Finally.
He opens his door, pulling me inside and putting his lips on mine.
I pull him over to his bed and push him down on it.
“Where’s your backpack?”
“My backpack?” he says with a grin. “I don’t think we’re going to be doing any studying tonight.”
“I need the feathers.”
“Oh,” he says. “I forgot my backpack in my football locker.”
“Seriously?”
I plop sadly on his futon and stick out my lower lip.
“Stop that,” he says, flicking my lip and pulling me onto the bed. “Remember you asked about the dream I had?”
“The sexual one?” Ha! Now we’re getting somewhere. “Yeah. You promised to tell me, but you haven’t yet.”
“Lie flat on your back,” he bosses.
He lies on his back next to me, both of us looking up at his ceiling.
He reaches out and touches my pinkie like he did the day I first saw the stars.
He rolls over on his side and pulls me hard up against his chest.
“I think I’d rather show you,” he says.
Then he kisses me.
A mouth open, full-on tongue, hot, hard kiss.
Even after all the making out we’ve done, I didn’t know he was capable of a kiss like this.
Fire and energy roll like waves through my body.
When he bites my neck that fire pulses directly between my legs. He rolls on top of me, but is holding himself above me. Like he's doing a push up. I run my hand across his arm, across the muscles that are all pumped from holding up his weight.
He slowly lowers his lips to my neck without letting any part of his upper body touch mine.
I feel the fire on my neck, but all I can think about is what is touching. His hips have mine pinned to the bed. His legs are between mine.
He runs his tongue slowly from my neck down into my cleavage.
I have a feeling of deja vu.
We did this in one of my own dreams.
“I’m doing what I dreamed,” he murmurs into my hair as he pulls off my shirt and runs his tongue down my chest, and straight to my . . . jeans.
When he undoes the button, I want to jump up and down and scream.
Who needs feathers when we have that tongue?
He slides his tongue across my stomach, stopping occasionally to kiss or suck on a spot. Then his tongue glides across the top edge of my panties.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I need his pants undone.
I’m ready for this.
And based on the massive hardness I can feel against my leg, he is too.
I reach down, get his pants unbuttoned, and touch his zipper.
Suddenly, he grabs my hand.
Stopping me.
“I don’t want to wait anymore.”
“We’re not going to yet.”
“Yes, we are. Stop telling me no.”
“What’s wrong with taking things slow? Not screwing it up?”
“Because it
is
screwing it up, Aiden. I’m going crazy here. Can we at least do a little more. Are you gay? Are you afraid for me to see it, or touch it? I mean, I can feel it. I know you have one.”
“I’m not gay. And I
definitely
have one. But I want it to be right when we do.”
“I never said we have to do it, but we can do more than what we’re doing now. There’s plenty more to do.”
“If we go that route, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Fine. I’ll stop us. I’ll take responsibility for stopping us.”
“No, you wont. If you had your way, we’d have already done it. You keep trying and trying!”
“That’s not true! I do want to wait for sex. I just don’t want to wait for everything!”
“Well, you’re gonna wait!”
“I’m TIRED of you telling me WHAT I’m gonna do!!”
“Maybe if you weren’t so freaking stubborn. Why do you have to fight me on every. Single. Thing?”
“I wouldn’t fight you if you would just let me have my way.”
“I think you’re a little too used to getting whatever you want, whenever you want it. This isn’t all about you. It’s about us. Remember the clover?”
“I get whatever I want,
Mr. Maserati
? I’m sick of being told no! I’m so done with this!”
I get up, storm out the door, and run to my room.
I lie in my bed, fuming and waiting for him to call and apologize.
He doesn’t.
So I text Riley.
Me: URGGGGG!!!!!
Riley: What’s wrong?
Me: He turned me down! AGAIN!! And I didn’t even want to have sex. I just wanted to unzip his pants. But he said if I did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Which is BULLSHIT! He could stop. I told him I’d make him stop, but he didn’t believe me. Then he said that I’m stubborn! I’M SO SICK OF HIM TELLING ME WHAT TO DO! Then he said I’m used to getting my way. I AM NOT USED TO GETTING MY WAY!!! And why isn’t he texting me? Calling me? Running after me? Begging me for forgiveness!!??
Riley: How long has it been?
Me: Twelve minutes.
Riley: You might be a little used to getting your way.
Me: I hate my life.
Riley: It’s just a fight. It will be fine. Ariela says hi. We’ll see you tomorrow.
Maybe I should go to the party and drown my sorrows in rum.
But I don’t really don’t feel like partying.
I’ll stay here. I’m sure he’ll be texting, calling, or knocking on my window soon. He’ll apologize and tell me I can unzip his pants whenever I want.
And then I will.
I wake up, look at the clock, and see it’s already five in the morning. Katie is in her bed fast asleep.
I reach to my bedside table, frantically feeling for my phone. When I can’t find it, I pat my covers all around me looking for it.
All of a sudden, it lights up from under my pillow.
It must be him!
I grab it, expecting to see that he’s tried to call me numerous times.
But he hasn’t.
I only have a few stupid Facebook notifications.
What the hell?
Saturday, November 19th
What’s wrong, baby?
7am
I wake up again at seven and immediately check my phone to see if he texted me.
He hasn’t.
Instead, I have a text from Camden.
Cam: What’s going on with Whitney?
Me: What do you mean?
Cam: She hasn’t sent me anything or texted me in three days.
Me: Shouldn’t you be happy about that?
Cam: I should be, but I’m not. Something’s up. Is Peyton okay?
Me: I haven’t seen her this morning, but she’s been fine.
Cam: Something is about to happen. I know it.
Me: Why do you think that?
Cam: Just stuff that she’s been saying about that new teacher. The last time she didn’t text me for three days, she got a girl expelled from school.
Me: Who?
Cam: Just a chick from the dance team. She was hot and was after Dawson hard.
Me: Did she lie to get her kicked out?
Cam: No one knows for sure. She told Peyton the girl was going down. And a few days later, she did.
Me: Peyton has really been pushing her buttons. I keep telling her to stop.
Cam: What’s your email?”
Cam: I’m sending you a file. It is full of dirt on Whitney. You have my permission to use it to protect Peyton. If there’s any way for Dawson not to see it, I’d prefer it, but don’t let her hurt P.
Me: Are you in love with her?
Cam: We’re kind of like you and Riley. I feel the need to protect that girl.
Me: I’ll keep an eye out.
Cam: Thanks.
Me: Can I ask you something?
Cam: Sure.
Me: Is there any reason why you would stop a girl that you like from unbuttoning your pants?
Cam: Uh, can’t think of one.
Me: Would you be afraid you couldn’t stop?
Cam: I’d be afraid she couldn’t stop. I’m irresistible.
Me: What if she could? What if you wanted her to?
Cam: Why would I want her to?
Me: You’re making her wait until you’re sure you’re in love.
Cam: Uh . . . Is the golden boy making you wait?
Me: We got in a big fight last night about it and I stormed off. He hasn’t texted me or apologized or anything.
Cam: P says he likes you and you have that whole Thanksgiving break trip planned. I’m sure it’s just a little tiff.
Me: You’re right. Maybe I should apologize for that. Maybe he’s waiting for me to apologize?
Cam: Probably :)
Me: Thank you :)
Maybe that’s why he hasn’t texted me. He’s waiting for me to apologize.
So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go watch his football practice and then apologize to him.
I shower, spend extra time blowing my hair out straight, and then stand in my closet trying to figure out what to wear.
If I were smart, I’d wear some sweats so I’d be warm and comfortable, but I want to look perfect when I say I’m sorry.
It’s chilly this morning, but has been unseasonably warm this week, so I decide on a cream lace bra and thong that have pale pink embroidery, cream over-the-knee socks worn with tall brown boots, orange denim shorts, a cream top, and a cream sweater jacket cinched with a brown braided belt.
I decide to pull my straightened hair back in a cute pony. So that I look like I didn’t try, even though I totally did. Kym would be proud.
I head out to get a coffee to take with me.
Just as I step out of my dorm, I notice Chelsea sitting on the brick wall.
She jumps off of it when she sees me and says, “Keatyn.”
“Hi, Chelsea,” I say politely because I know that Dallas likes her.
She raises her chin in the air. “I just wanted to let you know that Aiden and I hooked up last night. He’s mine now. And, really, no one likes you here. You should just go back to California or wherever it is that you came from.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She shrugs one shoulder and raises a bitchy eyebrow at me. “What? You think you can have every hot guy here? And you better believe it. Aiden and I have history. We broke up last year after prom, and he’s been begging to get back together all semester. You were nothing but a rebound.”
She turns her back on me and walks away, shaking her curvy ass.
I drop to the step, barely able to breathe.
Is that true?
I was just a rebound?
Was everything he told me a lie?
I’m going to . . .
I’m going to . . .
I don’t even know what I’m going to do.
But then I turn and run straight to the boys’ dorm.
I find myself knocking on Riley’s door.
He opens it wearing a Cougar athletic hoodie and sweats, ready for football practice. “Hey, I was just leaving.”
I stand there and stare at him. Then I lose it. Tears start streaming down my face. I shove my head into his chest and sob, going from calm and in control to a freaking wreck in the blink of an eye.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he says, rubbing my back and holding me up.
I blabber on about how Aiden swore he was going to be different. How we fought last night. How Chelsea was waiting outside my dorm. How she told me they hooked up. How he’s been trying to get back together with her all semester. How I was just a rebound.
While I am blathering, he’s texting.
“What’s so important?”
“I just asked Dallas to come here,” Riley says. His teeth are held together tightly, like he’s mad at me.
“Why?”
Dallas walks in the room and Riley literarily pushes me out of his arms and into Dallas’.
“He didn’t even say goodbye,” I say to Dallas, watching Riley march down the hall. “I mean, I know he had to leave for practice, but why is he mad at me?”
Dallas gives me a hug, pulls me onto his bed, and says, “I don’t think it’s you that he’s mad at.”
I stop sniffling. “Oh. So is that why he was texting you? He was telling you what happened?”
Dallas nods and says quietly, “Yeah.”
“Did you know about Aiden and Chelsea?”
“No,” he says, and I realize that he liked Chelsea a lot more than he admitted.
I sniffle, pull all the snot back into my sinuses—or wherever it goes—and say, “You liked her, didn’t you?”
“I was thinking about asking her to be my girlfriend. She said she really liked me.”
I hug him again, tightly. “Relationships suck.”
“Funny thing is, I didn’t think I wanted a relationship. But then we kept doing it. And it was fun. Hot. Nice.” He pauses. “Obviously, not nice enough.”