by Angel Lawson
It’s not exactly that I do want it slow, but I never thought I’d find myself in this moment; with a (slightly) intoxicated Starlee, wrapped under a cozy blanket on a swaying bed. My brother wouldn’t think twice about this and my dick, honestly, isn’t thinking twice either. My desire for Starlee has reached epic proportions. I can’t pretend I haven’t been hard this whole time—which is why I know that I can’t trust myself.
“You tell me I have good instincts,” she says, loosening the grip I still have on her wrist, “that I know what you need. I think you’re scared of this. Being this close to me, and I think it’s time to let go. To trust me.” I’m frozen as she slides her hand back under my shirt, fingers playing with the hair below my belly button. I shiver and fight a groan, stifling it by pressing her mouth to mine.
Starlee’s tongue tastes like fruit punch and I lick her lips as the bed sways gently beneath us. She lies beside me, the mattress big enough for the both of us, and I’m overly aware of her fingers dipping beneath my waistband before deftly unbuttoning my jeans. My stomach caves, trembles, and I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t falling apart at her touch.
She’s right. I’ve been scared to let go—waiting for some perfect moment, when life seems less crazy and I feel more under control, but I realize as the zipper is lowered and she frees me from my boxers, there is no control with this moment—or maybe ever when it comes to Starlee.
I should be paranoid that we’re at a party or that my brothers could be looking for us, but all I feel is the heat of her hands and mouth. She’s pushed up my shirt and blazes a trail down my stomach while her hand strokes up and down my length. My jaw clenches when her fingertips graze against my balls.
“You’re big,” she says, suddenly. “Like…big.”
Barbaric, antiquated, chauvinistic…whatever, hearing that makes a man feel good. Hearing it from Starlee--because of the others--makes me feel confident.
I don’t know what to do with my hands, but I see the strain of her nipples against the fabric of her tank, both from the cool air and arousal. I run my thumb over one, feeling the hard pebble, then circle around it slowly, eliciting a moan of her own as she writhes against my side. That moan, god, it’s the kind of thing a guy dreams about. Something you want but never really think will happen. But it is and then she looks up at me with flushed cheeks and a red mouth and scoots to the opposite end of the bench.
I’m completely and utterly both ready and not ready for the smile she gives me before leaning into me, or heat of her tongue on my cock. The sheer bliss that overwhelms me as she takes me in her mouth. My hands push into her hair as the dynamic shifts; my hips, my desire, my longing propelling me to lead. Another guy may get jealous wondering where she got so good at this, how she knows exactly what to do, but I know who. I know how, and I simply reap the benefits of a partner with experience.
I’m too consumed to feel awkward as my balls tighten and my cock grows ridiculously, overwhelmingly hard. I’m too in love with the way Starlee handles me, sucks me, licks me. I want her mouth everywhere. I want my dick inside her. Those fears from before subside, as my breathing grows deep—guttural—and little pants come from her mouth.
Up on that little screen porch, above our drunk and frolicking classmates, I come fully and harshly into Starlee’s mouth. I want to roar as the cum spills from me, but in that manner, I do hold back, but that’s the only way. I give her everything, my seed, my trust, my hope. I don’t know if she wanted it that way, if it’s okay, but she does it, willingly, and from the smirk on her lips, happily. Spent, I fall back into the pillows, the soft fabric engulfing me.
“Holy shit, Star.”
“I told you that you’d like slow.”
I laugh and try to catch my breath, regain my senses.
“Jasper’s mother probably never thought such depravity would happen up here,” I say, refastening my pants and then pulling her to me. “You were right. I was holding back. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she snuggles into my side. “It was perfect.”
“Perfect will be when you and I make love for the first time,” I tell her, brushing her hair off her neck and kissing her softly.
“Thank you for helping me understand what I’m good at—” I raise my eyebrows and she pinches me and laughs. “No. Not just that, although I think I am getting pretty proficient, right?”
“Uh, definitely.” I kiss her again. “I know what you mean. You’re going to find your passion, Starlee, I have no doubt about that.”
She looks up at me with those emerald green eyes and I see hope glinting back. I’m learning life is a balance of risk and reward. There’s no way the girl next to me won’t be amazing at whatever it is she decides to do. She just has to have a little faith in herself.
19
Starlee
I feel better after the party than before, and not just because I blew off some steam singing with the girls or finally got Charlie to let down his guard (and his pants), but because he’d showed me something I’d been missing. I come in the house quietly, not wanting to wake LeeLee, and change and brush my teeth. I spot my computer when I get in my bedroom and stare at it.
Just like I’d told Charlie earlier tonight, I realize the truth. I’m scared to let go and find my real happiness. Somehow, I’ve become mired in the between. One foot in the past and one hovering over the future. I’m the girl that had the courage to run away. I’m the one that started a new life, built a new family. It’s foolish of me to be scared because I can’t completely control what’s ahead.
I walk over to my computer, opening it up to the college application sites. I pull up the one to Emory and delete it, wiping away any record it had ever existed, and then move to the other two, submitting them both.
I turn off the lights and crawl into bed, smiling to myself with the knowledge that I’ve taken things into my own hands tonight.
Twice.
“I’ve been looking over this list of test strategies and I feel like they could really help you.”
Jake leans back in the kitchen chair, skepticism etched on his face. “Like what?”
“Well, things like budgeting your time, blocking out distractions, positive self-talk…”
“You really think that’s going to help me.”
“A good attitude goes a long way—it’s pretty proven.”
He stares at the stack of books on the table, the reading, the study guides, everything we’ve been going over each day after school. We’d given up on A Separate Peace an hour ago and he’d also refused to take another practice test. Tensions are escalating with the test approaching tomorrow. “I don’t need test strategies, Starlee, I need a new fucking brain.”
“Babe,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Don’t say that. You’re so smart.”
His glare is filled with loathing. Not at me, at himself. It’s getting worse every day. There’s too much on the line.
“I’m done with this. If I pass, I pass. If I don’t, I’ll stay here and work at the shop. It’s not like I’ll be homeless.”
He pushes his chair back with a loud screech.
“Jake, come on.”
He doesn’t respond, just leaves me in the kitchen. A moment later I hear his feet echo off the stairway. I leave the packet of information on the table and head down the hall, passing what was Sierra’s room and is now my mother’s. She and LeeLee are down in Mammoth Lakes, leaving the shop in the hands of the other guys. I get to the landing upstairs just in time to hear him slam the door.
I haven’t spent much time up here—the boys' rooms being off limits to females, including me. It smells like a combination of the four—their various shampoos and body sprays. I pass Dexter’s room, still as tidy as it was the last time I saw it, when I slipped him an apology note at the beginning of our relationship. George’s is still a mess, filled with clothes, books, and paintings. I stand before Jake’s door and knock.
I hear a thud behind the door but after a moment it ope
ns. “There’s no point in studying anymore. I can’t get it, Star, it’s like it goes in my brain and vanishes.”
I reach for him, pulling him to me by the waist. “Stop being so hard on yourself. If you want to stop, we’ll stop.” His hand rests on my hip. “The last thing I want is for you to go in there pissed off and irritated.”
He mutters something low and under his breath—something I can’t hear. I raise an eyebrow in question, but his jaw clamps shut, the back muscle a ball of tension. “Why don’t we figure out a way to help you de-stress.”
My comment is simple. Easy. It could mean a million things but something in Jake pulls away from me and barks, “I don’t need to de-stress, okay? I just need this fucking test to be over. I’m sick of studying, worrying, thinking about the future. You know it’s not as easy as pressing submit for me. Nothing ever is.” He runs his hands though his blond hair, making it stick up. “There’s so much pressure. So much. I don’t need you pressuring me too.”
“I’m not pressuring you?” I snap back. I try to keep my cool. I know he’s freaking out but this is just over the top. Annoyance combined with worry rushes through me just as I hear footsteps on the stairs. I look over my shoulder and see Dexter on the landing. It’s pretty clear he heard the argument.
“Tell him he’s being unreasonable,” I say. “That I’m not pressuring him about anything. I’m just trying to make sure he’s prepared and being a ball of stress isn’t going to help—”
Dex holds up his hands. “Nope. Keep me out of this.”
“Thank you,” Jake says.
“I’m not taking your side, Jake. You need to deal with your issues, dude, this has gone on long enough.” He gives Jake a pointed look, walks in his room, grabs something and bolts down the stairs.
I turn to face Jake. “What issues is he talking about?”
His face, already cut from marble, turns to stone. “Nothing.”
I stand before him with my hands on my hips. “Seriously? Nothing. Because this doesn’t feel like nothing.”
“You need to drop it, Starlee.”
His voice is hard, cold whisper and I take a step back.
“Fine. Sure. No big deal. I’ll just spend every afternoon, every weekend helping you study. I’ll put all my energy into worksheets and test prep and study guides for a test I already passed, just so you can treat me like crap.” I narrow my eyes. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, Jake, but I’m the one that’s done. Don’t ask me for help again.”
His mouth opens like he may say something—finally say something—but his jaw snaps shut.
Rolling my eyes, I spin and leave, heading back downstairs. I step into the kitchen and find Dexter there, standing with his head in the refrigerator. The table is piled with the notes and study guides. I grab my backpack and start piling the books in. Dexter closes the refrigerator, screws the lid off a bottle of tea and takes a slow sip.
“You leaving?”
“He doesn’t want me here.” I stack all the loose papers together. He may not care about my hard work, but I do. I’m not going to smash it all in the bag.
“I think,” he says, his words slow and intentional, “I think he’s just struggling with some stuff.”
I look up at him. “You obviously know what it is. Just tell me.”
He shakes his head. “Not my info to share.”
“Then stop bringing it up.”
“I’m just trying to help. I don’t like seeing the two of you fighting like this. I don’t think it’s helping him and I don’t think it’s fair to you.”
I zip up the bag and walk across the kitchen. “You’re either in or out, Falco, you don’t get to be somewhere in between. Tell me what’s going on or stay out of it entirely.”
His jaw twitches and he holds my eye for a second. Then without warning he gives me a kiss, hard on the mouth. The kind that makes my toes curl and my heart pound like a billion drums. He pulls away, gives me a wink and walks out of the room.
Okay, I guess he’s staying out of it.
Even though Dexter doesn’t say it out loud, I’m well aware of at least one of the issues between me and Jake.
Sex.
Before Christmas he was light about it. Sweet. Promising. His reasons for holding off made sense. Not enough time. Too many eyes watching. But since then he’s slowly pulled away, taking his kisses and warm touch with him.
It’s pissing me off.
If there’s a reason, he’s not telling me. If it’s because he’s not into me, as much as it hurts, I’d rather just know the truth. Now it’s just a repetitive cycle of studying and fighting. Over and over. The tension can’t just be from the upcoming test. There’s something more and the one way I know we could for sure ease it, he’s denying me. Us.
I’m lying in bed the night after our fight, focused on my book, when a sound outside my window scares the crap out of me. One minute I’m curled on my side and the next I’ve jumped up, heart pounding. There’s a second sound, a tap, and I step to the window, exhaling when I see Jake.
Relief surges through me that he’s not a serial killer, but it’s quickly replaced with the annoyance and anger from earlier. He gestures for me to open the window and even though I kind of want him to suffer, I do. It’s cold out there and from his sweaty hair and stain on his shirt, it’s obvious he’s been running.
“What do you want?” The cool air rushes in my room. I’m only wearing a T-shirt and flannel pajama pants and I cross my arms over my chest.
“To apologize.” His chest is heaving from exertion. His eyes reflect contrition but I’m not sure.
“You were being a jerk.”
His hands slip into his hoodie pocket. “I know, I was just frustrated.”
“What I don’t understand is why you keep pushing me away—”
“I’m not trying to!” His voice bounces off the house. We both freeze, waiting to see if anyone is going to appear, but after a moment it’s clear no one heard him. He takes a breath. “I don’t want to push you away. Things are just complicated right now and it feels like the two of us may do better with a little space.”
I lean over the window sill, feeling the bite of cold mountain air. An uneasy feeling builds in my stomach. “Wait. You’re breaking up with me?”
His jaw sets and his eyes dart away. “I said space—that’s all.”
I feel my bottom lip quiver and hot tears pinprick my eyes. I can’t believe he’s saying this. Doing this. Every inch of my body wants to reach out and drag him inside. Make him deal with his issues. But that’s not what I do. I cross my arms and glare at him.
“Fine.” I stand and step back from the window. “If that’s what you want.”
He nods curtly but even in the dark, I don’t miss the glint of moisture in his own blue eyes.
“Good luck on the test tomorrow.” I mean it. There’s nothing more that I want than his success. We’ve both worked too hard for it.
“Thank you.”
He pulls his hood up over his head and in a single leap he’s over the fence—gone. I ease the window shut, moving with slow intention, while my heart shatters in my chest. Jake Hollingsworth just rejected me. Broke up with me, and the fissure that’s created inside of me feels like it may swallow me whole.
20
Jake
Crowley sniffs my feet as I walk into the house, barking as I pass. It’s like he knows what I just did. That I’m the enemy. He’s probably right.
“Crowley?” Mrs. Jones calls, peeking her head out of her room. Her expression relaxes when she sees me and she scoops up the tiny dog in her arms. “Oh, Jake. It’s just you. Have a good run?”
I nod, having lost the ability to speak. What have I just done?
“Well, get a good night’s sleep so you’re ready for your test tomorrow.”
Again, I nod and give her a brief smile. Although I get why Starlee and her mom didn’t get along, she’s been good to us—to me, and I feel even more like a dick than bef
ore.
I climb the stairs, feeling more exhausted than I should. I glance to the left and see Dexter sitting on his bed, our eyes lock for a brief moment before I turn away. I don’t even reach my bedroom door before I sense him behind me.
“Where were you?”
“Running.” I don’t turn around.
“Bullshit. Did you go over there? Did you fix this?”
I rest my hand on the door frame. Two other sets of footsteps enter the hall. Dammit. I turn. “I handled it.”
“What does that mean?” Dexter asks. The twins watch the two of us—me—carefully.
I groan. There’s no reason to hide this. It’s not like they won’t find out sooner than later anyway. I tug my hood off my head. “I told Starlee I wanted to take a break.”
George’s jaw drops at the same time Charlie’s snaps shut. Dexter’s fists ball at his side and a flash of that old, familiar rage flickers across his face. George is the first one to speak.
“You told her what? Why?”
I shrug. “I’m not going into it.”
“He’s still hung up on the fact he thinks he’s not worth her,” Dexter says, his eyes and tone hard.
“You’re still not what? Having sex? Less?” George asks, genuinely curious.
I glare at him, the answer obvious.
Charlie frowns. “And she’s okay with that? Because Starlee’s pretty comfortable with her sexuality. You think bailing on her and tearing her down like this is showing her how much she’s valued?”
“So you’ve put her on a pedestal,” Charlie says. “That’s not cool.”
“Sounds to me,” George says, “and I say this from experience, that you’re trying to sabotage yourself.”
“Fuck off, George,” I say, turning into my room. Two strong hands slam me into the door frame.
“Don’t start with him,” Dexter says as I square up to him, fist already raised. He’s half my size and although he’s scrappy as hell, there is no way I won’t annihilate him in a fight. George must sense the same because he jumps between us, arms spreading us apart.