by Kilby Blades
I tried to look engaged as I waited for her next text. Surreptitiously texting in class was an art.
"Just" boring? If I had a suicide pill in my pocket, I'd use it. I can't take this anymore!
I stifled a laugh when she followed up with the yellow emoji that had a letter x over each eye.
Please Miss Vega, not that! Perhaps I can come to your aid…
I had an idea. I fired off the text before slipping my phone in my pocket and raising my hand.
"Yes, Mr. Monroe?" Mrs. Berardi ground out in her annoyingly-high voice. I plastered on a charming smile.
She was thirty-five and married, albeit to a younger man, and known to be quite the puma. Declan, Gunther and I had compared notes and she'd hit on all three of us. This would be embarrassingly easy.
"May I be excused early, Mrs. Berardi? I have a dentist appointment in Littleton at three."
Her eyes traveled my body.
"Yes, go ahead Jagger. And bring a note next time."
"Thank you." I smiled sweetly as I gathered my things, dodging hostile, knowing glances from the other students as I walked out.
Eighteen
Chasing Cars
If I lay here, if I just lay here,
Would you lie with me
and just forget the world?
-Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars
Roxy
It was after-school-date day with Jagger, and the wall clock couldn't tick fast enough. Even under the best of circumstances, it would have felt like a long wait. But these weren't the best of circumstances. I hated this class and there were still twenty minutes left. I had texted Jagger to help pass the time, but he'd dropped off in order to "come to my aid." I couldn't imagine what he could do, short of pulling a fire alarm, to get me out of this hell. I was busy doodling elaborate graffiti—things like “RV+JM” and "Kill Me Now." Then I'd scribble all over it, lest anyone else ever find it, only to start again on the next blank corner of page.
The phone in the classroom rang and the students let out a collective sigh. How long could we listen to Mr. Fenicle drone on about the Lend-Lease Act? The man never asked questions or engaged the class to participate. There were times he even read aloud from the book!
"Miss Vega?" he said, fixing his eyes on me even before hanging up the phone, "Please see Mrs. Cole in the office, and take your things. You have an early dismissal."
No fucking way, I thought, as I packed up my bags and headed into the hall.
Through the glass doors of the office, I saw Jagger leaning over and chatting up Mrs. Cole. They were laughing as if they were old friends. She didn't notice me opening the door, but Jagger noticed me right away.
"Roxy, you're so silly sometimes. How could you forget again?" he asked in a playfully-patronizing voice, punctuating his question with a wink. "I was just telling Mrs. Cole how you make us late every time."
I was a little slow to the uptake, but I could be a smooth liar when I needed to be.
"You know how I hate to leave early from History. Mr. Fenicle’s lecture was so interesting, I forgot to look at the clock." I looked at Mrs. Cole sorrowfully. "Sorry you had to call me out of class."
"No problem, dear. Jagger explained the whole situation. You'd better get started if you want to make your appointments. You wouldn't want cavities to ruin your smile," she lectured gently, beaming over at Jagger.
"Thank you again, Mrs. Cole. You're a real life saver," he smiled, knocking the desk once before ushering me out.
As soon as we were in the parking lot, he grabbed my book bag from my arm and slung it over his opposite shoulder before sliding his hand into mine. He bit back a grin, saying nothing until we got into his car.
"To Littleton, Ms. Vega?" he asked like a chauffeur.
"Is that where our dentist appointments are, Ferris?" I smirked.
"Yes. We schedule our monthly check-ups back to back so we can carpool."
"How lovely of us to reduce our carbon footprint…and, monthly appointments? We must have the cleanest teeth in Rye.”
"Good dental hygiene is very important, Roxy."
I just shook my head as we sped out of the lot, duly impressed by how effortlessly he’d pulled it off and discomfited that he’d just conned three teachers. The next hour was spent in comfortable conversation, but I began to quiet as we got into town. Jagger navigated streets in an offbeat neighborhood I had never seen. It was near a boat marina, but away from the most popular shopping streets. The shops here were less upscale than the ones I went to with Zoë. As he pulled over to park, I figured out where we were going.
"Plastic Fantastic?" I smirked at the name.
"Have you ever been here?" he asked, sounding hopeful that I hadn't.
I shook my head. "I didn't even know this was here."
"I think you're gonna love it.” He smiled excitedly. "I practically live here on weekends."
Before I had my seatbelt off, he was at my door, taking my hand as he helped me from the car. He didn't let it go as we walked through the front door, speaking rather than waving his hello to the store clerk that greeted him by name. Plastic Fantastic turned out to be an enormous record store that sported thousands (perhaps tens of thousands) of LPs. I stood near the door in wonder. I hadn’t been to an honest-to-goodness record store since I was little. Still, I felt completely at home.
"Do you own any vinyl?" Jagger asked, noticing my reaction.
"I used to. Or at least my mom did."
He showed me around the store, teaching me about how to buy vinyl, telling me how the sign of a great music store was organization. I lost sense of time as we browsed together, picking out a mix of titles—some that Jag said he was dying for me to hear, and others I remembered listening to with my mom. By the time we reached the counter, arms laden with records, it occurred to me that for someone who didn't have a record player, I was planning to buy quite a lot. Jagger gave me a quizzical look as I set my choices on the counter.
"Do you mind if we take number three?" he asked the clerk.
"It's all yours.” The guy handed Jagger a key.
Jagger scooped up my records as well as his own and nodded his head towards some stairs in the back. I followed him up and was met by four numbered rooms.
Listening booths, I realized with delight.
Following Jagger through the last door on the left, I saw these were no regular booths. They were small rooms, each with a record player and two chairs, and their walls were made of glass. The placement on the second floor right over the water made it so we could not only listen to records but also look out at the bay.
"What do you think?" he asked, studying my face as I took in the afternoon view.
I turned to him and smiled.
"I can see why you live here on weekends."
Jagger
It was already the perfect date. I'd impressed her at every turn. I'd broken her out of her Mr. Fenicle-induced jail. I'd sounded casual and smooth when we’d talked on the drive. I'd been in awe of the mellow look on her face as we’d listened to music at Plastic Fantastic. I'd taken her to a café for a snack. Now, it was almost sunset and I'd driven her to another place I came to all the time.
It was an oceanside bluff I’d stumbled across months before while exploring one of the many regional parks. My favorite spot had a few picnic tables and stayed pretty empty this time of year. I'd brought a big blanket for us to cuddle under and that was exactly what we were doing. I leaned against the narrow end of the picnic table with Roxy’s back to my front. The dark gray wool blanket was pulled across the back of my body and I circled her in my arms.
It was both comforting and terrifying—how we molded together so easily in moments like this. I wished I could keep thoughts of the other moments at bay. There was something she wasn’t telling me. I fell into a pensive state as I felt more than listened to her breathe against my chest. As we stared out at the ocean in descending twilight, the cool wind chilling our faces, I couldn't stop the words.
&
nbsp; "You're such a mystery, Roxy."
It was a source of both pain and intrigue. I loved everything that made her different, but feared that she may never let me in. I was so used to people being transparent to me—used to the girls at school being eager to do all the talking.
"Are you kidding?" She chuckled sadly. "You pepper me with questions and I answer them all. You, on the other hand, give away nothing."
I tried not to let her words sting. I'd showed her everything that mattered about me. The rest was superficial. If I could just show her she was the only one…
"Hey, I'm sorry." She broke me out of my thoughts.
"You don't have to apologize for anything.”
Hadn't I just wished for her to not censor herself with me?
"No, I do have to.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if pained. "I know you've told me some really important things about you. But there's other stuff—lots of it—that I just don't understand."
“Like what?“
I tried to make it sound like I wasn't begging, but I was.
"You're just…not who I thought you'd be."
Oh. That.
"Based on what people say about me?"
I’d been so paranoid about other grist for the Trinity High rumor mill, I’d never considered what Roxy herself thought of my reputation.
"That, “ she admitted. “And…no offense, but we sat next to each other for months. You never noticed me at all."
"I always noticed you, Roxy," I said with conviction. "But I was too stupid and too shy to approach you. And it wasn't just you I ignored—by the time you moved to Rye, I’d pretty much written off everyone but Deck and Gunther."
She nodded, though I didn’t think she quite believed me.
"Why did you change your mind?"
I didn't. Declan changed my mind for me, I absolutely could not say. It wasn't just that I couldn't force the words out—somehow, I just knew the real story would change things. So I told a lie of omission.
"It took strength to stay away from you, Roxy. One day, I just…caved.”
I didn't know whether to be disgusted or relieved by how convincing I sounded. Doubtful that I could live with myself if I lied any more, I cut her off before she could respond.
"Here's the thing, Roxy. I let people think what they want to think because I don't care about them or what they say. But I do care about you, Roxy. And if I've let anyone know me, it's been you."
She nodded again, looking only a little more convinced.
"I've never brought any girl to watch the sun set, or taken any girl to Plastic Fantastic. Before Sunday, I never went on a one-on-one date or met a girl's dad. I never wanted to call anybody my girlfriend."
Her breathing caught.
"You know me, Roxy" I insisted once again. "Tell me what you do know about me, Roxy. You know a lot."
Please, I thought as my heartbeat quickened. I needed this to work.
“Well, you have phenomenal taste in music…” She bit her lip. "For some strange reason, you're obsessed with feeding me.”
The corner of her mouth turned up in a smile.
"What else?" I whispered. I needed to know that she understood.
"You have a weird sense of humor. You pay attention to, like, everything. And you seem to like keeping me warm."
She really doesn't get it.
"Is that really all you know about me? I thought I gave so much more away."
I tightened my arms around her again, glad she was looking out at the ocean.
"I was sure you noticed how much I laugh when I'm with you…and how much I love making you blush."
She did just that. My heartbeat quickened as I debated whether to say it. She had such an impairing effect on my judgment…
"And on Sunday, it should've been pretty obvious that I could die happy from kissing you."
Though she tensed slightly at first, her body leaned closer into mine.
"How can I believe you didn't know those things?" I asked desperately as I dropped a kiss below her ear.
Her eyes fell shut and her breathing changed, and I knew that now was my time. She didn't resist as I turned her in my arms, and she opened her brown eyes to meet mine. She said nothing, only tipped up her chin. It was the only invitation I needed.
In the three days since I'd known her luscious mouth, I'd thirsted for her kiss. My greed to devour her found me kissing her deeply. My need to have her found me pulling her body flush against mine. This time there were no first kiss jitters, no cocktail table or awkward sitting position to keep us apart. This time, we were all alone. No need to be discreet. No reason not to let my hand slide over the curve of her bottom. Catching my breath as I nipped her ear, her jaw, her neck, I realized that our "kiss" had escalated by fathoms.
It wasn't until my mind followed the throbbing source of my pleasure that I realized I was painfully, conspicuously, hard. Since I was leaning on the table, I pushed her hips away a little, but she protested loudly—not saying a word but grinding her pelvis into mine. And then her hands were in my hair and her eyes were filled with lust and she captured my lips one more time.
Fuuuuuuck!
I learned much about my Roxy as the sun set that day. I memorized the taste of her skin. I became intimately familiar with the curve of her breast and the sound of her whimpering moan. I knew the whisper of my name on her lips. And I then learned something else: when it came to the lies they told about Roxy, her rap was as bogus as mine.
My almost-girlfriend was anything but frigid or prudish. She was sensual and alive. She kissed like she had invented the art, and her touch made me purr. At times I pulled back, in case she needed space, but she proved she didn't want it. Roxy seemed to want me as much as I wanted her. So much for taking it slow.
Nineteen
Is it Okay if I Call You Mine?
Is it okay if I call you mine, just for a time?
And I will be just fine if I know that you
know that I'm wanting, needing your love.
-Paul McCrane, Is it Okay if I Call You Mine (From the Original Soundtrack of the movie Fame)
Jagger
It had only been four hours since I dropped her off at home, but already I missed her fiercely. By the time I gathered the courage to pick up the phone and call, it was past eleven. Dogged by disappointment, I settled for second best: a look at whether she'd updated her Instagram page. Defaulting to my favorite guilty pleasure when I saw she had not, I went straight to the pictures she’d been tagged in, from her profile.
My favorite, the one of her with a guitar in a cracked desert surrounded by canyons, always made me smile. A light sprinkling of freckles speckled her nose, a contented little smile puckered her lips, the rise of stray wisps of her long hair told of a dry wind, and she looked straight at the camera. The guitar was shiny and black, and it deepened her eyes—a perfect contrast against to reds and oranges of the desert. I had studied the picture for hours, and I would study it again. It always took me to sweet dreams.
After I'd had my fill and was about to plug in my phone, a text came in from Roxy.
Too keyed up to sleep.
I tapped out my reply immediately.
Me, too. There's someone I can't get off my mind.
But she was so adorable, and I'd missed her so much that I had to pick up the phone and call.
"Shall I hum you a lullaby?” I asked.
She laughed. I hadn't even waited for her to say a greeting.
"Tell the truth, Jagger. Are you some kind of Stepford droid?"
I didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but in that moment I loved her voice. It was soft, perhaps so as not to wake up the chief. Either that or her mood changed when she was in bed. I got a little hard imagining what she must be wearing. I suppressed the urge to ask.
"What's wrong with lullabies?" I asked instead.
"If you sang me a lullaby it would fuel my suspicion that you're freakishly perfect."
"I play the piano, too.
" I offered.
"See? Now you're just trying to impress me."
"You caught me. Is it working?"
I held my breath.
"Yes,” she whispered.
Euphoria.
"Will you come over one day so I can play for you?"
Her voice was low and sultry when she said, "Only if you show me your room."
My hand that wasn't holding the phone slid down to restrain my cock. It's okay, boy, I appeased it gently. Don't freak out—she's only teasing.
"Are you trying to kill me, Ms. Vega?"
"You caught me. Is it working?"
My chuckle held a hint of desperation. "At this rate, I'll be dead by Friday."
Our talk in Littleton had really moved the ball, and I was awed by this new side of Roxy. It felt more and more like she was being herself. I loved seeing evidence that she was getting more comfortable with me, loved the little ways she showed me her trust. I hadn't realized until today how much she'd held back.
"I guess I'd better hear you play tomorrow, then."
"Sorry, love." I said sadly, "I'm busy." The patients at the hospital needed me.
"Maybe next week then." She sounded a little deflated.
Screw that.
"How about Friday? You could come over then."
"Aren't Fridays when you hang out with Gunther and Declan?"
"Everyone can come over—we'll make it a triple date. They won't mind."
Sound casual.
"You could even meet my parents."
Act like it's not a big deal. Wait, no! Act like it is a big deal. Because it is.
"They really want to meet you, Roxx. They've been bugging me to have you over for dinner."
Shit. That sounded like my parents wanted her there more than me.
"But I really want to have you for dinner, too."
Seriously, Jagger. Shut the hell up.
"You told your parents about me?" Thank God she sounded more surprised than pissed off or weirded out.
