by C.J Duggan
Chapter Thirty-Three
I had looked down this drive maybe a thousand times before, but none of those numerous times held as much weight as it did now.
I lowered my foot to balance my bike as I came to a stop. A singular porch light shone like a beacon down the long curving driveway, casting a shadow across Toby's car.
Light on. Car in drive.
He was home. I supposed anyone would be at 2am on a Monday morning. I was in two minds, I was ready to turn around and head for home; I paused, a murmur of music inside had my heart thumping in a matching rhythm. He was definitely home, he was awake and before nerves demanded I leave, I walked my bike down the drive, towards the light, towards the music.
I propped it near the wall of the cabin, moving through the darkness of the carport, skimming myself sideways so as not to scratch Toby's car. I placed a hand against the bonnet. Cold, Toby must have been home all night. I realised how creepy that was so quickly pulled my hand away.
Stop being such a stalker, Tess!
Before I could put too much thought into where I was and what I was doing, I followed the ever-increasing thud of music that led me around the back. Then I had a thought. What if he wasn't alone? I faltered for a second, then pushed forward. If I chickened out now I would never get any peace. I wanted - needed - to do this so before any more self-doubt forced itself into my mind, I turned the corner.
A dim single bulb lit the back deck that housed a couch ? in which Toby sat. And he was alone! Surprise lit his face as he saw me. He paused mid-sip of his beer, and went to speak then thought better of it.
As he sat there, all relaxed, nursing his stubby, my heart leapt into my throat. He was so incredibly sexy in low-rise jeans and a black Bonds singlet, he was barefoot with bed-tousled hair and he was here, at his home, sitting and staring at me.
All of a sudden I felt weird and out of place.
An amused crease tilted his brow. "What are you doing here?"
What was I doing here?
When I didn't answer, Toby melted further into his couch, swigging on his beer, only momentarily taking his eyes from me.
"You want one?" He held up the stubby.
"Sure."
He stood, towering over me. Skimming past as he walked towards a bar fridge on the back deck, I quickly concentrated on trees that lay beyond Toby's backyard, silhouetted in the moonlight. Crossing my arms and staring into the nothing, it took every ounce of my strength not to watch Toby bend to the bar fridge, clinking the bottles as he rearranged the shelves. I didn't really want a beer, but I thought it would make me seem less awkward, have more of a purpose, because that's what friends do, right? They hang out on back decks listening to music and downing a few beers.
As I tried to justify my presence, something blisteringly cold pressed against the back of my neck. I gasped and stepped away, spinning around. Toby grinned wickedly as he held out a beer.
"Cold enough?"
I rubbed the back of my neck and threw him my best death stare. That only seemed to amuse him more. His gaze dipped to my shoulders, then back up to my face again. He stepped forward, all amusement suddenly sobering into that serious gaze I'd seen so often.
"You caught a bit of sun today." He ran the back of his knuckles gently along my upper arm. His hands were both full of our beers but that didn't stop him from touching me. I didn't know if it was the shock of the ice-cold beer on my neck or Toby's touch that caused gooseflesh to form on such a warm night.
The song ended, and Toby's attention was drawn away from me, snapping me out of my own daze as he placed my beer into my hand.
He disappeared through the sliding glass door; I could barely make him out in the dim interior. He restarted his tape, the same melodious symphony I'd heard from the driveway.
I took a swig of beer and fought not to choke on the vile taste of it. Seriously, how did people drink this stuff?
Toby increased the music's volume this time, and I was plunged into blackness as the back porch light switched off. Toby skimmed through the sliding glass door and moved towards the couch again.
I had an idea of what the darkness meant; it was a 'do not disturb' sign. I swallowed deeply. I could just make out Toby as a light from the kitchen window shrouded the couch in a light orange glow through the mottled glass.
"Do you like this song?" I asked.
It's his tape, he put it on, of COURSE he likes this song.
"It's my absolute favourite," he said in a low, dreamy voice. He sat back down on the couch and slowly patted the space next to him.
Why is it that people take a long swig of alcohol before they do something they need courage for? One sip could hardly give me enough to conquer my nerves and fears, so I took two big ones and sat next to Toby.
"What's it called?" I asked, trying not to cringe at the disgusting taste, to keep the conversation flowing casually.
Toby's arm lay carelessly across the back of the couch, my neck pressed against it. The couch seemed a lot smaller than it looked. It was cosy; I relaxed into the dip in the middle so that I leaned in to Toby. He ran his fingers through my hair in a slow, comforting motion. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder.
"It's called, 'A Change is Gonna Come'," he whispered into my temple.
Toby leaned forward and rested his beer on the floor with a delicate thud; my eyes opened, breaking my dream-like state as he took the beer out of my hand and placed it on the floor next to his. All of a sudden finding a place for my hands didn't matter as Toby closed the distance between us. My tummy tingled with the gentle, lingering touch of his lips to mine. I reached up, my fingers entangled through his thick, dark hair as our bodies pressed closer, melting into each other as the music played and the darkness hid our roaming hands. Toby broke away first, leaving me breathless and fearful that he had decided to stop, but his eyes met mine in a silent question, and I gripped his singlet and pressed my forehead to his.
Toby's breath drew in a long shudder. "Are you sure?"
I answered only in trailing light kisses along his jaw leading to his mouth. I could feel Toby's Adam's apple swallow hard, his breath laboured as I playfully hovered over his lips, deliberately looking into his eyes as if memorising the moment. I captured his beautiful mouth with a sweet, teasing caress, and that was all the invitation he needed.
The couch creaked with each movement as the weight of Toby's body pressed down on me, and we desperately maneuvered into place. I could taste the remnants of beer on Toby's tongue, but it was strangely intoxicating on him: I liked it, as opposed to when drinking it myself. His hands moved, skimming up my thighs, bunching my skirt to my waist. Each movement was slow and deliberate at first, as if with each bold unraveling he expected me to stop, push him away, but every touch only caused my stomach to twist in excitement. A heated look of understanding flashed in Toby's eyes as he knelt back and looked down at me. I sat up, peeling my top over my head, and we lay down again. The heat of our bodies melted together, his strong assured hands grabbed at the elastic of my knickers and dumped me out of them. Panic jolted through me in the swift movement as Toby's dark form hovered over me, blocking out the moon. It was then I heard the confident fumble and flick of his jean button and then the zip.
This is really happening, this is really happening.
Toby lowered my bra strap, then paused. "You're shaking."
Was I?
I fought to keep my breath steady. "I don't mean to, I just ?"
Toby's voice was low, soft near my cheek.
"We don't have to ?"
"I want to!"
If he stopped looking down at me and just kissed me that was all I would need. Instead, he kept his concerned gaze focused on me, his beautiful face highlighted by the tinted, mottled glass from the kitchen. It shone a warm glow across us.
Toby's lips tilted, forming a coy, lopsided smile. His fingers traced lazy, comforting circles against my skin.
"It's only me, Tess," he whispere
d.
It was all I needed to hear. I pushed myself up to sit before him and gathered the fabric of Toby's singlet, slowly peeling it over his head.
I knew this face.
I knew this boy.
My fingers traced a line over his smooth, bronzed skin, from his shoulder, across his collarbone; they trailed a long, teasing line down to his jeans. His breath hitched as my fingers rested on the parted buttons of his Levis, and I couldn't help but smile.
Did I know what I was doing? Did I have any idea of what I was getting myself into?
He snaked his arm behind my back and lowered me onto the couch again. In that very moment, there was only one thing I knew for certain: I wanted Toby to block out the moon.