One Hot Summer

by Heidi McLaughlin

  10

  Aiden

  -SUNDAY NIGHT-

  I told myself I was sleeping in the Airstream because the bonfire Axel and his buddies were having was closer to the house and might keep me awake. I had class and rink time early in the morning.

  It was a bullshit lie and I knew it. The smoke was actually worse out here.

  I was in the Airstream because the sheets smelled like her. Because I needed some kind of proof that last night had been real—the parts before all hell broke loose.

  She hadn’t texted. No updates on how her friend Drew was doing or how she’d gotten home that afternoon.

  Girls did not behave the way she did. Usually they blew my phone up until I considered changing my number. Especially after they knew what I could do with my mouth.

  Not this one.

  This one vanished without a word.

  I checked my phone again. Just as I’d checked it every hour on the hour since dropping her off at the hospital that morning. I was going insane.

  Maybe I was truly losing it because no matter how many times I replayed the night in my head, it felt like…like I was meant to be with her last night.

  Her friend ditching her, her brother being late, even the assault on her best friend…all of it kept leading her right back to me. It was sort of fucked up to think about, and I wished Drew hadn’t been hurt at all, but if she had to have the night from Hell, I was glad I got to be there for her.

  After eating some leftover pizza, I decided to hang out with Axel and the guys for a bit and hopefully take my mind off Emersyn Tyler. Sitting by the fire, I drank a couple beers, roasted a few marshmallows, and tried to participate in a conversation about a guy they knew who’d been signed to the Hurricanes.

  When a long-legged blonde I hadn’t seen around before moved to sit next to me, I intentionally focused more on the conversation.

  She was probably pretty. I didn’t know. I couldn’t see straight without the image of Emersyn assaulting me. Her tentative smiles. The way she held her hair with one hand as she rode in my Jeep. Her silk lips against mine when she’d kissed me the first time. The sounds she’d made when I touched her.

  The way she fell apart in my shower. In my arms.

  Her hair spread out on my pillow as she slept.

  This was pointless. It didn’t matter where I went, she was lodged firmly in my mind.

  “I’m heading to bed,” I said, standing and tossing the rest of my beer in the fire.

  “Need some company?” the blonde asked.

  Seriously? I hadn’t even spoken a word to this girl all night.

  And Emersyn wanted to know what was special about her. Fucking everything.

  Axel laughed out loud at what I imagined was an annoyed look on my face. “Pretty boy here has been a wet blanket today, Trina. Come over here and sit by me, sweetheart.”

  I made my way to the Airstream to the sounds of Meat and the other guys booing me.

  What exactly Emersyn had done to me in such a short time, I wasn’t sure. But I was different. Changed.

  And kind of pissed about it.

  I showered, letting the water damn near scorch my skin as the angry thoughts swirled in the steam.

  I wasn’t looking for this. She was just a good looking girl from class. Okay, granted, a fucking gorgeous girl, but still. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. I’d planned to ask her out, maybe hook up once in a while. I wasn’t supposed to lose sleep remembering how she’d called me a good guy and how it made me want to actually be one.

  I was never going to be able to use condiments again.

  I climbed into the bed earlier than I ever had and told myself I was allowed one more night to wallow and think about her. To wonder how she could be so passionate about her art and so afraid of everything else.

  I saw it in her eyes, the fear. Fear of getting to know me, of getting close to me. But I didn’t know where it came from.

  She was a virgin. She’d said so and I believed her. So, it wasn’t like some guy had burned her and left her jaded.

  Except, she had said something about her dad leaving. Maybe she had abandonment issues.

  Fuck. Here I was again, psychoanalyzing some shit I needed to try and forget about.

  I checked my phone for the fiftieth fucking time. There was an unread text that made my heart beat faster. I opened it, hoping it was her telling me she was busy with her friend but okay and maybe missing me.

  It wasn’t. Just a message from Becca, asking me if we were partying at the house tonight and could she come by. I tossed it to the foot of the bed without responding.

  How this girl had managed to get under my skin without even trying was beyond me. But tomorrow, I’d get passed it. I’d get up early, hit the ice. Go to the gym. Go to class. Maybe give her a casual hey, how are you, when I saw her in art history, and then I’d move the hell on. Back to my life. Back to easy come easy go and no crazy ass complications.

  I didn’t know what time it was when I dozed off, but I woke up living the hottest dream imaginable.

  She was here, leaning down and kissing my mouth softly.

  Thank the gods of wet dreams.

  It was so real, I could smell her, could feel her hair in my hands as I pulled her to me. Apparently, I had a fantastic imagination because despite how groggy I felt, every detail seemed magnified. The weight of her body shifting my mattress, her soft, full lips on mine, the firm curve of her ass in my hands.

  I knew how this worked. Just as we got to the good part, I’d wake up. So, I wouldn’t rush. I savored the sighs and the whimpers she made as I rolled her onto her back and worked every inch of her body over with my mouth and hands.

  When I braced myself above her to get a good look at her face, my hand caught in the covers. I had to yank it free and when I did, I bumped her cheek by accident.

  We both laughed lightly, and I apologized.

  Suddenly I realized this wasn’t a dream at all. Clumsy shit like that didn’t happen in dreams.

  “You’re really here,” I whispered.

  She nodded; eyes wide as she stared up at me.

  “I thought I was dreaming.”

  Her lips curved slightly.

  “Am I dreaming?”

  Without a word, she lifted her body to mine and claimed my mouth. I gave it to her. Everything else already belonged to her anyways.

  Our clothes were removed in a heated rush of tangled arms and legs.

  “I came here to tell you something,” she breathed against my chest. “Something important.”

  I slid my hand in between her thighs, slipping a finger into her pulsing heat. “Tell me after.”

  “Okay.” She sounds relieved as she spreads wide for me. I groan in appreciation.

  “You sure you’re ready for this, Emersyn?”

  I had to ask. God knows I’d rather cut off a limb than have her change her mind now, but I needed to be certain she wanted to give me this.

  “I’m sure I’m ready for you, Aiden,” she whispers into the darkness before kissing me once more. “I need it to be you.”

  I don’t wait for more reassurance. I grip my thick heavy cock and press inside her entrance, just a few inches at first, giving her more as her body will allow. I push past the barrier that confirms she was a virgin. She winces but continues rocking her hips against me.

  “I’m okay,” she assures me. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

  “Fuuuck,” I moan once I’m all the way in. She’s got the hottest, tightest body I’ve ever felt. Her insides clench at both the tip and the base of my dick like nothing ever has before.

  “Aiden,” she says once I’ve begun to move slowly inside her.

  I stop, freezing mid-thrust, afraid I’m too much for her. “You okay?”

  Her beautiful smile beams up at me. “I’m good. I was just going to say, you could push a little harder. You feel so good. I want more.”

  Fuck yeah.

  This girl was made for
me.

  I kiss her deeply while gripping her knees and pulling them up toward her chest. She breathes hard as I long-stroke my cock all the way in and all the way out. When I feel her body begin to clench and quiver around me, I know she’s close. Letting my weight press down on her a little, I shove my dick as deep as it will go and hold it there, short-stroking her G-spot while circling her clit with my thumb.

  Her back arches forcefully, bringing her face to mine.

  Our eyes meet as she comes, and I attack her mouth with mine.

  “Come for me, beautiful, amazing, fucking perfect girl. Come all over my cock.”

  As if on command, her pussy pulses and her sweet juices run down my dick.

  There was no time for a condom, a rookie mistake I’ve never made, but don’t regret. I pull my cock out just before I come. She lies perfectly still, only her breathing moving her belly as my release pours out all over it.

  Her body is still trembling when I clean her up with a warm washcloth.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s first before,” I admitted. “I hope it was okay.”

  She sat up, her full breasts pressing against me. “Pizza is okay. Waking up before my alarm goes off and realizing I can sleep another hour is okay.” She placed a chaste kiss on my bare shoulder. “That, Aiden Singleton, was so much better than okay.”

  I drop the rag on the floor and climb over her once more. “Yeah? So, what was it exactly?”

  She grins up at me. “It was ketchup painting in the dark amazing. It was sleeping in the hockey jersey of the sexiest guy alive fantastic. It was almost as good as peanut butter M&Ms.”

  I catch the last part and tickle her ribs mercilessly.

  I love her laugh. It fills the space all around us as she convulses into a giggling fit.

  When I finally stop, she pulls me to her, breathing hard. “It was how-soon-until-we-can-do-it-again mind-blowing.”

  “Now, beautiful girl.” I kiss her mouth deeply. “We can do it again now.”

  11

  Aiden

  -TWO WEEKS LATER-

  Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since the most intense weekend of my life.

  Fourteen days since the girl I’d spent all summer lusting after, showed up in my bed like something out of my wildest dreams and we made love until the sun came up.

  Roughly three-hundred and thirty-six hours since she gave me her virginity, the precious gift of being the first man inside her beautiful body. And the second, and the third.

  Then she fucking disappeared like I imagined the entire ordeal. I woke up alone. But I know I didn’t imagine anything. It was real. She was real.

  I can still smell her on my sheets, still hear the echoes of the sweet sounds she made while I was inside her.

  Day after day, I jogged along the water’s edge, back to the property where the carnival had been, hoping to see her. I’d pushed myself to the limit in order to stop thinking about her. Running six miles every morning on foot, skating who knows how many hours on the ice, and busting ass setting up my classroom.

  She’s like a ghost, not on social media, not in class—not anywhere.

  She steals into my mind over and over, and I have to remind myself to focus. I existed just fine before her and I’ll exist long after.

  But no matter how hard I try to forget, she’s always there. Standing down by the water’s edge among the phantom memory of a carnival. In the bleachers during hockey practice, silently watching, morphing into another girl with similar hair when I move in for a closer look.

  I even caught a whiff of her scent while building the bookshelves in the classroom where I’ll be teaching Government and coaching hockey this fall at Fillmore High School.

  She’s everywhere and nowhere and it’s driving me mad.

  I don’t know where she lives. I don’t even have her number. She has mine. She hasn’t used it.

  When she didn’t show for class or our art history final, I made my way to the Edward Yancy art building. She wasn’t there either, but the student showcase was up, and I recognized her artwork before I saw her name on it.

  From a distance, it looked like the ocean.

  It was painted a deep shade of turquoise with some red elements popping out from the canvas and textured in a way I couldn’t understand until I stepped closer.

  If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she’d painted over trash. But I did know better and I saw each element of our time together beneath the water.

  A red carnival ticket. A receipt from the Patty Wagon. A hot chocolate envelope. Ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise packets. A peanut butter M&M’s wrapper. A Coors Light bottle cap. The edge of a Parker’s Pizza box.

  A condom wrapper. That one threw me, but I checked closely—it was my brand.

  A hospital visitor’s badge. The corner of a napkin from High Octane, displaying their vintage gas pump logo.

  I ran my fingers along the red baseball threads that connected everything together.

  Down in the corner, I saw the small white card that confirmed what I already knew.

  Picking up the Pieces – A Mixed Medium Production by E. Tyler.

  Maybe she had blown me off, but what her words didn’t say, her art did. Our time together had mattered, maybe as much to her as it had to me.

  After that, I started going to the coffee shop twice a day every day to see if she was working. She wasn’t. Not one single time.

  I thought of asking a manager when and if she was on the schedule, but that seemed a little over the top and desperate. Which I was, but there was no need to announce it.

  By the first day at my new job, I told myself it was time to let it go. She’d gotten what she’d needed from me and that was that. Being blown off had wounded my heart and my ego, but it was time to stop nursing those wounds and focus on my future. I had classes to teach and hockey team tryouts to prepare for.

  That morning, I showered, trimmed up the beard that had grown in since I quit shaving two weeks ago, and put on khaki Dockers with a button down pale blue Oxford shirt. I spent five minutes in front of my full-length mirror deciding whether or not to wear a blue and red striped tie that reminded me of her painting, finally deciding I might as well.

  Maybe that would take the attention off the bags under my bloodshot eyes.

  I dabbed on some Armani cologne, but her scent still lingered. It kept me up most nights, hoping she’d appear like she’d done before. I was a self-destructive addict that couldn’t bring myself to walk away and return to my room inside the house. I didn’t want to risk not being in the camper if she came back. I even slept with the door unlocked.

  There was a thunderstorm the first day of school, causing the scent of rain and wildflowers to assault my senses as I entered my empty classroom that morning. Being ghosted and haunted were both new for me. I didn’t like it. I wondered if I’d ever caused anyone to feel this way. From now on, I knew I had to be more careful with the women I was intimate with. I did my best to shake off my jangled nerves as I printed my name on the board in blue dry erase marker.

  Mr. Singleton.

  It seemed so adult, so formal. I would’ve preferred just to be called Coach, but I remembered what I’d learned from my student advisor—if I didn’t establish my authority during the first week of school, I never would.

  I took a deep breath, greeting my students as they began to trickle in a few at a time.

  Not long ago, I was a high school student myself. And yet, looking at them, it felt like a lifetime ago. They seemed like children—so sure of themselves and so blissfully unaware of the harsh real world realities breathing down their necks. Most of them stared at cell phones or continued conversations with each other, barely paying me any attention.

  It wasn’t until a tall, athletic-looking kid with a nasty shiner took his seat that I started to doubt my abilities.

  The entire right side of his face showed the faint hint of bruising and he was limping a little. Surely, he w
asn’t being physically abused at home or bullied here at school already.

  I reminded myself that I got into plenty of fights in high school. He was a senior, practically a grown man for all intents and purposes, and it wasn’t my business anyway. Except, as his teacher it actually was. This was the part I wasn’t prepared for. They don’t put that in the books.

  When the final morning bell rang, I closed the classroom door. Feeling suddenly hot and claustrophobic, I undid the buttons on the cuffs of my shirt, rolling up my sleeves before starting class.

  “Good morning,” I greeted the students in my homeroom, lifting the stack of papers off my desk. I handed several to the students in the front rows to pass backward. “I’m Mr. Singleton. What you’ll find in this packet is everything you need to successfully pass Government this semester. As you already know, it’s a requirement to graduate.”

  A petite but curvy redhead entered late and snuck quietly toward the back. I hadn’t taken attendance yet, so I didn’t make an issue of it. She smiled apologetically. Hopefully it wouldn’t continue to be a problem.

  Once the packets were distributed, I picked up the blue cards with their schedules and grabbed the class roster to take attendance. Figuring it’d been easier to handle them both at once, I began handing them out as I read off their names. When I got to the E’s and shiner kid answered here to Drew Echols, my world tilted off its axis.

  That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

  I hardly recognized him not covered in blood, but it was definitely the same hair and same build. Emersyn’s friend Drew was in high school in Elksboro? In my class of all things. What were the odds? Having a link to her, even an entirely inappropriate one that I’d be a complete moron to utilize, gave me a modicum of relief.

  When I got to the T’s, my relief evaporated.

  Come-fucking-pletely.

  The girl I’d been looking all over campus for, she was here. Well, not here, in person, but here on paper.

  Tyler, Emersyn Elizabeth.