“Some things you can’t resist. You know?” She pouts and grows even more adorable, more like she used to be.
“I do.” This voice is deeper, husky, and, I know, belongs to Chantel.
I turn, and Chantel breaks through the crowd and Alexia’s hold on me. She plants a rough wet kiss on my mouth. I grab her and kiss back. Chantel releases me and someone whistles, and my head feels as if it’s floating.
“You need a drink?” Chantel grabs my cup and turns to Ricky and Trevor and grabs theirs as well. She heads toward the keg in the kitchen, and Ricky is eating his grin.
“So, you two are an item?” Alexia’s voice is quiet.
She’s hurt. I know the look all too well. And I’m pissed because she’s curled back into Jesse, who is giving me a new appraisal. “I guess,” I say to answer her question, and it pains me to do so. I want to say more, but can’t. Not with
him
around. “You on tomorrow?”
She either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care to respond or isn’t working, because she melts into the crowd without answering. I watch Jesse mouth something to his friends. They nod and each plant a foot against the wall, giving the three of us another slow and hateful look.
Chantel returns with our beers. We cheers and I keep my eyes on those watching us and wish I could somehow see through them, to Alexia.
—
I think it’s like 3 a.m.,
but the clock is wobbly, the red numbers looking more like felt than digits. I don’t know whose room this is, but Chantel locked the door and is now making her way back to me. She straddles my waist and leans over and kisses my neck. Her hair brushes against my face and every part of me tingles.
I run my hands up her back, and she kisses my mouth. It’s like being back in my Jeep, except now I’m drunk and we’re alone and I’m not sure where this is going.
My hands work on their own, independent of me, and fumble with her bra. I’ve taken off only one other, and that was because Alexia dared me. Too many ideas are running through my head.
“Benjamin, you dirty little boy,” Chantel says.
I stop and plant my hands firmly on the mattress. “Sorry,” I mumble against her teeth.
Chantel kisses me again and sits up. “Here, let me help you.” She unclasps the bra, pulls it out of the sleeve of one arm, and tosses it to the floor. “Nice trick, huh?”
It is nice and I’m so thoroughly aroused I’m afraid I might embarrass myself.
Chantel sighs and stares at me a minute. “Don’t get any ideas, Ben. I don’t usually move this fast. There’s just something about you.” She pulls her shirt over her head.
Something about me?
This is Ricky’s line, about how people would sense we were somehow different. They wouldn’t know why, but we would seem more meaningful. I’ll give him credit, because there’s no way Chantel ever found me meaningful prior to all this.
“Damn,” I say, looking at her half-naked body, and my voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s full and thick.
She squeals and falls on me, and we kiss some more and I caress her. I don’t know if I’m doing what I should, but she seems happy enough to let me continue. So far, so good.
Chantel pulls my shirt off in a flash, and is immediately back to kissing me. It’s harder than before, like she’s trying to gnaw at something within me.
“You got protection?” Her breath sends goose bumps along my neck as she leans in to ask.
I shake my head and cannot believe what she asked. Why would I have a condom? I didn’t expect this.
“No prob, I have some.” She slides off me and goes to her bag, which she must have left here at some point.
Did she plan this? And is it a good thing or kind of a slutty thing that she has condoms with her? God, I have no experience and no clue, and the room is spinning and I can’t focus on anything beyond this girl slowly walking back to the bed, now wearing nothing but her panties. I take a very deep breath and let it out very slowly.
Chantel undoes my pants and pulls them off. She gently sits on top of me, warm against my boxer briefs and I’m losing the ability to focus beyond the one possibility that is inches away.
“Ben . . . I don’t know, something’s different about you, and whatever it is . . . it does it for me.” She bows her head, and her hair tickles my belly. I think I might explode. She looks up and I hate to admit it, but her eyes remind me of Alexia’s.
“Then I’m glad I’m someone different.” I stroke her thigh.
She bites her lower lip and looks as if she might cry, but presses the condom into my hand. I curl it into my palm and roll on top of her. We kiss, and then she’s pulling down my underwear and I do the same for her.
I sit on my heels and hope I don’t screw this up, because before me is an unbelievably hot girl, naked, willing, and into me.
There are actually directions inside the condom, and I might normally crack a joke about this, but in my state, I’m glad for the reminder and follow the basic steps. Much like the dares, it’s go time, and I admit, I’m scared as hell, but equally excited.
I move toward Chantel and she grabs my shoulders and looks up at me while I slide in. She moans and this feels softer and more sensational than I ever imagined. I let my weight fall onto her and feel her beautiful body against mine. She says my name and everything fades away except for the singular sensation of me losing my virginity.
CHAPTER 13
“D
oc, you look like
a mix of shit and sunshine.” Chuck’s belly bobs as he laughs. “The hell happened?” My head is pounding and my mouth is so dry that I’m afraid to speak. I woke up alone in the bed at Danielle’s house and thought for a moment that I had imagined the entire event with Chantel. But she’d texted a picture of the two of us lying together before she left.
I know I shouldn’t, because it will only add fuel to the fire, but I show Chuck the picture.
He grabs the phone from my hands, and if I had any strength, I’d fight for it back. “Are you fucking kidding me? My God, Doc. That is . . . she is . . . way out of your league.” He hands the phone back. “You pay her or something?”
I pocket the evidence and feel a deep shame. Why did I do that? But I also have to admit he’s right. “No, she’s a friend of Alexia’s.”
“So you’re picking up second best?”
“No, no, it’s not like that.” I want to scream at him that he doesn’t understand, that Chantel is into me and that I only showed him to get him off my back. But I can’t. I’m too hung over for much beyond sitting down.
“You going to be able to work?” Chuck squints at me.
“Yeah. I just need some Gatorade.”
Chuck walks to the cooler and then sets one before me. “Here, Doc. Take your medicine. You’ve got an hour before your shift starts, so let’s hope it works. And hey, any luck with connections?”
“I think so,” I say. Then last night comes back in pieces and I stare at the wall and try to fit them together. In spite of the awesomeness that was Chantel, the negative floods back as well. I cradle my head and dial John.
“What’s up, Ben?” John sounds like I woke him up.
“Hey, how are you? I’ve been trying to get through.”
“I know. I saw. My parents turned off my phone, but they’re at church now.”
He’s more talkative than usual. It’s either the meds or the isolation. “You okay?”
He sighs a long, dramatic sound. “No. Not even close. I’ve got a rod and three screws in my arm.”
“Shit.”
There’s a pause, and I know what’s coming before he says it.
“Which means I won’t be at tryouts.”
I can’t respond. What am I supposed to say? Alexia walks in and I mutter, “Sorry.”
“Yeah. But it’s not your fault,” John says.
Alexia shoots me a look but keeps on going and punches in.
“Hey, I gotta work, but I wanted to let you know that we’re going to meet with O. P.”
“Why?” John’s voices drops.
How do I say this? “I think we should. You know, we need to look out for ourselves after your injury.” I’ll tell him about our lack of pay later.
“Right.” John clears his throat. “How’d you get Ricky to agree to that?”
“More like Trevor did.”
John sighs again, and I can feel his pain through the vibration of the phone. “At least he’s good for something.” He pauses. “I gotta go. Thanks, Ben.”
He hangs up and I stare at my phone, imagining him crying.
I watch Alexia out of the corner of my eye. Her hair’s falling in front of her face, and she’s moving super slow. Maybe she’s as bad off as me? She turns and we lock eyes. The left side of her face is bruised. My phone slips from my hand to the floor. She turns away. My head swims and I grip the table.
I get steady, scoop up my phone, and cross the room to Alexia. She’s counting the drawer. “What happened?”
Her mouth moves over the numbers and she turns away from me. I remember the bruises on her wrist, the conversation with Chantel about how Jesse can be a “little rough.” But this?
I look over my shoulder. The cooks are chopping vegetables and shredding cheese, seemingly more hung over than I am. Chuck is in the fridge, pulling out dough. “Alexia, come on, what happened?”
She slams down the money and a shudder takes over her back. I hear the sob and close in next to her.
“It’s nothing. Just an accident.” A tear falls onto the counter.
“Okay.” I don’t believe her. “So what did you run into?”
Alexia looks at me and her face is lost, like I’m speaking another language. Then her eyes dart and she gets it. “Right. Yeah. A door at Jesse’s. I didn’t see it. I was sooo hammered.”
Even though my head is still pounding and I’d like nothing more than to lie down on the cold tile, I grit my teeth and ask, “At Jesse’s, huh?”
She nods and the tears start up again.
I don’t think, but react, and grab her up in my arms. “Alexia, please. You deserve better. You can’t let this . . . I mean, shit, he can’t do this.”
She nods, but says, “He’s all I know.”
This isn’t true. She knows me. Not in the way she knows Jesse, but possibly it’s enough. “Chantel told me a little. Shit at home. Jesse. Trust me, I understand. Please believe that you deserve better than this.”
She smiles a broken smile and leans against my chest. I hold her. And that’s all I want to do. It’s not like it was with Chantel. I see Alexia for more than the hottie she is. I watched her grow up, a little tomboy who, of all people, hung out with me. I want better for her. For John, too. And Ricky, as tough as that is to admit.
“Jesus Christ. The two of you. Enough.” Chuck whips past, and I let go of Alexia.
She wipes her tears and whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I squeeze her elbow. “But why did you get back together with him?”
She gives me a piercing look that I don’t fully understand and then shakes her head. “I don’t know, Benny. I don’t know.”
I wish I had an answer for her, maybe something logical, like from Newton. But Newton’s useless when it comes to relationships.
I stare out the window at the gray fall afternoon and wonder what’s next.
—
The deliveries were painful.
I confused orders, tripped over stairs, and went to the wrong house, twice. I figured Chuck would be waiting in the parking lot, ready to fire me or kick my ass. Or both. Nothing happened. I punched out and left. Alexia managed to slip away before me, so any hope of getting more of the story is gone. Not that it would have made a difference. Tomorrow she’ll have everything covered up. That’s the thing about identity: once you have it, it’s more you than even you are. Unless, of course, you create an alternate digital self, like us.
Chantel’s blown up my phone all shift, but when I call her back, she doesn’t answer. I can only hope she’s with Alexia. Someone needs to be.
So I don’t want to do what I’m about to, but going home doesn’t feel like an option right now, and I’ve got nothing else I should be doing. I park the Jeep in Ricky’s driveway.
His house is the same setup as mine. It was weird when we were younger and I first started hanging out with him, because I’d go over and expect to find the same stuff from my house in his. But Ricky’s home isn’t like mine in more ways than the furniture.
I ring the doorbell and wait. The door flies open, and Ricky’s dad glares at me. He’s an ox, works in the metal factory, a welder or something. Hands like sausages and the rest of his body as thick. “Ben? Thought you were that other faggot.”
I open my mouth but don’t know what to say. Is he calling me gay? Or is there a gay kid who looks like me showing up on their doorstep?
“I’ll get Rick.” He shuts the door and leaves me out in the cold, which is fine because I’m sure inside is as dreary as it is out here. Rick’s mom left when he was five. Hooked up with some guy from work and moved to Florida. His dad drank more and worked more, and Ricky spent a lot of time alone.
The door opens again and Ricky steps out. “Shit, Ben, what’s up?” His eyes are bloodshot.
“Nothing. I finished work and wanted to stop over.” I say this like it’s something I do all the time, but the fact is I don’t think I’ve hung out at Ricky’s since like seventh grade. Before everything hit the fan between us.
“Yeah? Okay.” He shuffles his feet and hugs himself.
I look over his shoulder, at the moldy siding and grimy window, and feel the anger I had for him lift. “I talked to John. He’s got pins and shit.”
“Kind of figured that. How is he?”
“Sounded pretty shitty.”
Ricky shrugs.
Shit, if that’s all I’m going to get, I’m just going to say it. “I want to know about Trevor.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes draw down to slits.
Now it’s my turn to shrug.
Ricky looks away. “Shit changed is all.”
“Like overnight. What happened?”
He turns back to me. “I told you. He’s good with a camera, and we needed someone with what O. P. is looking for.”
“Yeah, but it’s Trevor. You
hate
Trevor.”
He turns away again. “Not anymore.”
“No shit? So what changed? Because we all hated Trevor because of what he did, and then we stopped hanging out and now we’re
all
together again, and . . .” I run out of steam.