“I get it. You said what was necessary to keep you safe. That’s all I want. For you to be safe.” She pulls me back in. Her arms squeeze around my head. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. But I’m glad to know you can handle yourself, even if it means getting creative. Did you seriously clock him in the chin?”
I laugh against her chest. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” Her hand makes circles on my back. “I don’t think you have any idea how much you mean to me, Kaycee.”
The sound of my name from her lips makes my insides purr. I look up at her. The streetlamps from the back of the club barely light her face. I want to ask her just how much I mean to her.
She cups my cheeks. “You’re so sweet and beautiful,” she says, as if she’s read my thoughts. My heart pounds in my throat. “You have an amazing spirit for life. I love how you see nature as cupid, dropping hints of heart shapes everywhere. You have this cute habit of bouncing on your heels when you’re excited and rocking back and forth when you’re nervous. You’ve got the sexiest little twang I’ve ever heard. I could listen to you talk for hours with that little accent of yours. I love how you draw out my name.” She closes her eyes as if recalling the memory. She opens her eyes again and swallows. “There’s nothing about you I don’t love.”
My heart skips a beat. Her last words echo in my head, tattooing themselves to my memory. It’s how I feel and then some. That raging need that I’ve quieted for so many years has taken on a voice of its own. It screams, “Feed me.” It’s not enough to have her arms around me. I want to be closer, nearer, to crawl inside her skin and be one with her. Love her.
I don’t want to go home and say our good-byes at the door, only to hold my breath until the next time I get to see her. This night—or the part where I’m here in her arms—I don’t want it to end. Not yet.
“Sleep over?” The words whisper out of my lips. I’m not sure she’s even heard me. Or worse, I’m worried she will deny me. She has so much trust with her parents; I can’t imagine she’d ever break that confidence. The fact that I’ve asked her makes me regret the position I have put her in.
The silence kills me. I can see the wheels turning in Bren’s head—how she’s trying to figure
out how to tell me no without crushing me. Just when I’m about to tell her I take it back and exclaim that it’s a stupid idea … she bends and kisses me.
Her lips are firm and wet and just as hungry as mine. I feel her hand move down my side and stop dangerously low on my hip. Her thumb caresses the crook where my leg joins, and she squeezes. Like an invitation, I push my body up against hers, wanting more. She grips tighter in approval.
I’m not sure if she’s agreeing to sleep over or distracting me. I don’t care.
Bren pulls away, leaving me hanging in the air, openmouthed. She raises her thumb and gingerly grazes it back and forth over my lips. “My, my, what a sweet thing,” she says.
Instantly, my body stands to attention.
“Of course I’ll stay. How can I say no to you?” The knowingness and wickedness in her eyes reminds me she’s been firmly in her shoes for some time. I’ve only recently put on my shoes, much less broken them in.
I haven’t really played out the particulars for when we get to my house, or what I will say to my mother. She’ll be asleep when we get home. In the morning, she’ll probably freak and then—Do not think about Mother right now. What will Bren wear? What will I wear? Where in the heck will we sleep?
Bren’s mouth is hot on mine again. Our tongues circle and prod, and it’s all I can do to inhale her in. All the tedious details seem to fade away. My hands slide themselves into the sides of her open shirt, pulling her against me. Her hand creeps lower to more responsive places, and she presses herself right up against—
Bang! Bang! Bang! Van pounds the roof of the BMW, scaring the wits out of me. Bren doesn’t even flinch.
Van comes around to our side. “Let’s hit it, kids. Pumpkin time is in forty-five, and we’ve got an hour drive. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, Kaycee. Are you ready?” Bren grins. Her brows pop up twice, full of suggestion. My stomach flip-flops, a mix of anticipation and something that might resemble doubt, but I won’t know for sure unless we decide to—yeah, not going there.
Chapter 15
What I’m not going to do is panic … or chicken out. I creep up the stairs to my mother’s room and take in a deep breath. The attic air is stagnant. The low-ceiling loft takes up the entire space, but it spans the width of our house, making it the largest of the bedrooms. Red digits on her clock peep at me through the crack in her door, well past midnight.
I face the numbers away from her bed, just in case she wakes up enough to think about checking the time. “Mother.” I nudge her.
“Hmmm,” she says in a sleepy haze.
“I’m home.”
She grunts an uh-huh back to me and snuggles into her pillow more.
“I’m having a friend sleep over. Is that cool?” I cross my fingers, hoping she’s too out of it to put two and two together.
“What?” she asks, lifting her head off the pillow, bleary-eyed.
It takes me a second to gather my courage to ask again. “I said I’m having a friend sleep over. Is that cool?”
“Okay, honey. Lock the front door.” She rolls over into her covers.
As I creep back down the stairs, I am very well aware of the fact that she has no idea what she’s agreed to. Asleep or not, I will maintain my defense in the morning that she said it was okay.
Back in my room, Bren leans over my Civil War scrap metal collection, sifting through the findings. Her legs look ridiculously long—and off-the-charts sexy—in the gym shorts I gave her to sleep in.
“What? No snow angel in my sheets? I’m so offended,” I say. It gets a chuckle out of her. I join her next to the box.
“These are awesome.” She holds up a half-eroded uniform button. “Did you collect them all?”
“Mostly.” I admire the button myself. “Some of them my nana gave me after my grandpa passed away.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago, back when I was in eighth grade. We used to hit different farms near all the big Civil War battle grounds and search for metal with his detector. We’d come up with barbed wire and old soda cans, but every now and then we’d hit a treasure trove. The really good stuff we donated to the Shiloh museum.” I pass her back the button. She nestles it among the other trinkets and gently closes the lid.
Every molecule in my body hums with awareness from her closeness. This is a two-bedroom house, no guest room. The not-as-big-as-you-think-it-is queen bed looms behind us. Bren will be sleeping inches away from me … in my bed. I clear my throat and grab a nightshirt and shorts. “I’m … just gonna change.” I stumble as I back out of my room.
After I change in the hall bathroom, I brush my teeth twice, rinse with mouthwash, and tousle my declassified hair. It does nothing to change the wavy wildness of it.
In the mirror I look myself dead in the eyes.
“It’s a sleepover. This means nothing,” I say quietly to myself.
Or it can mean everything.
“Shut up. You only do what you want to do. Take it slow.”
Or jump right in feet-first. That’s fine too.
“Shut. Up.”
“Kaycee?” Bren calls from the other side of the door.
Great, now she hears me talking to myself. I pull the door open. “Yeah,” I say, trying to hush the voices in my head.
“Do you have an extra toothbrush?”
“Yep.” I open the smaller cubby drawer and hand her one of the many dental office samples we have stocked. “It’s adult size. Sorry, no Dora.” I pucker my lips.
“Funny.” She takes the brush as I slither past her.
In my room, I stare at my bed. Not ready to cozy up under the covers just yet, I lean against my dresser as if it’s a casual, comfortable space on which to lounge. The edge of the furniture digs into my tailbone. I shift to the foot of my bed, sit on one corner, then move to the other. I’m not even sure which side of the bed I should take. I usually just hog the middle.
All my furniture crowds the tiny space. Walls shrink in around me. The collar of my T-shirt chokes my neck. Air refuses to fill my lungs.
“You okay?”
I leap to my feet, startled by Bren’s voice. “I was just … trying to …” My hands go for my nonexistent back pockets—palms slip off my shorts, and I bounce on my heels. I rub my hands over my thighs and shift into a very relaxed pose of arms locked tightly across my chest.
“Yep. All good,” I say.
A soft, knowing smile curls up the edges of Bren’s mouth. Heat rips across my cheeks, tinting my face. She watches me bob up and down. Remembering what she said at the club, I force myself to still. It’s like trying to stop an earthquake.
Bren pulls back the covers on the right side of the bed, and eases in with grace as if this is her bed, not mine. Long arms tuck behind her head, her large watch chinks loudly on her wrist. She removes the bulky piece of jewelry and lays it on the nightstand, returning her arms to the relaxed position. Her pearly whites gleam like a tiger’s grin.
This is nothing like having Sarabeth stay the night.
I swallow. The lump in my throat gets stuck like a pill. How do I act when Sarabeth is here? Be casual … and don’t just stand at the foot of the bed, bouncing on your heels and gawking at her like she’s an apple pie. I stroll over to the other side of the bed. Bren’s eyes trail me, and I trip on the nothing on the floor. A nervous chuckle escapes me—it sounds more like the grunting of an ape.
Once I’m under the covers, Bren faces me, leaning on her elbow. There’s a heaviness to her eyes that makes my insides explode. Needs my body has never known awaken. The thrill of fear and excitement creeps around my neck and forces me to shiver.
“We don’t have to do anything.” Bren stretches a hand out and smoothes the wild waves of my hair behind my ear.
The thought of doing nothing is not what I had in min
d either. A little sigh slips out of me.
“Or we can just … play it by ear.” Her brown eyes gaze upon me, turning my skin hot.
“Yeah.” I nod. Let’s go with that.
Bren scoots closer, and I feel her legs touch mine, zinging electricity up the length of my body. She slips her hand under the covers and pulls me closer for a kiss. The scorching heat of her hand on my hip is a stark contrast to the coolness of the sheets. Our mouths melt into each other. Our tongues find a pleasing rhythm. I ease back, pulling her over me.
Every touch, every movement, every deep kiss thickens the air with want. Just when I think I can’t breathe, her mouth trickles off mine. She goes to work kissing my neck, burning my skin with the touch of her mouth. The puff of her warm breath tingles my insides. She kisses my ear, drowning me in a haze of ocean and spice. Bren slides her hand to rest on the hollow of my belly, just under the edge of my shirt. My body purrs at the feel of her skin on such a sensitive area. Bren moans a reply against my neck. The tips of her fingers glide over my rib cage until her thumb grazes the bottom of my breast.
I freeze.
Her mouth returns to mine. I’m not sure if she’s distracting me or if the closeness of where her hand rests is igniting her own building desire. Soft lips are replaced by an urgent, starving mouth. My mind begins to dissect what is first base versus third. How far is going too far with her? I am a virgin. I never wanted to have sex with a boy, for obvious reasons, but I’m not sure how far I’m willing to go here with Bren either. Technically, she is my first girlfriend. And at what point in what we’re doing does it mean I’m no longer a virgin?
Her thumb lightly strokes back and forth, and the touch is oh so light, but glorious nonetheless. It’s not that my body doesn’t want this. No doubt it’s the first time my body actually knows what it wants. It’s nothing like the time Greg Nettle asked to touch my boob our freshman year, and after a good squeeze, he laughed all goofy and said, “Squishy.”
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