The Infinite Moment of Us

by Lauren Myracle

  It meant something to him, too. She was leaving in two days, which he hated. He would take every minute with her he could.

  He greeted Tessa, who’d opened the front door to let him in, and handed her a bouquet of orange tulips. “Hey,” he said. “Thanks for having me over.”

  “Oh, Charlie, what a gentleman,” Tessa exclaimed. “I can’t believe you brought flowers!”

  Charlie shrugged self-consciously. He’d looked up “dinner party etiquette” online.

  “Come on in,” Tessa said, and Charlie stepped inside. He knew from Wren that Tessa’s mom taught yoga. “A bit floofy-doofy, but she’s nice,” Wren had said. The “floofydoofy” explained the dream catchers hanging in the windows, the folk art, the butterfly wind chime. On the mantel behind Tessa, Charlie spotted a collection of black Santa Clauses. Huh. Christmas in August?

  Christmas seemed far away, while August was relentlessly upon them. Two days, two days. The minutes, hours, and days ticked by too fast.

  “Wren, Charlie’s here!” Tessa called.

  “He is?” Wren said, her voice coming from upstairs. She appeared at the top of the steps. “Charlie! Hi!”

  Charlie’s heart turned over. She was wearing what he supposed might be called a cocktail dress. It was pale blue and clung to her curves. There were straps instead of sleeves. The skirt, which was fuller than the top, swayed against her thighs as she hurried down the stairs. She came to him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and rose to her toes. She rubbed her cheek against his.

  “You’re stubbly,” she whispered, her breath warm on his ear. “You look hot with a little stubble.”

  “And you look beautiful, baby,” Charlie said, slipping his arm around her. He’d refrained from shaving on purpose, knowing she liked him this way, and he knew from a quick peek down her dress that she was wearing her sexiest bra, the one with the sheer, leaf-patterned lace. He knew she wore it on purpose, wanting to please him.

  “Why, thank you,” she said. “Can I offer you some champagne?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, please.”

  “Well, right this way,” she said, leading him farther into the house.

  As soon as they were out of Tessa’s line of sight, Charlie said, “Hey. There’s something I need to do.”

  Wren stopped. “There is?”

  He touched her lower lip, then lowered his hand and cupped her breast. She gasped, and Charlie ran his thumb over her nipple. She pressed against him, and when she closed her eyes, he kissed her long and hard.

  “God, Charlie,” she murmured. Her cheeks were flushed, and she put her hands on his chest. He felt very tender toward her. Her protector, her man. He took her chin and gazed at her, and she smiled up at him.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

  P.G. was late, and Tessa lit into him the minute he walked in the door, but then she noticed the box he held. It was large enough to hold a soccer ball, or a puppy. The box wasn’t wrapped, but it didn’t need to be, because it was coated with gold dust and topped off with a huge gold bow.

  “A present? For me?” Tessa said, giving a quick series of claps. “Oh yay! Can I open it? What is it?” Her eyes widened, and the volume of her voice shot up. “Oh my God, is it what I think it is?!”

  “It better not be,” Wren said.

  Charlie glanced at her and saw that she looked alarmed.

  “P.G.?” Wren said. “It’s not, is it? It’s, like, a coffeemaker for her dorm room. Right?”

  Charlie was lost.

  Tessa hopped up from the kitchen table where she, Wren, and Charlie had been enjoying champagne and cheese straws. She bounded toward P.G., who lifted the box high.

  “Not yet,” he said. He placed the gold box on the kitchen counter. “You have to wait. If you don’t, you won’t get it.”

  “P.G.!”

  Tessa lunged for P.G., and P.G. took her in his arms and spoke in a low voice. Charlie couldn’t make out what he said, but Tessa rolled her eyes. She whispered into P.G.’s ear, covering her mouth with her hand, and P.G. grinned.

  “Definitely,” he said.

  Charlie found Wren’s knee under the table. He ran his hand under her dress and up her leg, making her press her lips together, as well as her thighs. She shot him a look. He shrugged and grinned, too.

  Tessa suggested that they eat. “I made lasagna, and it is marvelous,” she said. “Wren made the salad, and it’s okay, too.”

  “Ha-ha,” Wren said. “I made the lasagna, and brownies for dessert. Tessa made the salad.”

  “Details, details,” Tessa said.

  As Tessa loaded up everyone’s plates, Charlie’s hand traveled higher between Wren’s thighs. Tessa sat down, and everyone dug in, chatting and laughing. Charlie stayed in the conversation, but his real interest lay elsewhere. With his hand that was under the table, he reached the lace bordering Wren’s panties. Wren dropped her piece of bread. She tried to act as if nothing unusual was going on, but her hand joined his under the table. She clutched his forearm. Her fingernails dug into his skin.

  “I’m sorry, what?” she said to P.G., and P.G. repeated a plot detail of the story he was telling.

  Charlie’s fingers went to the strip of silk stretched over Wren’s crotch. Wren’s grip on him tightened. He looped his thumb under the top edge of Wren’s panties and tugged the fabric upward, and finally Wren couldn’t take it anymore. She gripped Charlie’s wrist and moved his hand forcibly away, relocating it to his own thigh and pressing down on it for several seconds to ensure that he’d stay put.

  “Jesus,” she said under her breath, but the look she gave him thrilled him.

  “I want you,” he mouthed.

  She laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Tessa said.

  “Blame Charlie; it’s his fault,” Wren said.

  “It always is,” Charlie said.

  “I blame you, Charlie,” Tessa said. “Are you going to let us in on the joke?”

  “Leave the poor kids alone,” P.G. said. “They’re young and in love. What more do you need to know?”

  The minute everyone finished eating, Tessa shoved back her chair and said, “Well, that was delicious, and now I think P.G. should give me my present. Wren, do you agree? Charlie?”

  “No,” Wren said.

  “Sure,” Charlie said, and Wren lightly slapped his leg. “I mean, no, this is a terrible time. Sorry, Tessa.” In his pocket, his phone vibrated. The ringer was off, for Wren’s sake. It vibrated again. He’d check it when he could.

  P.G. rose from the table. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a second bottle of champagne. He topped off Tessa’s glass and asked Wren if she would like a refill.

  “I’m good,” Wren said, covering her glass. She moved her other hand higher on Charlie’s leg, and heat spread through him. She smelled sweet, and her body was soft, and she had no idea what she did to him. She might think she did, but she didn’t.

  He swallowed and whispered, “You’re so gorgeous.”

  “I am?”

  He had a dead-on view of her breasts, which threatened to spill from her see-through bra. Damn, it was hard not to touch her. “You are.”

  “We can hear you, you know!” Tessa called from across the table. She was a little drunk—they were all a little drunk—but it was okay. All four of them were spending the night there, which meant no driving.

  P.G. poured champagne into Charlie’s glass and his own, then proposed they adjourn to the den.

  “To open my present?” Tessa said.

  “To open your present,” P.G. said. “Although it’s not a coffeemaker, just to warn you.”

  “Oh God,” Wren said. She stood up. “I’ll get the brownies.”

  “I am not doing the dishes,” Tessa said. “Not yet, possibly not ever.” She, too, rose from the table. P.G. grabbed the gold box, and the two of them headed for the den.

  “Do you need help?” Charlie asked Wren.

  She smiled and
said, “Nah, I’ve got it. You go on. I’ll be right there.”

  His phone vibrated again. He paused in the hallway and pulled it out.

  Two voice mails, both from Ammon. That wasn’t what he’d expected. He felt a pang of guilt, because he hadn’t been much of a friend to Ammon these last two months. Ammon had asked Charlie if he wanted to hang out tonight, but Charlie had begged off. Ammon gave him hell until Charlie told him that it was a special dinner set up by Wren and Tessa.

  “You know how girls get about these things,” Charlie had said.

  “No, unfortunately, I don’t,” Ammon had said.

  Charlie explained that there’d be no parents and no curfew, and that Wren was leaving for Guatemala on Monday. Only then did Ammon lay off.

  Charlie pressed PLAY and raised the phone. “Charlie, call me,” Ammon said, sounding tense. “I’m at Piedmont Park. There’s a bunch of us here, including Starrla, and I messed up, dude. She asked me where you were. I didn’t tell her, I swear, but she kept hounding me and asking, ‘Well, is he is at this place or that place? Huh?’ And she mentioned Tessa, and—” Charlie heard loud voices in the background. A guy yelled, “Shit! No fucking way! No fucking way, dude!”

  Ammon spoke again. “Sorry. Crazy scene. But Starrla’s on a tear, and the guys she’s with, they’re not from Southview. I get the feeling—”

  The voice mail cut off. Charlie was about to punch PLAY to hear the second message, but Wren swished out of the kitchen in her sexy blue dress, carrying a plate of brownies in front of her.

  She smiled at him. “You waited for me. You are so sweet.”

  “That’s me,” he said, slipping his phone into his pocket and striding to her. He placed his hands on her waist. He slid his hands to her lower back and then to her perfect ass, pulling her closer.

  He thought of Starrla and whatever trouble she was getting into.

  No. He would not think of Starrla or whatever assholes she chose to get wasted with. Only Wren.

  Wren spun out of his grip. “Come along, young Charlie. I will corrupt you with my delicious brownies.”

  “Be right there,” he said. He tugged at his jeans. “Except I might have a hard time walking for a minute.”

  She looked slightly shocked, and then pleased. She winked and swished off, and his dick, which had begun to soften, grew stiff again. It was mind-blowing how easily, and often, she aroused him.

  He shook his head. He needed to listen to Ammon’s second message, whether he wanted to or not.

  “Get a new phone, bro,” played Ammon’s recorded voice. “And I strongly suggest that you and Wren get out of there. Get out of Tessa’s house, and tell Tessa to maybe—”

  Charlie had a hard time hearing Ammon over whatever was going on in Tessa’s den. He pressed the phone closer and hunched over.

  “—over there.” Charlie heard Ammon sigh. “Just watch yourself. And call me when you can.”

  Charlie closed his phone. What the hell was Ammon talking about, and why tonight? Starrla’s craziness, that was real. Assholes getting drunk and belligerent? Of course. But Ammon telling Charlie to get the four of them out of Tessa’s house seemed extreme. Unless Starrla wanted to stage a face-off with Wren, or with Charlie …?

  “Hey, Charlie!” Tessa called from the den. “What’s the hold up, dude?”

  Wren, laughing, called, “Yeah, I need you. Get in here!”

  He raked a hand through his hair, put on a grin, and followed the voices to the den. He didn’t want Wren thinking his attention had been elsewhere.

  “Can I open it now?” Tessa said. “Please?”

  The gold box was on the coffee table. Tessa pressed her palms together and made puppy-dog eyes at P.G.

  “Wait,” Charlie said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, um, got a call from Ammon. I think we should head out.”

  “Huh?” Wren said.

  Charlie heard the hum of a distant motor. Headlight beams washed through the windows, and Tessa shielded her eyes.

  “Whoa, not cool,” she said. She raised her voice. “Hey, people! Don’t use my driveway to turn around in!”

  “We have to go,” Charlie said. “We have to go. Now.”

  “Charlie, why?” Wren said. “What’s going on?”

  Charlie strode to the window. It was too dark for him to recognize the driver. Without looking at Wren, he said, “P.G., I think we might have some visitors.”

  P.G. appeared by his side. “Dude, what are you talking about?”

  A car door opened. Then another. Voices spilled into the night, raucous and crude.

  Tessa got to her feet and joined Charlie and P.G. “What the …? Shit. Is that Starrla Pettit?”

  Wren went to the window. She looked small, and Charlie wanted to stop her. Freeze her in time. Keep her safe. She put her hands on either side of her face and peered out the glass, and a sour taste rose in Charlie’s throat.

  She stepped back, and her retreat made their visitors hoot.

  “Come back, sweet thing!” one of them said. They were out of the car and almost to Tessa’s front door.

  The door. P.G. had been the last to arrive. Had he locked the door behind him?

  The knob rotated. Charlie strode forward, but it was too late. The door opened, and a guy the size of a bouncer jammed his foot into the crack before Charlie could slam it shut. The bouncer shouldered his way in, and Starrla and two other guys followed on his heels.

  “Not cool,” P.G. said.

  “Charlie, hiiiii!” Starrla exclaimed, and Charlie heard how drunk she was.

  “You need to leave,” he said.

  “Or not,” she said, scanning the room. She spotted Wren and whistled, or tried to, but failed because she was also laughing. She tottered on her high heels. “Whoa. I mean, whoa.”

  Charlie’s hands formed fists. “Starrla, stop.”

  “But, Charlie.” She grabbed her bouncer friend for balance. She mock-whispered, “I knew she was stacked, but whoa. Get that dress off her, and we’s talking porno.”

  The bouncer laughed, and Charlie swung, throwing a cross punch straight to the bouncer’s jaw. It was a solid punch and should have taken him out, but the bouncer only crinkled his wide brow. Then his forehead smoothed.

  “Oh buddy,” he said. “Bad idea.”

  He swung at Charlie, but he broadcast the punch the way a four-year-old might, and Charlie dodged the blow. The bouncer’s friends circled in, and so did P.G.

  “You guys need to leave,” P.G. said.

  “Or I could shove your head up your ass,” the bouncer said.

  “Or you could leave. Tessa, call the police.”

  Charlie glanced from Starrla’s friends to Starrla. Her expression was careful, but her eyes burned as if she had a fever. She started across the room.

  Pain skyrocketed through him. One of the bouncer’s friends had thrown a solid uppercut to his solar plexus. He couldn’t breathe, which meant he couldn’t warn Wren, except Starrla wasn’t going for Wren. Not yet. She made a beeline for the coffee table, for the oversize gold box.

  “Hey, no!” Tessa cried.

  “Aw, a pwesent,” Starrla slurred. “For me?”

  “Charlie, help,” Wren whispered.

  Starrla opened the box.

  snow globe, and inside the globe was a farmhouse with a picket fence. From The Wizard of Oz, Wren thought disjointedly. Because there’s no place like home.

  Starrla lifted the snow globe and looked at Wren. Her eyes glittered. She couldn’t seem to focus quite right. “Is this from Charlie?” she said. “A happy, happy house for the two of you to live in?”

  Wren had nothing. No words, no thoughts, no … nothing. She was hollow inside, and when Starrla raised the snow globe, she did nothing.

  Glass flew everywhere, and water, and snowflakes, and everyone jumped.

  Starrla stepped on Dorothy’s miniature farmhouse, grinding it against the floor with the toe of her shoe, and Tessa cried, “What is wrong with you?”

/>   Starrla swayed but righted herself. She held Wren’s gaze. “There. Now it’s broken, just like Charlie.”

  Wren turned to Charlie, who was pale. She wanted to go to him, but she was broken. A bird with no wings. Her words stayed broken, too—broken boys, broken birds, broken words—but she forced them out, using sheer will-power.

  “No,” she said. “He’s not broken. You’re not broken, Charlie. Stop looking like that.”

  “Oh, but he is,” Starrla said. She veered toward Charlie in her awful high heels and baby-doll socks. “Want me to tell her, baby? Want me to tell her how broken you is? But it’s okay. I’m broken, too.”

  “Starrla,” Charlie said. “Please.”

  Wren didn’t understand. “Please”? “Baby”?

  The guy Starrla had come with, the one in the leather jacket, took a step, glass crunching beneath his motorcycle boot.

  “Hey, Star—”

  “Tyson, shut up,” Starrla said, and Tyson held his hands out, palms forward.

  There was something not right with Starrla, and it wasn’t just her eyes. Everyone saw it, and the energy in the room grew charged in a different way than before.

  “Baby,” she said again. “I need you, baby. That’s why I’m here. I need you, and you need me!”

  “No,” Charlie said. His throat worked. “You need to leave.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” Starrla said, her voice rising. “That’s how you treat a damn dog, Charlie. Toss it in the garage and throw away the key. That’s what your junkie mom did, right? Locked you in the garage like a mutt from the pound?”

  Charlie went pale. Wren’s stomach dropped out.

  “Starrla—” he tried.

  “What, Charlie?” Starrla demanded. She gestured at Wren. “You like her tits better than mine? Okay. Do you suck them like you sucked mine? Okay, that’s super. That’s great. Have fun. But do you cry on her shoulder first, boo hoo hoo, and tell her all about your poor sad childhood?”

  Wren started to cry.

  Starrla graced her with her skit-around gaze. “Oh, you didn’t know?” She barked a laugh. “Guess there’s a lot you don’t know, bitch. Oops.”