Firsts: Book One’s

by Moore, Portia

  “Guilty,” I say quietly. There’s no sense in trying to hide it now.

  “I remember you too, Megan.” He’s standing now and is pretty tall. I’m 5’7” and he’s still at least a half foot taller than me.

  “You remembered mine because of this,” I point to my name tag and he shakes his head, looking innocent.

  “No. I’ve been replaying our brief encounter every day since I met you.” He says this while his eyes are locked on mine.

  “Why?” I ask, my voice small in the large store, even though it’s just the two of us in it. His wide smile that glows like the sun dims and he lets out his a sigh.

  “I broke up with my ex-girlfriend three months ago,” he says, his voice wavering. The vulnerability in it catches me off guard, the sadness in it.

  “Don’t tell me I look like her?” I half chuckle, praying he says I don’t.

  He wants a cheap imitation.

  “No, you’re complete opposites, she’s a redhead, short, loud.” He laughs at the last part.

  “Anyway…I’m doing this all wrong.” He lets out a laugh and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. I can tell he’s nervous about talking to me, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

  “The day I met you was the first time I didn’t think about having to start over without her. I could only think about the girl with those hypnotic eyes that got away.”

  This isn’t good. It’s not good at all because in my twenty-two years of life, I’ve said a million no’s, and saying another one should be easy. But today I think my streak is over…and I’m going to tell him yes.

  Ian

  “Holy shit!” Travis shouts. Boom! The car behind us slams into the back of us so hard I have to brace myself so my head doesn’t hit the dashboard.

  “Are you good?” he asks through a groan, holding his head.

  “Yeah,” I say, rubbing my elbows that slammed against the dash.

  “We’ve got to switch seats, my license is suspended,” he says frantically.

  “Switch seats? I’ve had a half a gallon of tequila! I can’t go to jail for a fucking DUI!”

  “Fuck!!! I’m going to kick whoever’s ass hit us,” he growls.

  “It’s not our fault they hit us from the back. Maybe they’ll let us go without calling the cops,” I tell him, seeing he’s starting to panic.

  “Go look at the damage and see who did it. I won’t be able to talk to them without punching them in the face.” He’s gripping the steering wheel for dear life.

  I grimace and get out of the car. As hard as we were hit, it wasn’t as much damage as I expected, probably because we’re in a big-ass truck. The car behind us is a black Porsche and it looks like it’s been beat in the front with a sledgehammer.

  “A Porsche bro!” Travis squeals, sounding like a little bitch while he’s peering out the window.

  “Calm down,” I tell him. He looks like he’s about to shit himself. I head over to the driver’s side of the car and don’t see anyone in it. The driver is slumped down.

  “Shit, I think they’re hurt!” I yell to Travis as I jog over to the driver’s side.

  “Fuuck!” he shouts. I look through the window. It’s a girl, her long dark hair covering her face. “Wait, she’s moving. Call the ambulance dude!” I start to open the door.

  “Are you okay?!” I shout and hear tires screeching. This fucktard is leaving!

  “Travis!!” I shout, running after the car as fast as I can before he’s no longer in sight. I’m going to kick his ass! I should have known he was going to bail.

  Fuck!

  I run back towards the Porsche. Thank God she’s moving! The door opens and she stumbles out, slightly disoriented, but pulling it together.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. My friend took off,” I say, out of breath. She moves the hair off of her face and my heart, which was pounding out of fear and anger, starts to pound for an entirely different reason.

  This girl looks like she’s straight out of a Maxim magazine.

  A tight black halter top holds her tits and showcases her flat, toned stomach. Her jeans look molded to her body and she’s wearing black boots that reach her thighs with a heel she could slit someone’s throat with.

  Things just got really fucking interesting.

  “What the hell?!” she shouts at me angrily. It catches me off guard.

  “You short-stopped and made me slam into you!” she yells, walking towards me with the fury of hell. I expected her voice to be deep and throaty but it’s light and super feminine, and it makes me laugh. She’s completely ridiculous because we didn’t stop short.

  “Is this funny to you? Well it won’t be as funny when I call the cops,” she threatens, wobbling back over to her car.

  “Wait!” I run back towards her and slide in front of her door. She can’t call the cops. I can’t deal with this shit today, especially in the fucking boonies.

  “Just hear me out,” I plead.

  She looks up at me as if she’s about to use every piece of profanity she ever learned, but our eyes lock. From far off they looked dark, sultry, and forbidden, with the deep black eyeliner painted across her lids. But up close they’re grey like a storm, wide, almond-shaped, innocent, and almost sad. Not what I pictured them to be. But then her full lips curve into a grin and just like that she’s one of the sexiest girls I’ve ever seen.

  If there was ever a girl that looked like trouble, it’s her.

  She leans close to me, she smells like vanilla and candy. She’s so close and she lifts her head, and for a moment I feel like the luckiest bastard alive and believe she’s going to kiss me, but her lips move to my ear.

  “I bet you’re used to girls doing anything you want them to,” she purrs seductively in my ear. I smile down at her, her pout covered with a deep red lipstick.

  “I’m just asking for a favor,” I whisper back, and my eyes follow her long dark hair trailing from her shoulder to between her breasts. I make sure to stop staring at them and she’s grinning at me like she has a secret. I have one for her too. She’s not immune. I’ve got her—she’s quick and feisty with her words but just like most girls, one look at them and a lick of my lips and she’s a Jeanie ready to be commanded…FUCK!!!

  She kicked me in the nuts!

  “You need to know about boundaries!” she says matter-of-factly as I clutch my balls for dear life.

  “This is my space.” She draws an invisible line with her fingers.

  “That is your space, so please don’t cross it unless invited. The more important question is, who is going to pay for the damage?” she asks casually, like she just didn’t knee me in the fucking balls.

  “You’re psycho!” I screech, trying to stand up.

  “I’ve been called much worse. Just give me whatever cash you have on you,” she demands. I have never had the urge to hit a girl before and she’s the first, but it’s nuts because I’ve never wanted to kiss one so badly before either. She smiles widely at me as if she can read my mind.

  “You know what, it doesn’t matter. I have somewhere to be and this isn’t even my car.” She laughs, opening her door and hopping in.

  “Wait!” I plead. She looks at me indifferently as I hobble over to her.

  “You can’t just leave me here!” We’re on the highway in the middle of nowhere.

  “Why not? Your friend did,” she says through a laugh, and I remember how bad I’m going to kick Travis’ ass.

  “I don’t have my phone, I left it in the car.” She glares at me, both bored and unphased.

  “I got out of the car to make sure you were alive. Do I get any points for that?” She’s staring at me now, eyes narrowed in on me, contemplating.

  “If you try anything funny I’ll run us both off the road,” she says with a wide grin that’s both fantastic and terrifying. For a moment I think I’m better off walking.

  “Get in if you’re coming!” I stagger my way over to the passenger door and hop in. The car is a beast,
aside from the damage in the front. It’s black-on-black interior and smells just like money. She zooms off after turning her radio on and blasting the music. I look over at her, she looks about twenty-one or twenty-two. She’s hot and knows it. She’s as sexy as a stripper but has this air about her where she could be a spoiled trust fund kid. I’ve had both types of girls but there’s something different about this one and it’s nagging the shit out of me.

  “Are you headed to the city?” I ask finally.

  “Which one?” she replies dryly.

  “Chicago,” I say, as if it’s obvious.

  “Maybe,” she says shortly, and it’s irritating. I’m not used to being around a girl who doesn’t give me their full attention, and she’s acting like I’m a nuisance.

  “Do you normally crash people’s cars and knee guys in the balls?” I ask lightly.

  “Do you normally get ditched in the middle of nowhere and practically try to kiss strangers on the side of the road?” she counters.

  “I did not try to kiss you,” I tell her defensively.

  “Good, because that would have been a pretty pathetic attempt.” Damn she’s mean.

  “It’s one thing to kick a guy in the balls, now you’re just stomping on them,” I joke, and that gets half a grin from her.

  “So is this your boyfriend’s car?” I ask curiously and she glances over at me.

  “Sugar daddy’s,” she says without missing a beat, and my heart sinks. Of course the one girl I’m attracted to is one step away from becoming a prostitute.

  “I’m kidding. Having some wrinkly guy on top of me that smells like Bengay would make me puke.” She laughs and I join in.

  “Stripper?” I ask, half serious, and she rolls her eyes.

  “Thief actually. You’d be surprised how easy it is to steal from men when they’re thinking about screwing you,” she retorts.

  “Are you serious?” I ask, amused.

  “As a heart attack,” she purrs, and I push my hands in my pocket to make sure my wallet isn’t missing. She giggles, catching me.

  “Uh, maybe you should slow down,” I tell her, putting my seat belt on once I notice she’s going over 90.

  “Don’t be a pussy, I’m running late,” she says easily.

  “Pussy? Sweetheart, you have no idea how wrong you are,” I tell her with a chuckle.

  Not less than five seconds later a cop is behind us with flashing lights. It looks like a state trooper. Great, just fucking great. I wait for her to slow down but instead I see the speedometer creeping up.

  “Are you going to pull over?”

  “The thing is, I didn’t exactly tell him I was using this,” she says after turning the radio down.

  “You’re shitting me!” I spit.

  “I told you I’m a thief,” she says indignantly. I burst into laughter out of both nervousness and the ridiculousness of this situation.

  “I can outrun him,” she says, as if it’s no big deal.

  “He’s going to call for backup!” I yell at her.

  “I’ve done this before. It’s fine,” she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the freakin world. I put my head between my legs and prepare for both of our asses to be hauled off to jail.

  * * *

  I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel fingers graze the back of my neck. I shove them away even though it wakes up every part of me. I raise my head and see her smiling, an amused glint in her eye as she looks at me. I sit up and look behind us and don’t see a cop car in sight

  “How did you do that?” I ask her, shocked.

  “I have a lot of experience running,” she answers, and for the first time her words aren’t clouded with confidence and sarcasm. But I still think she’s batshit crazy.

  “How far are we from Chicago?” I ask, relief flooding through my body.

  “My GPS says two hours,” she responds.

  “Good,” I mutter, sliding back into the plush leather. My heart has never beat so fast in my life.

  “You didn’t shit yourself did you?” she asks, chuckling.

  “I came pretty fucking close,” I tell her, half angry, half turned on.

  “If they would have caught me I would have told them you had nothing to do with it,” she says innocently, and nothing about this girl is innocent.

  “And if it helps, the guy I stole this car from is a complete prick and won’t even realize it’s gone until next week some time. Some people have way more than they should,” she mumbles, and I know she’s venting more than offering me an explanation. After a few moments of silence her phone rings, which she promptly declines.

  “Boyfriend?” I quip.

  “I’m a lesbian,” she responds straight-faced, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

  “Only because I fuck myself.”

  I went from being turned on a little to being turned on a whole lot, but push those thoughts out of my head.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Isn’t that a personal question?” She seems offended.

  “Only if you’re a fugitive,” I tease her, and she giggles.

  “Jennifer,” she says quickly, and I look at her knowing that she spouted off a fake name.

  I let my window roll all the way down and relish the wind.

  “The air’s on—why are you putting the window down?” she asks curiously.

  “Oh, the car is starting to smell like it’s full of shit.” I laugh, and I’m surprised when she does too. She glances at me through the rearview mirror.

  “It’s Alana,” she says quietly.

  “Alana…I like that name.” I give her a flirtatious smile but I’m feeling frustrated. Usually my charm works a lot better on girls but right now it’s failing miserably…and the more it does, the more I’m intrigued.

  “You’re cute, I admit that, but I’m not your type.”

  “Who said I was flirting with you?” I retort. Her grin softens and her grey eyes narrow in on mine. I swallow hard.

  “You’re not flirting with me?” she asks in a pretty cocky manner, her voice low and seductive.

  “I’d have to be an idiot to flirt with a girl who kicked me in the nuts and is driving a stolen car,” I tell her, as well as myself, and she bites the corner of her lip.

  “You’d be insane, too,” she agrees with me happily. My eyes glide over her body. She’s so freakin hot, and the crazy thing is it turns me on a little. I look up and see a rest stop five miles away.

  “Can we stop there? I’m starving,” I ask, and she shoots me an amused glare.

  “You have your wallet?” she asks accusingly.

  “Come on, I know you can spare five bucks to buy a guy—who you just kicked in the nuts—a sandwich,” I say accusingly, holding back a laugh.

  “Okay but you’re ordering off the value menu,” she says, irritated. She pulls into the rest stop but there’s only a Red Lobster, a Burger King, and a Subway that’s closed.

  “I could really go for their fried shrimp.” She scowls at me. “Or a burger and fries sound good,” I relent. We pull into the drive-through; she places the order and pulls out a bill from her back pocket, handing it to the worker in the window.

  “Hold on, I don’t think we have this much to give back change,” the cashier says, holding it up to see if it’s real. I can’t help but wonder why she’d be carrying around a hundred dollar bill. I dig in my pocket and hand her a twenty. She takes it from me and exchanges it with the employee, stuffing her money back in her pocket before handing me the food.

  “I thought I’d have change,” I remind her, and she just smiles at me.

  “I thought you didn’t have any money,” she points out.

  “Now I don’t know if you’re a stripper or a miser.” Her eyebrow arches.

  “Miser? What are you, an old English professor?” She laughs before driving off. I tear into my burger and watch as she stuffs a fry in her mouth.

  “I’m runnin
g so behind,” she mutters with a sigh. “Where do you need to be dropped off? Actually, just put it in my GPS.” She hands me her phone.

  “I thought you’d just drop me off on a random corner in the city.”

  “That does sound like a much better idea, but you might cry or something,” she teases dryly.

  We’re both quiet the rest of the drive but it’s not awkward like it can be when first meeting someone. It’s comfortable and kind of perfect. Her silence is almost as good as when she speaks. It gives me time to take in her energy, which is so different from when she’s talking. Time goes by so fast that we’re back in the city and only a few minutes from my cousin Travis’ house.

  I’m anxious now, the clock has started. I don’t have a number, and I hope her name is real, but it feels like I’m about to walk away from a checkpoint in my life, and she’s a crossroad—one that will lead me down two different paths. This girl is the absolute last person I should want to get to know but there’s something about her, something that’s different from any girl I’ve ever met. I know it’ll haunt me if I leave it here. She’s the kind of conundrum that guys on their death beds still think of asking themselves what if?

  We pull down the block and in front of the three-apartment building my uncle owns. My cousin and I have been allowed to stay on the top floor as long as he’s in school.

  “This looks like your stop.” She puts the car in park. I watch her as her eyes scan the neighborhood.

  “You don’t plan on coming back and robbing anyone?” I joke. She gives me a dismissive grin. I’m stalling for time, at least trying to get some information so I can find her on Facebook. I don’t have a Facebook but Travis does and he’s going to owe me even after the ass kicking I give him.

  “Do you live here? In Chicago, I mean?” I ask her before getting out.

  “Not really,” she says noncommittally, looking at her nails.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I tell her, opening the door. But I can’t get out. Not without asking her at least. I can’t let her sit in my head as the one that got away, even though my brain is telling me to let this go. I meet beautiful women all the time, girls who are normal and looking to have a good time, who aren’t crazy, but I feel glued to her.