Authors: Ashley Pullo

The Album: Book One (5 page)

“But it doesn’t make you like R.E.M. any less.” I place my hand on my leg to discreetly touch her arm. She leans in closer, her body welcoming my flirtation. “And this song,
Possum Kingdom
, the words become immediately irrelevant on that first guitar riff – and the tension continues to build with the pounding bass. Added to the fact that the bassist is a chick . . . this song is fucking hot.”

She raises her eyebrows slightly – then smiles.

“Do you live around here? I can’t believe we’ve never hung out.”

“Nah, New York. My buddies and I drove up for the party.”

“But isn’t it like the Fourth or something?” She looks confused and intrigued, but I never answer more than what’s necessary.

“It’s the Fourth,” I reply.

She inches closer, bracing herself on her hand. My knee jerks toward her arm, brushing against her soft skin and giving her goose bumps.

“Are you in university?”

“I’m heading to Penn State to play soccer.”

Her smile changes to a flirtatious smirk as her hand skims the bottom of my shorts. “You don’t ask a lot of questions. Usually guys ask a million stupid questions because they think girls like to talk,” she banters.

I don’t need to ask her anything – whatever I haven’t figured out will be a genuine surprise. And for once, I’d like to be wrong.

“I only have one.”

“Then ask it,” she says.

“What else is pierced?”

And that did it.

She parts her lips to speak, but then moves her hand to her stomach. I keep my eyes locked on hers as she slightly lifts her shirt. But I don’t look – I know it’s a belly button ring, but I focus on her face. Eighteen-year-old boys do not possess self-control, and what I’m doing right now, is blowing her mind.

I jerk my body off the wall and dig in my shorts for my beeper. She watches me glance at the
invisible
number as I let out a sigh. “Hey, is there some place private I can make a phone call – like really quiet? It’s my mom, and if she finds out I’m in Canada, well, she’ll make my life a living hell,” I say calmly.

“Oh! Oh. Um, well . . . yes,” she whispers. “Here, I have a key to the guestroom. It’s next to the bathroom – Dylan and I put all the valuable things in there before the party. Shit, can I trust you?” she asks.

I take the key from her hand, stroking her palm in the exchange. “How about you keep the Toadies for collateral?” I rise from the floor and smile down at her. Damn, she looks amazing in that position – shit, and my dick likes it, too.

“Deal,” she mouths.

I make my way past the pool table, across the living room where I give Tango a
’sup
, through the foyer with the guarded bowl of car keys, and then a sharp left to the infamous guest room. There’s a line forming at the bathroom, so I keep my head down and walk directly toward the only other door.

At first the key doesn’t fit correctly in the doorknob, and the smallest spur of nervous excitement rushes through me. But then it opens. I close the door behind me and decide not to lock it – she won’t be long.

The room is on the small side, with a desk and a sofa bed occupying most of the space. Like she said, everything of any value is stacked along a wall of bookcases filled to capacity with vinyl records. I turn on the small lamp and open the top drawer of the desk: calculator, magnifying glass, paperclips and Valium.

I sit down on the couch just as the door opens. She closes and locks it behind her and then slowly walks toward me. Her body is amazing – big boobs, small waist and the confidence of a woman. I open my legs further, inviting her to join me. She stops between my legs and places her hand on my head, running her fingers through my hair. My hands grab her hips and I lift her shirt with my mouth. She drops something near my foot, so I kick it out of the way while biting her waist.

“Did you make your phone call?” she asks, panting.

“No,” I say into her stomach.

I lift up her skirt and slide my hand over her panties. Glancing up at her, I’m disappointed to find her gorgeous eyes closed tightly. “Hey,” I say. “Look at me.” I stand to address her, pressing her chest against mine. My hands squeeze her arms until she opens her eyes. Her lips part and I kiss her – soft at first, then deep and forceful.

She tugs at my shorts while clenching the fabric of her shirt. Our lips part as she lifts the t-shirt over her head. I watch her as she unhooks her black bra and drops it to the floor. Goddamn her tits are perfect – full and perky. “No,” I shake my head. “We’re doing this my way.” Having sex with another guy’s girl is not my thing – that’s best suited for assholes that need instant gratification. But having sex with a girl that truly needs it despite her relationship, well that’s just awesome.

I push her to the desk with my hips, my hands cupping her breasts and my tongue licking her neck. She bumps into the hard edge and I quickly plant my hand on the surface to break our fall. My hips pin her against the edge, my erection restrained beneath layers of fabric, but still making enough contact to cause her to moan.

“Tell me what you want,” she hums.

My hands trail slowly up her side, sending chills through her body. She quivers as I clamp her nipples between my fingers, tugging gently. I can feel her heart pulsating beneath my palm and her shallow breathing penetrating my neck. She closes her eyes again so I place my hand on her chin and pull down her lip.

“Open your eyes,” I snarl.

She complies.

My thumb parts her lips and I kiss her, slowly and methodically. I want her to feel new sensations and I want her to watch. My shirt is slowly lifted over my head, and I let her – I like when she responds to urges.

I take a step back and toss my shirt to the floor. She unbuttons her skirt and shimmies it to her feet, carefully stepping out of it and then flinging it toward the couch. Her black cotton panties are simple, but hot as fuck and I want to slide my hand in there—

“Take your fucking shorts off,” she commands.

Shit. She’s amazing.

“I’ll take them off when you finger your pussy,” I retort.

She wiggles onto the desk and smiles. I cross my arms and shake my head. She opens her legs and blows me a kiss, but I respond with a dissatisfied sigh. She glides her hand down her stomach and into the black cotton.

I remove my shorts.

“Now, let me see all of you,” she says.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” I reply.

She spreads her legs further and removes her hand, slowly taking it to her nipple. I shrug my shoulders. She pinches her nipple and smiles in delight. I start to reach down for my shorts. She thrusts two fingers in her mouth and sucks dramatically.

I lower my boxers.

“Holy shit! Fuck me,” she says.

“Suck me,” I demand.

She throws back her head in laughter then hops off the desk. Her mouth curls into a lustful pout as she walks toward me – but our encounter is playful and spontaneous, not dramatic. She pauses to lower her panties to her ankles, causing me to chuckle at my involuntary weakness – I would let her do anything.

With her eyes green and hungry, she asks, “What’s your name?”

Her hand moves from my erection to rest delicately on my hip. I feel her tracing my scar, so I thrust my fingers inside her and watch her shudder in pleasure.

“Adam,” I say as something crashes outside the room. Her head whips toward the door at the sound of screaming and cheering further down the hall.

Oh shit! Fight!

The cops!

Where’s my bong?

Who’s that?

“Oh fuck, what’s going on?” She quickly puts on her skirt and fidgets with her bra strap. I pull up my boxers and pick up my shorts, and then help her clasp the hooks of her bra.

“We should stay here,” I suggest.

I zip my shorts and grab my t-shirt – she frantically looks for her shirt. “I can’t! This is my house – I’m responsible for that shit out there.”

I toss her the shirt and sit on the couch to put on my sneakers. “I thought this was Dylan’s house,” I say.

“Yeah. Dylan is my little brother – do you have everything?” She looks confused and flustered but not as baffled as I’m feeling.

I was wrong.

She opens the door and looks back at me. “Next time,” she says as she runs toward the living room. I follow behind her and immediately get pushed into a pile of angry drunks.

Knuckles slam against my stomach and my reflexes force me to pound someone’s face. Blood splatters onto my shirt and I’m pretty confident I broke the fucker’s nose. My stomach is throbbing, but I’m able to grab onto a chair and stand myself up . . . only to be kicked in the back by a combat boot.

“Cops!” Someone screams.

“Scatter!” I yell.

I limp toward the front door, using my upper body to block all the assholes in my way. I elbow one guy in the neck and then dart past the mob of screaming girls. Tango is fifty yards in front of me, hanging onto his shorts and waddling to the car. There’s no sign of Jeff, but he knows where we parked, and I have yet to see an actual police car.

When I reach my car, Tango scurries to the bushes with his pants around his knees and hurls. Leaning against the driver’s door, I check my beeper and wait for him to finish.

“Yo, man, that Gold Schlager was ripe. I think E.T. curled up in my stomach and died.”

“Tango, you dumbass, get in the car!” I laugh.

“Shotgun,” he yells. He runs around to the other side and jumps in the front seat. I look down the sidewalk toward the house and there’s still no sign of Jeff.

“Hey,” I say opening my door. “What happened in there?”

“It was wicked dope – our man Jeff beat the shit out of some guy that was roughin’ up a girl.”

“No shit? All right, you stay here – I’m going back to look for him. And if you’re going to blow chunks, open the goddamn door.”

I make my way back to the house, passing stoned stragglers without a care in the world, and a group of girls puking on the curb – victims of the tainted Gold Schlager nonetheless. When I reach the house, Jeff is hunkered on the porch with a bag of ice taped to his hand and blood dripping from his knee.

“Yo, Jeff!”

He raises his head and smiles proudly. “Ad-am,” he stammers, lowering his head again.

“Here, I got you another bag of ice.” Her bare feet slap against the brick steps as she hands the bag to Jeff. I clear my throat as she notices me.

I smile. She smiles

She winks. I wink.

And that’s that. My first taste of the unexpected returns to her house never to be seen again. A perceptive mistake – a misinterpretation. And it will forever be the moment that began my pursuit to find the girl that makes me smile.

“C’mon man, let’s get you home.” I wrap my arms underneath Jeff’s armpits and lift him from the stairs. He hangs on to my waist as we stumble down the sidewalk to the only car with New York plates.

12:45 a.m.

“Jeff, that was awesome, bro,” Tango shouts while punching the air. “Buffalo boys be representin’! Ah shit, let’s get some food! Taco Bell – pintos and cheese,” he sings.

“I don’t want Taco Bell,” Jeff finally mutters. “We have to go to Tim Horton’s. They have the best donuts.”

“I agree with Jeff – and I’m driving. Hockey player’s donuts it is.”

We drive a few miles into the actual city and find a shopping center with a Tim Horton’s. Dad used to drive across the border when I was kid to bring me and my kid brother donuts for our birthdays. It was a treat. Not the donuts – a dad that cared so much.

“Yo, Adam – where were you all night?” Jeff leans forward between the driver and passenger seats and stares at my profile.

“Screwing some chick in a closet. Tongue ring and a big ass.” I simulate slapping a big ass above the steering wheel and Tango roars with laughter.

“Whatever, bro. I saw you with two trolls – just admit it.”

We pull into the parking lot next to a lone Honda and climb out of my car like drug addicts looking for a fix. Tango always looks like shit, but Jeff is limping in agony and my back is killing me. I duck back into the car to find my stash of aspirin as the guys head into the fluorescent-lit sugar factory.

“What exactly am I looking at, Nat?”

“It’s a psychic! Let’s go!”

The aspirin isn’t in the glove box, but my cracked shin guard from the State Cup falls to the floor. I look under my seat and find the library copy of
Ulysses
I lost my junior year . . . but no aspirin. Just looking for the fucking aspirin is giving me a back spasm of high school memories, so I give up and go inside.

Tango and Jeff are at the counter arguing with the young cashier, so I politely step up to correct the situation. “What’s the problem guys? Are we not here to taste the best donuts in North America?” I ask sarcastically.

“Yes, we are here to eat the best donuts in North America, but apparently, two girls came in here earlier and bought all the fucking TimBits.” Tango motions to the empty display racks while Jeff bends over the counter grabbing his stomach.

I glance back at the door and then at Tango. “Fucking hosers.”

Natalie