by S. M. Koz
“Interesting. What else did she say?”
“She gave me the secret to a successful marriage.”
“Which is?”
I smile. “I’m really happy you’re in my life.”
She wrinkles her forehead and eyes me with suspicion. “Um, okay, but what’s the secret to a successful marriage?”
“That is. The guy has to tell the girl every day how important she is.”
“Oh,” she replies, a faint smile appearing. “What does the girl have to do?”
“That’s the confusing part. You either have to be an exquisite cook or amazing in bed. I couldn’t tell which one she really meant.”
“Well, I’m screwed.”
“I doubt that.”
“I can’t cook.”
“Luckily, there’s another option,” I say with a smirk.
Her brow furrows even more. Her faint smile totally disappears and her nose scrunches up like she just stepped in a pile of dog shit. “Yes, maybe someday I can hope to be just like my mother in the sack.”
“Eww …,” I reply, shaking my head to try and erase that image. “Don’t ever say that again.”
“You don’t like my role model?”
“She’s not a role model. My mom’s a role model. Your teachers are role models. Sherry’s a role model. Hell, even Brittany could be a role model. Not your mom.”
“I’m glad you get it.”
We both stare out at the water, watching a flock of geese fly lower and lower until they splash into the pond. “You never did it, did you?” I ask.
“Did what?”
“Sold yourself.”
She’s quiet and seems overly focused on the birds in front of us. One dives down, it’s ass and feet straight up in the air.
“Define sold,” she finally says.
“Had sex for money.”
“Money, no.”
“What did you have sex for?”
Again, she focuses on the birds. They’re swimming away from us and not nearly interesting enough to command this much of her attention.
Eventually, she says, “It wasn’t like full out sex. Just enough to keep one of my mom’s disgruntled customers from beating her up.”
“Shit.” I lean back on my elbows. I know we have different pasts, but sometimes it’s easy to forget how different. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to be in her position.
“Yeah, apparently I’m a glutton for punishment. If I had let her get what she deserved, maybe she’d have kicked the bucket two years ago and I would’ve been freed of her back then.”
“You’re not a glutton for punishment. You’re an extremely selfless person, even for people who don’t deserve it.”
I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll ever be able to have a normal relationship given everything she’s gone through. That kind of shit has to mess with your mind in ways that last a long time, if not forever.
“So, have you picked out your college yet?” she asks, abruptly changing the subject.
I sit up and draw in a deep breath. “Not definitively,” I reply, tossing a pine needle into the pond and watching it swirl around a couple times. “But I’ll probably go to Duke.”
“Because your dad wants you to?”
“No… a little … it is a good school. And there’s a good chance Adam will go to UNC. There are a lot of positives. What about you? What are your plans for after graduation?” I toss another pine needle into the water and then turn my head to watch her.
“Who knows?” she shrugs. “If I could actually get accepted into any state schools, I’d receive free tuition, which would be nice.”
“How?”
“For being in foster care. We get a few special perks. It’s the price of eighteen years of misery.”
“Definitely not worth it,” I say facing forward again, since she’s not looking at me. “But at least someone’s trying. Have you started looking at schools?”
“No. I’m not sure I’d be accepted anywhere.”
“How bad are your grades?” Something must startle the geese because they all take off at once, easing into their v-formation. “I thought you were doing okay in everything but geometry.”
“I have As and Bs in everything else and a solid C+ in geometry.”
“That’s not so bad. What’s your GPA?”
“Two-point-nineish.”
“You could get in somewhere, especially if you got it up to above three this year.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
A dragonfly darts up from under the dock and between our legs. It hovers in the air for a moment and then settles on the wood right next to Hailey, practically touching her. I’m a little jealous of the bug, so I scoot closer.
“What’s the alternative to college?” I ask.
“Get a job.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Wal-Mart?”
I roll my eyes, not that she can see with her eyes so focused on the water. “You did not just say that.”
“Why? What’s wrong with Wal-Mart?” she asks, finally looking at me.
“Nothing’s wrong with Wal-Mart. It’s an acceptable place to buy low-cost housewares. It is, however, not a place to have a career.”
“I wasn’t looking for a career.” And back go her eyes to the water. “Just a job.”
“Nobody ever explained to you the importance of going to college and selecting a good career, did they?”
“I heard it from my guidance counselor every year.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“It just seems out of the realm of possibility.”
“It’s not,” I reply simply.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You are applying to college even if I have to strap you to a chair and torture you until you fill out the paperwork.”
She surprises me by smiling and sitting up a little straighter.
“Thanks,” she says.
“For offering to torture you?
“No. For believing in me, even if I don’t.”
She’s still facing the pond and a shimmery reflection from the water dances across her cheeks. Gently, I turn her head in my direction. I wait a second, then run my thumb down the side of her face. She inhales sharply, but makes no move.
After waiting another second, I brush her mouth with my fingertips. She licks her lips, tempting me, and for a moment, I think I should kiss her. To hell with my plan of letting her set the pace.
But then I remember her past. I don’t want to be lumped in with those assholes.
“We should probably get going,” I say, with a sigh.
“Oh, okay,” she says, looking somewhat flustered.
And … that’s basically my life for the next week. I look for every opportunity to touch her. Her hand. Her cheek. Her neck. Her leg. I give her the opportunity to take it from there, but she never does.
It is beyond frustrating. My skin looks like a prune from the number of cold showers I’ve taken.
It’s now Saturday night and Hailey and I are in the basement, watching a movie. We thought we’d meet the gang, but Michelle’s not coming because of what happened last weekend. Abbie said she needed to stick with her. Adam and Brittany were supposed to come, but Brittany got a last minute gig for her band. Once Adam found out, he said he’d have a quiet night at home because he wasn’t interested in being the third wheel. I’ve explained to him things aren’t progressing for me and Hailey, but he still wanted to give us space. He’s a good friend and much more optimistic than I am at this point.
“Brad?” Hailey asks, biting her lip. She’s curled up on the couch next to me, our shoulders and legs touching.
“Uh-huh.”
“Why won’t you kiss me? Are you disgusted by me?”
“What?” I ask, turning my entire body to face her, shocked by her question. “No. God, no, Hailey.” I can’t believe she would think that. My entire plan is going to backfire if she thinks I’
m not attracted to her. Nothing could be further from the truth.
“Why then?” she asks, playing with a frayed edge of the blanket covering us. Her eyes are downturned and it’s clear she’s embarrassed to even be asking me about this.
I grab her hand with both of mine and squeeze. “I was waiting for you. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.” She looks up and meets my gaze, her face transforming from embarrassment to joy. I can’t believe she thought I wasn’t interested. I’m a total ass. I should have at least told her I was and we could move at her speed.
“It’s been hell,” I continue. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you and it takes all my self-control to stop. I thought you didn’t want me.”
Chapter 17
HAILEY
I can’t believe what he’s saying. His behavior this past week was so confusing—touching me, saying he liked me, but always abruptly leaving before ever starting anything. I thought for sure he was disgusted by my past. Considered me used goods. I told myself I’d have to accept that nothing physical would ever happen. It was depressing and embarrassing that he didn’t want me in that way.
But he does. And I want him. I always figured I’d never find a good guy and Chase was it. He made me feel loved in some weird way. It worked at the time, but looking back, I now realize how totally messed up that was. I traded sex for some sense of security or belonging, not because I actually cared deeply for him.
I bite my lip and watch Brad. He stares into my eyes, the blue growing darker second by second. I never initiated kissing or anything else with Chase; it was always him and I agreed to whatever he wanted. Honestly, I never had the intense urge to do anything specific, unlike I do right now. I want Brad’s lips on mine. I want his hands on my skin. And I want to finally run my fingers over those abs that he puts on display whenever he has the chance.
“What are you thinking?” he asks with a gulp.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do.” He cups my hands with his own and rubs his thumbs in a slow, delicate pattern over my wrists. “Show me.”
I can’t believe, five minutes ago, I was doubting us and now I’m about to kiss him.
“This isn’t practice like with Michelle. It means something to me,” I say.
“I know.”
“Tell me it means something to you,” I whisper, turning my head, afraid of what his answer will be. If it’s just sex to him, I’m not sure I can handle it.
He grips my chin and forces me to meet his eyes again. “Nothing has ever meant more.”
And I’ve never needed to hear anything more perfect.
Without warning, he crushes his lips to mine, pushing me to my back on the sofa. I grip his shoulders in response and he pushes his body so close to mine that not even one of those butterflies I always have around him could fit between us.
And surely not the swarm of them swirling around in my chest and inching their way lower as the warmth of his body seeps through my leggings and thin shirt. He slides his hand under my top, his powerful hands skimming my stomach and teasing my sensitive skin by slipping beneath my bra. His movement causes the miniature insects to take flight, pulling with them the air from my lungs and blood from my brain. I’m lightheaded, giddy, and immensely in need of more. It’s what I imagine being drunk or stoned would feel like.
“I could get used to this,” he whispers between kisses.
I pull away to see his face—his beautiful eyes, his slightly crooked nose that I never noticed before, and his full lips begging to be on mine again. He wants me, not just for sex, but to kiss him, and touch him, and to give him the same high he’s giving me.
And, just like that, I realize something that shouldn’t be foreign to a girl of my age, but it is. “This is what it’s supposed to feel like,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
I continue to stare at his face, still not believing I’m doing this with him.
“Are we done?” he asks, pushing my hair out of my eyes.
“No, I’m just enjoying the moment.”
“While we enjoy the moment, I should mention I don’t have any condoms, so this will have to stop short of … that.”
“That?” I ask with a laugh. “You made fun of me for not being able to say virgin and you can’t say sex all of a sudden?”
He smiles. “I can say sex, I just don’t think it’s appropriate. Sex is cold. It makes me think of what I did with her and what you did with him.”
I’m still shocked by how things have changed for us over the last few minutes. Shocked but thrilled. And I get what he’s saying. If or when we do it, it will have to be a hundred times better than what I’m used to. “So what will we call it?”
“I’m not sure. Making love is kind of corny and makes assumptions I’m not willing to make on your behalf, and I’m not about to use a certain curse word for it because that makes it seem trashy.”
“Getting jiggy with it?” I suggest, remembering a song one of the guys my mom brought home used to like.
He wrinkles his nose.
“Hanky-panky.”
“That sounds like a country-western song.”
“Intercourse. Coitus.”
“I feel like I’m back in sex ed.”
“Get busy.”
“You truly are gifted in the vocabulary world,” he notes, brushing feathery kisses along the side of my neck.
“Relations. Sleep together. Home run.”
“Okay, stop. You’re scaring me,” he says, sitting up, causing my skin to rise in goosebumps from the sudden loss of his heat. He grabs my hips and rearranges us so I’m sitting on his lap with my legs wrapped behind his back. “Let’s use something all our own.”
“Like what?”
He purses his lips and appears deep in thought for a few moments before saying, “Playing chess.”
I laugh at his suggestion. “That’s totally random. You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Random is perfect. We can talk about it when others are around and no one will know.”
“But what if one of us really wants to play actual chess?”
“Do you play?”
“No, I don’t even know how.”
“Me neither.”
“You’re serious?”
“Sure.”
I laugh again and shake my head. Playing chess it is. I honestly don’t care what we call it as long as he continues to take my breath away.
“So … do you want to play chess right now?” I whisper, my cheeks heating up. I’m not used to having to ask.
“What do you want?”
I desperately want to remove his shirt. I bite my lip and look at the top button.
“I was serious,” he says. “I want you to take the lead. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m making you do something you’re uncomfortable with.”
“I’m uncomfortable taking the lead.”
“You need to get over that.”
I bite my lip again and move my eyes between his lips and his chest.
He tilts my chin up and asks, “Why do you keep looking at my shirt?”
My cheeks blaze even more.
“I’ll tell you if I’m not into something,” he says. “Until then, you should assume I’m totally on board.”
“Totally on board?”
“Yeah.”
I nod and continue gnawing on my lip. It’s going to start bleeding at this rate.
He grabs my hand and moves it to the top button. “It’s getting a little warm in here, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“Do you want to help me take off my shirt?”
I nod again.
He smiles and frees my hand. “Go ahead. I’m waiting.”
I fumble with the first button, but by the time I’m midway through and getting glimpses of what lies beneath, my hands move with more confidence and determination.
“Like what you see?” he asks, his cocky smile making an appearance.
&nb
sp; I nod and tentatively reach out and run my fingertips along the chiseled lines of his chest.
He responds by sliding his hands up my shirt and unclasping my bra.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
It’s way more than okay. It’s what I’ve wanted him to do for at least the past week, but assumed he would never do.
“Yes,” I whisper. Then, I dip my hands lower and trace the lines of his six-pack. “Is this okay?” I ask.
“God, yes,” he murmurs, his lips finding mine. While his tongue explores my mouth, my hands continue to explore lower and lower, gaining confidence from the eager way he responds to my touch.
When they slide under the waistband of his jeans, he draws in a breath and whispers, “No condoms, remember?”
“I’m on the pill.”
He covers my hands and stills my movement. “Don’t kill me, but I’d prefer a two-line defense.” He leans his forehead against mine. “Only-child thing. Always cautious.”
I pause, stunned by his words. I couldn’t get Chase to use even one method and Brad doubles down. Not that I shouldn’t be surprised. Brad is about a million times more responsible than Chase.
“For the love of God,” a voice that sounds a lot like Gil says. He must have slipped down the stairs without us noticing.
“The door was open,” Brad says, sliding me off his lap and buttoning up his shirt. “We didn’t break your rules.”
“The rule is no sex!”
“I can fully assure you we did not have sex,” he says, taking this much too casually.
“Because I interrupted. What if I had been five minutes later?”
“It still wouldn’t have happened.”
“You,” he says, pointing to Brad. “To your room. Now.”
Despite what just happened, Brad leans over and brushes his lips against mine. “Goodnight,” he says.
“’Night,” I mumble, looking to the floor.
“Gigi will be here in a minute to talk to you, Hailey. Stay put.”
I nod and fear the worst. This time, they will kick me out for sure. I’m a bad influence on their perfect son.
Chapter 18
BRAD
As soon as I get to my room, I turn up the music and throw myself onto the bed, waiting for the talk. I expect Dad to join me immediately, but minutes go by and I’m still alone. I grab the mini Nerf football from my bookshelf and toss it in the air, trying to hit the crack in the ceiling. Adam and I accidentally shot off a model rocket in here years ago, leaving a nice foot-long crack right over my head.