by Jana Aston
“I have to tell you something,” I whisper conspiratorially.
“What’s that?” he whispers back, his eyes shimmering with interest.
Around us, the normal chaos of dorm life ensues. I think I hear someone skateboarding followed by a voice booming, “Not inside.” The mailboxes snap open and closed behind us but still, I pause a beat.
“I want to do dirty things to you,” I finally say, looking him dead in the eye and winking before releasing his jacket.
He responds with one of his lazy grins that spread across his face in wonder and end in a dimple on his left cheek. He doesn’t say anything, just ushers me out the front door to his car. We’re on 36th Street before he speaks.
“Tell me about it,” he says.
I’m adjusting the seat heater on my side and it takes me a second to catch on. But once I do, it’s on.
“I’d like to put your dick in my mouth,” I respond. It’s true, my mouth waters a little staring at his profile. I’m not lying when I say the thought of wrapping my lips around the girth of him turns me on.
His jaw tics, and he taps one finger on the steering wheel, but lets me continue.
I place my hand on his thigh, innocently enough. Mid-thigh, my fingers wrapping towards the inside of his leg, my thumb resting towards the outside. I don’t move it up, just leave it there, my palm warmed by the heat of his skin, even through the denim.
“I’d wrap one hand around the base of you, get a good grip, and use the other to guide the tip of you onto my tongue. I’d have to stretch my mouth open pretty wide once I got the head past my lips.” I pause and use a finger to rub along my bottom lip. “My jaw hurts just thinking about it.”
We come to a stop at the light on Spruce and he turns his head in my direction, eyebrow raised in challenge.
“I’d like to deep throat you,” I add, and, using my right hand, run the tips of my fingers down my neck, “but that is just not going to be possible with what you’re packing.”
He places his hand over mine on his thigh and squeezes. The light changes and he accelerates.
“I’d be happy to slide my cock past those lips of yours. But not tonight.”
“What? Why?” It comes out a little shocked, and, if I’m honest, whiny. Is he saying we’re not having sex today? Because I really want it. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. Fine. All week.
“Relax, Boots. I’m still going to fuck you.”
“Whew.” I exhale a giant breath and he just glances over and shakes his head.
“Can I fuck you without a condom?”
“No way. But I’ll suck you off without a condom. And I’ll swallow.”
“Well, then.”
“Hey, that’s a good offer. I haven’t swallowed since high school.”
We’re stopped at the light, making a left onto 22nd Street, and he glares at me.
I scrunch my nose and grimace. “But perhaps you didn’t need to hear that.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Oopsie.” I shrug. “Anyway, why can’t I suck your dick tonight? You’re being unreasonable.”
He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at me. We’re on Market Street headed towards Penn Square and I wait while he pulls the car into the Ritz-Carlton garage, slides into his parking space and gives me his full attention. He puts his arm across my headrest and traces the shell of my ear with his fingers before speaking softly.
“Because I want to come inside of you, even if it’s in a condom. And then I want to do it again. And again. I don’t know if I can hold off a load for your throat until tomorrow.”
I want to blow him in this car right now, but I’m guessing he’s a few years past that stage in his life. Plus it’s a very tiny car.
“But I promise I won’t bring you home tomorrow night without letting you suck my dick. Deal?”
“Deal,” I agree. “But the Eagles are playing the Cardinals tomorrow, so I’m only available for a blowjob at half time.”
“You like the Eagles?” His eyes light up in interest.
“I love them. I used to watch games with my dad every weekend when I was growing up.” I laugh. “You can thank Finn for that.”
“How so?” He raises a brow in question.
“He showed up at our house one time when I was, I don’t know, around twelve, wearing an Eagles jersey. So of course I told him how much I loved football.”
“Of course you did.”
“I’d never watched a game in my life. But Eric heard me telling Finn how much I loved football, so he retaliated by telling our dad how I was dying to watch the games with him every Sunday.” I shrug. “I ended up loving it.”
He grins. “I gave him that jersey. Finn never cared about anything but running.”
“So you’ve been unintentionally messing with my life for a decade,” I mock complain.
“I’d have intentionally messed with you given the chance.” He frowns. “Scratch that. Thank God I didn’t meet you before now. Eric would’ve killed me.”
“Probably,” I agree.
His blue eyes glint in the dim light being cast from the parking garage lights and the tiny car manages to feel even smaller than it is. He’s almost overwhelming, something I’m not used to. I’m usually the one overwhelming people, not the other way around. He makes my heart race in the best way, but I can’t help but worry that this relationship is too easy, Sawyer’s too perfect, and that the other shoe is going to drop at any moment.
Thirty-Three
We exit the parking garage hand in hand and walk past City Hall heading for the Reading Terminal Market. It’s less than half a mile away, just a couple of city blocks. It’s just cold enough to put a little hustle in our steps, but not enough to make it unpleasant.
The moment we enter through the 12th Street entrance, we’re assaulted with the usual market pandemonium. Crowds of people, both tourists and locals alike. Smells competing from all corners of the large space. Shopkeepers offering samples lined up in front of their stalls. It’s bedlam and I love it.
“Let’s get ice cream.” I tug on Sawyer’s hand and nod my head towards Bassett’s, rolling up on my toes in excitement.
“Ice cream? It’s noon, we haven’t even had lunch.”
I stop dead and look at him in disbelief. “You buzzkill.”
“We can get a pint to go later,” he suggests and I take a step back.
“Whoa, buddy. I’m not sure this”—I point between us—“is going to work out.”
He rolls his eyes and lets me drag him to the Bassett’s line. We’re jostled by the crowd as we shuffle our way forward and I examine the menu. I bounce on my toes again, peering over people’s heads at my choices. Cherry vanilla, maybe. Mango, no. Not in the mood for mint chocolate chip. “Raspberry truffle,” I tell the kid behind the counter with confidence when we get to the head of the line. “Sawyer?” I look over my shoulder. “What do you want?”
“I want coffee,” he replies. I just shake my head and after grabbing my cone we backtrack to Old City Coffee and get Sawyer a coffee.
“Happy now?” I ask as he takes a sip and I swipe my tongue around the ice cream where it meets the cone. “Got your boring coffee.”
His eyes follow the path of my tongue before he answers. “Not boring. This is quality small-batch coffee. You’re the one missing out.”
“Am I?” I ask, and now that I know he’s so fascinated with the path of my tongue I make a dramatic sweep across the top of the cone while tilting my head back to look him straight in the eye.
“Cute, Boots. Real cute.” He taps the tip of my nose with a fingertip and then grabs the hand not holding the cone and we set off into the crowded market.
We wind our way up and down the aisles, starting on the Filbert Street side and working our way towards Arch. I find a cookbook and a kitchen timer my mom will love for Christmas while Sawyer picks up a piece of pottery for his mom. We stop for cheesesteaks at Sparto’s: Provolone for him, Whiz for me
. Table space is limited so we find a corner and eat them standing up, Sawyer wiping a dab of Whiz from my cheek with his thumb.
After we’ve eaten, we continue shopping. Sawyer picks up steaks for dinner, with a final stop at Beiler’s Bakery to pick up fresh-baked pastries and bread. The line at Beiler’s is long, but I’m content waiting, leaning against Sawyer’s chest and watching the bakery staff hand-roll donuts as the line shuffles forward. Through my contented haze I catch a couple of different women checking out Sawyer, and it’s not the first time. Not even the first time today. I can’t blame them, but it does give me pause.
I recall Finn commenting on me taming Sawyer or something like it. I think of Eric’s reaction to Sawyer and I dating, before we were actually dating. He’s calmed down a bit, but still.
The blonde ahead of us in line takes another look at Sawyer and I stop leaning on him so I can turn around and face him, sliding my arms around his waist and pulling him closer.
“What?” he asks, palming the back of my neck and massaging his fingers across my skin.
I drop my head back enough to look at him and release one arm so I can point a finger in his face. “Just so we’re clear, you’re mine.”
He smiles in response. “You’re such a little cavewoman.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re bewitching.”
We stare at each other in a silent standoff until he leans down and kisses me. “Yours,” he agrees when he’s done. “But I thought I made that clear when I hacked your Facebook.”
“Cute, Camden.”
Thirty-Four
“Everly, honey, what time is Sawyer coming over?”
It’s Christmas Day and my mom is bouncing around the kitchen, seemingly stirring a pot on the stove, mixing a bowl on the counter and popping a tray into the oven all at the same time.
“He’ll be here by four for dinner, don’t you worry.” My mom loves to feed people and she’s ecstatic about my new boyfriend. I don’t think I’ve brought anyone home since the summer before college, come to think of it. No wonder she’s excited.
I pry open the Tupperware with all the Christmas cookies and start arranging them on the platters Mom’s got laid out.
“He said he can’t wait to try my lasagna!” Mom boasts and I drop a cookie on the floor.
“What’s that?” I ask, bending to pick up the cookie and toss it in the trash.
“He said you’re always raving about my lasagna recipe.” She beams. “I had no idea you liked it so much, Everly, I’d have made it for you every school break.” She gives the pot on the stove another stir, knocking the wooden spoon against the edge twice before resting it on the spoon rest next to the stove.
“Um, when was this, Mom?” I tilt my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, my ponytail swaying with the movement. “That you were chatting with Sawyer?”
“Oh, we weren’t chatting. We were Facebooking. On the FB.”
“Mom, it’s Facebook, not the FB. And you shouldn’t be Facebooking my boyfriend, it’s weird.”
“I know it’s just Facebook, Everly. But it’s funnier to call it the FB, don’t you think?”
“No.” I’m shaking my head. “Not so much.”
“Anyway, he messaged me.”
I stifle a groan. I’m going to kill him. I wonder if Facebook has a feature to report this. I could care less about risqué pictures on my timeline. This? This I care about. “What else did you two message about?” I ask, my voice high as I close one container of cookies and pry open another.
“Nothing, Everly. He sent me a message to ask what he could bring today. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” I repeat.
“And I sent him some pictures. You were such a cute kid. It’s been forever since I had anyone new to show those pictures to.” She pulls a cutting board from the cabinet.
“Mom!” I shriek in horror.
“Joking, Everly. I’m joking.” She shakes her head and pulls vegetables from the fridge, placing them on the cutting board. “I’ve never seen you so wound up before.” She grins at me, her eyes sparkling. “He must be different.”
I move my head in a slight nod. “He’s something,” I agree, as the door rings. It’s too early to be Sawyer, but the relatives have started to arrive. My brother Eric will be here with his wife, Erin. My grandparents, an aunt and uncle and two cousins will be here too. I hear my dad opening the door to let whoever’s arrived first in. At least Eric won’t make a scene about me dating Sawyer in front of the relatives. I hope.
My teenage cousin Vivian bounds into the kitchen a moment later squealing and hugging me. She’s graduating from my old high school Ridgefield High this spring. She takes over the cookies and updates me on all the schools she’s applied to and where she’s hoping to go to college next fall. I listen and take over the salad prep from my mom, feeling like it was a lifetime ago when I was in her shoes. Except of course, I only sent in the one application, so dead set that I would be accepted to Penn and everything would work out like I’d planned. I was right about getting into Penn, but wrong about everything else.
“What are your plans after graduation?” Vivians’s finished her updates and looks to me expectantly, swiping a cookie and stuffing it in her mouth.
“Um, I don’t exactly know yet,” I admit. “But I’ve got time to figure it out.” I smile and wave it off like it’s no big deal. As if it doesn’t cause me a moment of worry.
Vivian nods, a frown across her forehead. “Sure you’ve got time.” She nods encouragingly. “I don’t think I’ve ever known you not to have a plan though,” she says, laughing as the front door opens, Eric and Erin arriving.
Eric arrives in the kitchen a moment later and points a finger at me with a simple, “You.”
“Leave her alone.” Erin’s on his heels and slips an arm around his waist, fitting her head onto his shoulder and patting his chest with her free hand while he continues to scowl in my direction.
The door rings as we have a stare-off and my dad opens the door and says, “Nice to meet you.” There’s only one person coming tonight my dad’s never met.
“Even better,” Eric announces with a smirk and whirls back to the front door.
My eyes widen and I drop what I’m working on in the kitchen and wipe my hands on a towel as I take off behind him. He’s going to cause a scene. This is mortifying, and I don’t do mortifying. It was one thing when Eric messed with my high-school boyfriends, but this is something else altogether.
Erin and Vivian slam into me as I get to the hallway and stop. “Damn it,” I whisper. Sawyer and Eric are already outside. Talking.
“What’s going on?” Vivian whispers in response.
“Your cousin’s lecturing Everly’s new boyfriend on his intentions,” Erin fills in as we all file into the living room so we can spy on them through the front window.
“Why?” Vivian asks.
Erin shakes her head in disbelief. “Eric’s worried about Sawyer’s playboy past. Like Eric didn’t get around plenty before he met me.”
“Eww, Erin!”
“Oh, sorry.” She blushes.
Outside they’re doing the bro back clap so we beat a hasty retreat back to the kitchen.
Vivian snorts. “Your brother is so overprotective. Like worse than your dad.”
“We put it in his allowance,” my mom announces and we all turn to stare at her, watching as she slides the lasagna into the oven next to a roast that’s already baking. “He got a bonus for cockblocking you.”
“Mom!” I’m not sure what’s more horrifying, what she just said, or hearing the word ‘cockblocking’ come out of her mouth.
“Joking!” She flashes a grin at us.
I groan. When the hell did my mom become a comedian?
Eric and Sawyer walk into the kitchen a moment later, all smiles. Sawyer kisses my mother’s cheek and hands her a bottle of wine, thanking her for inviting him. She actually blushes under his attention.
�
��That’s your new boyfriend?” Vivian whispers to me, eyes wide.
“Yup.”
“Damn, girl.” She’s openly eyeing him head to toe and I elbow her in the ribs.
Sawyer turns his megawatt smile on us next and I introduce him to Erin and Vivian before dragging him off to a quiet corner.
“What did you say to my brother? He looked like he was going to kill you, then poof, you’re having metaphorical cigars together.” I cross my arms and stare up at him, conscious that we’re not really alone.
“Easy,” he says, leaning down to my ear, his breath on my neck causing a shiver to run through me. “I told him I’m in love with you.”
“Oh,” I stammer. Oh. Am I supposed to respond to that? Now? With my family a few feet away? I’m fairly certain my eyes have widened to owl-like proportions and I dart my eyes back and forth wondering how much privacy we have, then suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I wonder if I can sneak Sawyer up to my room without getting called out for it. Which would be ridiculous, I’m twenty-two, but I’m not gonna push my luck with Eric.
Sawyer’s eyes trace my face and he grins at my obvious distress before leaning down and touching my forehead with his.
“You can tell me how you feel about that later, Boots.”
I release the breath I’m holding and nod at the same moment my mom calls out, asking Sawyer what he’d like to drink.
Drinks and appetizers pass without incident. Sawyer has everyone in love with him and my grandmother confides that he’s quite the ‘hotsy-totsy’ and she’d give me a run for my money if she was a little bit younger. So I’m feeling pretty relaxed when we sit for dinner. That feeling lasts until the first bite of lasagna has passed Sawyer’s lips and he raves to my mother about how long it’s been since he’s had homemade lasagna, with a little wink my way.
“Everly can make it for you! She’s seen me do it a dozen times!” She beams with happiness as I choke on a crouton. “She has the recipe.”
Sawyer pats my back but the dimple flashes in his cheek as he fights back a smirk. I clear my throat and take a sip of water.