Halfway Girl

by Bailey, Tessa

  Jerimiah

  “Wait.”

  Did I really say that? This girl just tried to leave and I’ve called her back onto the basement landing…to do what? I’m not a great conversationalist in the best of circumstances. And since I’ve just kicked the door open and ripped off half the frame, I would say this situation falls into the not great circumstances category.

  Her head whips around. “Wait?”

  Why is my heart beating so fast? All I know is I don’t want her to leave. What if I can’t find her again? “You haven’t even taken a sip of your drink.”

  She looks down at the bottle in her hand as if she forgot it was there. “Oh yeah.” Her fingernails clink against the glass. “I guess I can pretend to drink one more drink tonight.”

  “Pretend?”

  “Yeah.” Before I can guess her intention, she lifts the edge of her tank top and turns slightly, revealing a white device attached to the small of her back. “I’m a diabetic. So while I can technically have a drink, the sugar content throws my glucose out of whack—”

  I pluck the drink back out of her grip.

  She stares at me, empty hand poised in the air.

  “Why have you been pretending to drink?” I ask, cursing my awkwardness. “Why not say something?”

  Her chin lowers a notch, her eyes no longer meeting mine. “I don’t know. Sororities are all about solidarity. Being a unit. I’m trying to convince them I belong. Why let them know I’m different so early on?” She seems to regret that honesty almost immediately, flashing me a teasing grin and twirling her streak of blue hair. “I know what you’re thinking. You’ve never seen a more quintessential sorority girl.”

  Not wanting to say the wrong thing, I remain silent in the wake of her sarcasm. Truth is, she doesn’t strike me as someone who’d pledge a sorority.

  “You want to say something.” She raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  I rub the side of my neck. “I don’t even know your name and—”

  “Birdie.”

  “Birdie.” I let that settle in my chest. “You don’t seem like the type of person who would spend a week trying to gain someone’s approval.”

  “You’re right, I’m not…”

  “Jerimiah.” A few beats of silence pass. I know it’s probably my imagination, but it feels like we’re savoring the act of knowing each other’s names. “You’re right. I’m not the type to seek approval, although I’ll admit, sorority sisters are a lot more decent than I anticipated. Which is pretty annoying.” She doesn’t even flinch over my rumbling laugh. “We’ve spent the week creating a mural over in the quad. Kind of a serene landscape-type painting.” She lowers her chin. “My twin sister would have been first in line to sign up for Kappa Kappa Gamma. I’m doing it for her. If that means killing a few potted plants with lukewarm Pabst Blue Ribbon, I can soldier through. And I might not like vying for approval, but I found a way to honor her with the mural, so…at least I’m getting one thing out of it.”

  There’s something in her eyes when she flashes a look up at me. It’s pain. I don’t have to ask to know that her sister is no longer with us. My arms suddenly feel empty without her inside them, which is crazy. I’ve never hugged her before. I can probably count on one hand the people I’ve hugged in my life when it wasn’t celebrating a touchdown. But that weight in my stomach is shifting, tugging, telling me she needs comfort. Too bad I’m the only one around and I don’t know how. “Would your sister want you to do something you didn’t like on her behalf?”

  “What?” She asks the question too quickly, her chest beginning a rapid rise and fall. “I-I don’t know. You…what about you? Do you like running errands for those guys upstairs?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  I can see my answer matters to her. She needs me to tell her the truth, even though it might lower her opinion of me—so I do. “Acceptance. Same as you.” I cough into my fist. “I’m not…you can probably tell I don’t fit in with the rest of them. Talking and trying to find things in common is so much harder than carrying a keg up the stairs.”

  “Pretending to drink beer is so much easier than showing off my insulin pump.” She lifts a hand toward me. It hesitates in the air for a moment, then presses down in the center of my chest. My heart spurs into a gallop and I hear her breath catch among the muffled music pumping through the door. “It’s kind of a shame I don’t overdrink. If I was drunk like the rest of the freshman, I might let it slip that I really came down to the basement because I felt something in the kitchen.” Her tongue escapes to wet her lips. “When you looked at me.”

  Is this actually happening? Or am I down at the bottom of the steps hallucinating? Not only is this gorgeous girl touching me, but we both felt what happened in the kitchen. That shift in the atmosphere wasn’t some figment of my imagination. She’s not afraid of me. She isn’t turned off by my bluntness and we have a common enemy—the need for acceptance—albeit for different reasons. Furthermore, both of us seem more comfortable in the dark and now we’re standing toe to toe, breathing the same air. While my brain tells me to wait, wait, make sure this is real? My body gravitates closer to hers with every kick of my pulse.

  “I had to talk myself out of going to find you,” I rasp, risking a graze of my knuckles along her cheek, my head spinning with disbelief when she leans in to the touch.

  “Why did you talk yourself out of it?”

  Oh my God, her skin is like silk. Behind the zipper of my jeans, my body reacts eagerly, hardening in response to Birdie’s softness. To all of her. “I’ve never asked out a girl before, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want some scary-ass giant stomping after you in the dark.”

  Head tilted back, she searches my eyes. “Who told you you were scary?”

  For some reason, talking to this girl is as easy as breathing. It’s like I’ve received a new set of lungs. “I’ve been playing football since I was a kid. My coaches praised me for being scary. Off the field, being so much bigger made people stay away.” Her mouth turns down at the corners and I’m overwhelmed with the need to reassure her. “Don’t worry. Being called scary doesn’t bother me anymore.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.

  “They should be scared by their lack of good judgment.”

  And then Birdie’s hands are reaching up to clasp the sides of my head, bringing my face down closer to hers. Christ, she’s going to let me kiss her. There’s already a spike lodged in my belly over her question, but it twists now, pushing deeper, forcing out my uncertainty and turning it into hunger.

  “This is crazy, right?” she whispers, a centimeter from my lips. “I don’t hook up at parties. I don’t even usually go to parties.”

  “I’ve never hooked up anywhere—” The horrifying truth is out before I can stop it, thanks to my filter going missing as soon as I started talking to Birdie. She seems to be holding her breath waiting for the rest of what I was about to say, giving me no choice but to continue. “Yeah, I’m a senior, but I’ve never done anything like this. Never wanted to this bad.”

  The moment crystalizes as she scrutinizes me with a total lack of judgment. It’s only wonder and maybe a drop of sympathy, but I’m too desperate for her mouth to come closer to take any kind of offense.

  “Me either,” Birdie murmurs, brushing our lips together, going up on her toes and pressing our bodies together. “Kiss me, Jerimiah.”

  I don’t know what comes over me. The control I’m always so careful to keep knitted together around everyone…it unravels and I scoop Birdie up, taking a giant step to flatten her body between mine and the staircase landing wall. Her gasp tells me she’s not expecting the move and I almost move back to reassure her, but our mouths lock, they lock tight, drawing deeply with a groan from both of us. Holy shit. An army of angels sings when her body fits against me and her knees lift to settle on my hips. How does she match me so perfectly when I’m at least a
foot taller? Like this, though? Like this, her mouth is on level with mine and her pussy is hot, sweet pressure pushing down on my cock. We’re breathing each other’s names and I don’t hear the party anymore. I’m straining to listen to every word out of her mouth.

  “Jerimiah,” she whimpers, shifting her hips. “Please…”

  My God, she’s saying my name. Begging for me. Without thinking, I roll my lower body forward into the welcoming juncture of her thighs and capture her cry with a hard kiss. I wasn’t lying when I told Birdie I’ve never hooked up. My mind knows what women need to get satisfaction, but my mouth, hands and body have no experience with the movements. There’s no hesitating now, though. I don’t feel my usual need to second-guess myself when she’s squeezing my hips between her legs, tracking her fingers through my hair. “I want to kiss you with my tongue,” I say, driving my hips upward again, hearing the friction of her tight body dragging back down the wall. “Can I, beautiful? Can I put it in your mouth?”

  “Yes.”

  Our mouths hover a breath apart and then I savor my tongue’s first entry with a sweeping lick. She jerks against me and digs her nails into my shoulders. Her thighs cinch higher, higher around my hips, squeezing, and instinct tells me she wants faster. Harder. That belief is only confirmed when I trail my palms down her sides, waiting for her nod of encouragement before brushing my thumbs over the peaks of her tits.

  “I love that. Don’t stop.” We get lost in a string of teasing kisses, wherein she nips my lips and I try to deepen it. Needing more. I need more of her and she finally gives in, letting me have a thorough taste. “Please,” she says, breaking away. “Please. Don’t stop anything you’re doing.”

  “I won’t,” I say hoarsely, dropping my hands to her knees and gripping them from beneath, lifting her higher on the wall, burying my face in her neck and thrusting blindly. “This what you need, beautiful?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “I fucking love giving it to you.”

  “I can tell,” she gasps—and then she starts to shake. With my face pressed to her neck, I can feel her scream building and I rush to cover her mouth with mine, swallowing the incredible sound of Birdie having an orgasm. It’s half choke, half my name, and I don’t think I’ll ever hear anything sweeter for the rest of my life. Unless she lets me climax her again. I slap my hands to the wall and focus on the kiss so I don’t start pumping my hips again. Too soon, right? I think it’s probably too soon when she’s still squirming on my dick and trying to rip the collar of my shirt.

  Jesus. My brain is still skeptical this is even happening, but if anyone can clear up whether this is reality or fantasy, it’s my cock. It’s hard as steel, the aching head caught between my belly and the waistband of my jeans. She’d see it if she lifted my shirt—and I want that. I want her to see what she’s doing to me. Want her to touch me. But I don’t know how to ask or if it’s too soon—

  Birdie lifts my shirt and moans at the sight of me.

  Her legs drop from around my waist, but I’m physically incapable of putting distance between us. She’s the anchor to everything. I keep her upper body pressed back against the wall as she unbuttons my jeans and lowers the zipper. Waiting for her to touch my dick, I clench my jaw so hard it threatens to snap and the wind leaves me in a rush when her hand closes around my flesh, stroking it once in a tight fist. Fuck. Fuck. So good. My head lowers and we find each other’s mouths, kissing in time with her tightfisted pumps of my cock.

  “You made me come,” she whispers in between kisses. “I can’t believe…”

  “What?” I bark into her hair, driving my inches through her slippery grip. “Tell me.”

  “I never get there. Not with anyone.” Birdie’s head falls back on her shoulders, allowing me to lick a pathway up the side of her neck. “Just you.”

  The growl that leaves me is possessive and triumphant. I’ve never heard anything like it come out of me before, but it’s right as hell between me and this girl. It was inevitable. I can feel the truth of that in my bones. “I want to get you there every time, Birdie.”

  We labor to breathe against each other’s mouths. “I want to let you.”

  “Say you will let me, beautiful.”

  An alarm bell sounds in the back of my head when she won’t comply, but her enthusiastic mouth on mine is reassuring. Enough to let it go. For now. She’s jacking me off firm and fast and it becomes impossible for me to think of anything but relief. I need relief. I’ve never climaxed for any hand but my own, and the difference in friction, the magical girl attached to the hand—all of it drives my urgency to the breaking point, higher and faster than ever before.

  “I can’t hold on anymore,” I grit out, taking over the job of abusing my swollen flesh, tunneling it in and out of my grip at breakneck pace. “I want to come for you. Where. Where?”

  She leans back against the wall and arches her back. “Wherever you want.”

  I’m already ashamed of myself for what I do next, but a beast has been prodded to life inside of me by my connection to this girl. I want as much of me touching her as possible. My body is screaming for release as I press our foreheads together, dragging her leggings down, down beneath her hips. I search her eyes for any sign of alarm or protest and when I find nothing but excitement, I tuck the head of my swollen cock into her panties and spend myself inside them, stroking hard—hard—growling her name as I shoot come onto her pussy. She moans as it happens, and pressure I didn’t even know existed inside me pours out, as if she’s the only one capable of summoning it. Completing this act in a way it never felt complete before.

  “Feel what you did to me, beautiful?” I pant, laying kisses onto her lips, flicking the tips of our tongues together. “Take it home with you.”

  After what seems like an eternity, I drift back down to earth with Birdie cradled in my arms. Her breath is shallow against my shoulder and the intensity of my release has left me lethargic, but the need to care for her is more powerful than anything. I drop kisses onto her hairline while I pull up her panties and adjust her leggings, leaning away to search her expression. Already I’m starting to worry about what happens next. Was this some crazy fluke for her?

  Because it wasn’t for me.

  I might be inexperienced when it comes to sex, but my attraction to Birdie doesn’t end there. I’ve never felt more comfortable in my own skin than when she’s standing in front of me. I think I do the same for her. God, I hope so.

  “Beautiful?”

  She opens her mouth to say something—

  “Campus security just pulled up!” someone yells in the living room. That shout is followed by crashing and the sound of feet running across the floorboards. Frustration wells up inside me. We’re not allowed to have alcohol in the fraternity house and we’re definitely not allowed to have drugs on the premises. None of my teammates are partaking in the weed, thanks to random drug tests for athletes, but they could be held responsible, either way. And there’ll be no denying the existence of the kegs. I need to help them handle this now or there’s every chance they could be sidelined for the next several games.

  When I look down at Birdie, I hesitate. How can I walk away from this when I don’t even know where we stand? It would be a lot worse if she got in trouble, too, though, wouldn’t it?

  “Come on,” I say, opening the door and pulling her into the disaster of a living room. “Who did you come with?”

  “My roommate.” Birdie points at a girl who’s wringing her hands near the front door. “There she is. I’m good.” She nods at me and I finally, finally see her eyes are an incredible melted brown sugar color. “Go do what you have to do.”

  I hesitate, barely checking the urge to hide her in my room. But I can’t break another rule that could land her in trouble, dammit. Nor do I have time to exchange numbers when there’s a stampede happening around us. “Where can I find you?”

  “Um. The mural?” She’s already backing away from me and taking my stomach along
with her. “I’ll be there in the afternoon.”

  “So will I.”

  Birdie disappears out the front door in a herd of students. Battling the sudden wave of loneliness, I face the room, prepared to help my teammates clean up anything that visibly breaks campus rules. Instead I see the quarterback being stopped at the back door by a security guard—while in the process of lugging an empty keg.

  Reasonably, I know it’s not my fault he’s been caught, but I can’t stem the flow of guilt. Not that I will ever regret a single second with Birdie, but if I’d come back up from the basement when I was supposed to, I could have cleared out the kegs in a fraction of the time it would take someone else. Some security guards might take it easy on a well-known athlete, but I can see right away, that’s not going to be the case this time.

  It’s going to be on me if he’s benched. On me if we lose.

  You have to contribute something here. Otherwise you’re just a mute giant haunting this house while everyone puts up with you.

  I hear Birdie’s voice in my head, telling me I’m not scary. I feel the pleasure that rode along my skin when she looked at me…and smiled. Kissed me like she couldn’t stop. But those stolen moments in the dark feel like such a dream compared to my usual reality, I can’t put all of my trust in them. Badly as I want to.

  “The kegs are mine,” I say. “I brought them.”

  Chapter Three

  Jerimiah

  Most days, my teammates don’t have much to say to me. There isn’t a whole lot of appeal in a one-sided conversation with someone who doesn’t laugh when he’s supposed to. Or isn’t interested in talking about girls like they’re meat on a stick. Today they’re giving me even wider berth than usual—and for once, I’m not glad for the silence.

  As I sit in the common room of the house alone, I’m craving the noise, the dick jokes, the ever-present sounds of PlayStation. Anything to distract me from the fact that I couldn’t show up at the mural this morning. That’s where I was supposed to meet Birdie and I didn’t get there. My first promise to her. Broken.