The Book Of Firsts

by Portia Moore

  Is it some kind of bet? Or a test, maybe? I try to push all of those questions out of my mind as I sneak out of the house before Hillary and Angie wake up. I settle into my favorite corner of my school’s library. It’s a Monday morning so there’s a few more people here than usual, everyone playing catch-up from their weekend shenanigans. By the time I finish my paper for history class, I have three unread text messages on my phone. The first is from Angela.

  You are not getting out of this without giving me every detail of what happened.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  There’s another message from Hillary.

  You can run but you can’t hide ;-)

  “Yes I can,” I mutter to myself, amused. The third is from an unknown number.

  My favorite food is Mexican. I’m a Leo and I’d rather gouge my eyes out than take long walks on the beach…

  My eyebrows scrunch together in complete confusion. It must be a wrong number. I start to text that. Then my thoughts flash to last night.

  No way… could it be?

  I set my phone down and try to concentrate on studying for my test in less than two hours but my thoughts drift back to the mysterious text message. My curiosity gets the best of me. I pull up the unknown text message.

  Who is this?

  I find myself nervously biting my lip. Get a grip! I wait a few minutes and nothing. The message was sent twenty minutes ago but for some reason I expect an immediate response. I pull up the notes on my laptop and begin to read them when my phone vibrates.

  Don’t tell me I’m that forgettable ;-)?

  My heartbeat accelerates.

  This wouldn’t happen to be the eavesdropping jerk from last night, would it?

  Lucky for me, my feelings aren’t easily hurt.

  How did he get my number? I set the phone down, pretending to decide if I’ll respond or not, but I already know I am. I’m not sure what it is about this guy, because he’s sort of rude, super cocky, and obviously full of himself. But it sort of makes him interesting.

  How did you get my number?

  I have my ways.

  The ways of a stalker?

  Ouch. I’m heartbroken

  I laugh at this.

  I bet.

  I’m not a stalker, just persistent about what I want.

  I start to type a text, but I stop. I know I should choose my words carefully. Almost as if what I say next is going to lead me down one of two paths. The safe one or down the same road that caused Alice to fall through the rabbit hole. I stare at the phone and back at my laptop. I choose the phone.

  And what is it that you want?

  I expect there to be a lull after I send the message but it vibrates almost immediately.

  You.

  My stomach drops and my skin heats up. I fidget in my seat. God he’s bold. I want to say that I don’t like it, that it’s arrogant and a turn off, but God help me. I’m intrigued more and more.

  So much so you sent a text instead of calling?

  I text back and less than a minute later my phone is ringing. The same unknown number. My stomach was already on the floor but it’s fell to the core of the earth at this point.

  Don’t be such a scaredy cat. I look around for a scolding librarian and don’t see anyone.

  “Hello?” I answer in a low whisper.

  “Is this your phone sex voice?” he asks, his voice deep and tinged with amusement. I roll my eyes.

  “I’m in the library,” I respond back, annoyed.

  “Then you must really like me enough to answer?” he says teasingly. I shouldn’t have answered so fast.

  “Are you always this full of yourself?”

  “Only on weekdays.” He laughs; it’s deep and masculine. I hate that I like his laugh.

  “I want to see you,” he says playfully, as if this is a game. And maybe it is, but why am I playing?

  “Why? If you’re Steven’s best friend you know that we…”

  “That what? He liked you, you turned him down, and here we are,” he replies as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

  “It was because we work together and you work with me too, so there’s no difference,” I say defiantly.

  “Look at this, you’ve checked me out, huh?” My face flushes.

  “I wanted to know who the weird guy was eavesdropping outside of my room!”

  “Sssh,” A girl next to me says with a disapproving frown.

  “Sorry,” I mouth to her.

  “I’ve got to go,” I tell him, exasperated.

  “When are you free?”

  “I just told you…”

  “I’m not proposing to you. I just want to feed you. Can I do that?”

  I bite my lip. I do like to eat, and there’s really no reason to turn down a free meal.

  “I pick the place,” I say adamantly. If he says no, I’ll hang up and never answer for him again.

  “Of course, your Highness,” he says, mimicking an English accent. I can’t help but giggle at that.

  “You have thirty minutes. That’s it,” I tell him. A part of me is hoping my bossiness scares him off, another part hoping that it doesn’t.

  “Tonight at eight. You’re not on the schedule, so you’re free.” He says this as a statement, not really a question.

  “Tonight doesn’t—” I start.

  “See you soon, tonight, princess,” he says. And before I can protest he’s hung up.

  “What a jerk,” I mutter, but I’m grinning.

  “Ssh!” the girl next me says again.

  “Sorry!”

  Before I’m even fully through the door, Hillary’s already bombarding me with questions.

  “Spill. Tell me everything! You disappeared with Steven in the room and he comes out looking like a sad puppy and then you were giving the come fuck me eyes to Michael.”

  “Oh I was not!” I say way too defensively.

  “Then tell me what it was!” I let out a deep sigh and tell her to call Angie so I won’t have to tell this same story twice. She does and puts her on speaker. They both interrupt me several times before I finish.

  “Carly’s had a thing for Steven since she started. I bet she did that on purpose,” Hillary states angrily.

  “I doubt she knew what was going on,” Angie adds in her defense.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. We agreed to be friends,” I reiterate to them. Angie lets out a disappointed sigh.

  “You two would be really cute together.” I feel a tinge of sadness after she says this. I thought I’d be a lot sadder about it today after it happened, but I have to admit, my mind has been on other things. Or should I say, another person.

  “I like Steven and I hope we are able to be friends. He’s really sweet and I’d hate to mess it up,” I say honestly.

  “Maybe you’re right.” Angela sighs.

  “The weird thing about all of this is the Michael thing though. Are they really best friends?” I ask, flopping on the couch. I hope it’s a question that isn’t so obvious that I want to know more about Michael.

  “Guys do weird shit like that. It’s not like you slept with Steven, so technically you’re not off limits, and you’re Michael’s type. Hot.” Hillary laughs.

  “You also seem unattainable, you’re like a challenge for him. Don’t let him win,” Angie warns.

  “I am unattainable. I told you guys I’m not looking to be with anyone right now,” I repeat.

  “That will work great for him since he probably just wants to do you,” Hillary says with a shrug. I start to wring my hands together.

  “Hey… you don’t like him, do you?” she asks, watching me closely.

  “No, I don’t even know him,” I say warily.

  “Good. Because Michael is not the one. Trust me, he’s Mr. Wrong, nowhere near Mr. Right, and like you said, you work with him. It’ll end in disaster,” Angie says, sounding like a teacher in charge of afterschool detention.

  “I don’t care. I’m not into him.” I
pick at the cuticle on my finger. Hillary eyes me suspiciously and I look away from her guiltily.

  Seven

  Needless to say, I don’t tell either of them about my non-date with Michael. The entire conversation was a mood kill but much needed. He’s a ladies man, a player. Angie called him a fuckboy in a big city, who’d probably make the games Daniel played look like hide and seek. I get it, but it still doesn’t stop me from heading to the little Chinese restaurant I told him to meet me at.

  It’d be rude to cancel now.

  That’s what I tell myself, at least.

  It’s not a date so I don’t even have anything cute on. Just jeans and a blue crop top. I don’t even blow dry my hair, I just pile it on top of my head in a messy bun.

  It’s ten after eight and I’m late purposely. If he leaves or hasn’t arrived yet, it will be fate telling me it’s not meant to be. I walk into the restaurant and scan the area. It’s not large or fancy but they have the best orange chicken I’ve ever had. I don’t see him and take it as my sign to leave, but when I turn around, there he is like a damn cat. A big sexy cat. His eyes hone in on me with the same sexy self-satisfied grin.

  “You’re late.” His hands are in his back pockets; he stands towering over me. Today he has on a white button-up, the first three buttons undone and the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and blue jeans.

  “Why didn’t you leave then?” I retort.

  “Good things come to those who wait.” He steps closer to me.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I say, faking exasperation. We head to the table. The restaurant is “seat yourself” and it’s only half full. He slides in front of me and pulls out my chair. “Thanks,” I say with a huff.

  “My pleasure,” he says. I can’t believe this guy. I’m rude and am being kind of a bitch but he seems to like it. We sit down, me first and him next. I pick up the menu even though I know what I want already. I pretend to scan it, and when I put it down I notice he’s staring at me, like I’m some sort of desert that he plans to eat later.

  “Can you stop looking at me like that?”

  “Like what? Princess,” he says, grinning.

  “Like you want to eat me,” I groan.

  “Who says I don’t?”

  I ignore him but my red cheeks give me away. He chuckles and I have to stop myself from growling.

  “Look. I’ll admit you intrigue me. I don’t know why but you do, but I can save us both a lot of time and headache. I’m not having sex with you. I don’t want to have sex with anyone. So, if you’re doing all of this just to get in my pants, save yourself the trouble because it’s not going to happen.”

  After my speech I let out a breath. I hate that he’s so pretty, and he looks even better up close.

  The waitress comes and asks for our order. I get orange chicken, fried rice, and a Sprite. He orders pot stickers, chow mein, and a beer.

  “Not a drinker, huh?” he asks slyly.

  “I tend to not drink with people I don’t know very well.”

  “If you want to get to know me I’ll need more than a half hour,” he retorts.

  “Let’s hope the food’s good tonight, then.”

  “Let’s hope.” He takes a long sip from his glass, keeping eye contact with me the entire time. It’s unnerving, partly annoying, and sort of sexy.

  “Did you tell Steven about this?” I ask. His eyes light up.

  “Would it matter if I did?” he asks.

  “I wouldn’t want you to rub it in his face.”

  I mean this and it causes his expression to soften.

  “I’m not a complete asshole,” he says, partially laughing.

  “Only half of one?” I quip. He fully laughs now.

  “I like you,” he says, rubbing his perfect 5 o’clock shadow.

  “I thought you knew that already.”

  “I said I wanted you. There’s a difference.” He’s leaning his forearms on the table, closing the space between us.

  “You don’t even know me, I haven’t even been nice to you.” I take a sip of my Sprite. The way he watches my lips makes me stop. He laughs.

  “I just want to make sure this isn’t some sort of weird competition thing between the two of you,” I admit.

  “No, it’s not. We both first saw you at the same time.” I arch my brow.

  “At The Vault. It was your birthday,” he continues. I nod, wanting him to finish.

  “Angie nudged Steven your way and pretty much told me you were off limits.” Yep, that sounds like her.

  “She hurt your feelings?” I joke.

  “I love Ang, and I admit I’m not the guy most girls want to hook their best friends up with.”

  “And why is that?” I already know the answer but would like to see how honest he’ll be. He sighs and puts his hands behind his head.

  “I confess… I’m not the boyfriend type.” He chuckles.

  “What type are you, the love ’em and leave ’em kind?” I ask. He runs a hand over his face and laughs.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way, but I don’t really do commitment if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I nod, appreciating his honesty.

  “So I’m here because…” I trail off.

  “I wanted to feed you,” he retorts with his signature smile.

  “I can feed myself.”

  “What else do you do to yourself?” he asks mischievously.

  “That was disgusting,” I scoff.

  “Too much, too soon?” he concedes playfully.

  “Yes. Way too soon,” I warn him.

  “Noted,” he cheeses.

  “Well. I’m not looking for a relationship and you aren’t either. So where does that leave us? I have a feeling you don’t want to be my friend?” I ask.

  He lets out a long slow breath; I can’t help but watch his chest as it fluctuates up and down.

  “There’s always sex,” he says straight-faced.

  “No,” I say sharply.

  “That’s a hard no?” He winces.

  “A hard, fast, and adamant no,” I tell him. He bites his lip and chuckles.

  “So are we done here?” I ask, my entire body flushed. I’m embarrassed, a little angry… and I think partially turned on.

  “Of course not. I haven’t fed you yet,” he reminds me.

  We eat and my nerves lessen, and as they do, my bitchometer goes down bit by bit, but I put it on standby. We talk about my time at The Vault and how he started there. He’s twenty-four and is studying to be a police officer. He rotates between working security and bartending, depending on the needs of the club. He’s from Chicago and grew up in an upper-class suburb in Naperville. He has a sister but she’s twelve years older than him so he grew up pretty much an only child. He wasn’t captain of the football team but was a pretty good Lacrosse player. He turns out to be a good listener, even though he watches me a little too intently, but I could be paranoid. We go over my initial thirty-minute limit and two hours later we’re one of the last tables still there.

  “Are you ready for the check?” our waiter asks, hiding his impatience well.

  “We are,” I tell him. He pays, and I leave the tip much to his disdain. We’re outside now, him still eyeing me as if I’m a piece of cake on a plate for him.

  “Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

  He tilts his head to one side and grins. “No, I like having something just between us.” He’s closer now. I step back, but just a bit.

  “So you’re not going to tell Steven about this?” He lets out the hint of a frustrated sigh.

  “I won’t if you don’t want me to but you shouldn’t be so worried. He’s about to start dating Carly.”

  My eyebrows immediately shoot up.

  “What?” I ask confused. “How do you know?”

  “Because he’s my best friend,” he says simply. I peer up at him, wondering if he’s lying or trying to make me jealous.

  “Steven’s a good dude, but he goes with the win
d. Carly’s had a crush on him since they met and she made her move last night.”

  I try to think how to feel. Happy, jealous? I don’t know Steven well enough to be devastated but I won’t lie if I don’t feel sort of slighted if he moved on to another girl that quick, especially someone I work with. Well, I guess I’m the pot calling the kettle black and they’ve known each other a lot longer than we have.

  “Are you jealous?” he asks, his amazing smile covering any of his own, if he is.

  I thought for a minute. “Maybe a little but… I’m more relieved.”

  “So you don’t have to feel guilty.” He steps closer to me.

  “I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. This is a non-date that wasn’t completely terrible.” I give him a half smile.

  Another step.

  “You do, Lauren.” He laughs but it’s quiet and almost subdued.

  I peer up at him, we’re only inches apart now.

  “About what?” I ask, my voice lightly trembling.

  He leans down and takes my face in both his hands. They’re huge and stronger than Daniel’s grip ever was. He lifts my head up and his lips land on mine. They’re soft and expert as they move. His tongue slips inside as he pulls mine towards him. My legs are weak. What is happening? I’m letting him kiss me. No, I’m kissing him back and I wish that I hated it but I don’t… it’s soft, intense, and amazing. And I don’t want it to end. When it does, I feel lightheaded. He was right. I do feel guilty because I know it’s going to happen again.

  Eight

  I am a terrible liar and I’m even worse at keeping secrets, but I’ve had to. Well, not had to, it just works out better this way. The truth is that Michael and I have been on six non-dates since the night after my housewarming party, which was three weeks ago. I hate lying to my friends and keeping things from them but I know what they’ll say and I just don’t want to hear it right now. Besides, I have to admit it’s sort of exciting. Michael has grown on me, his smart alec attitude and no-holds-barred humor is so different than what I’ve experienced and when we’re making out, it’s on a different level than Daniel and I were ever on. It’s heated and each time it’s gotten harder to stop.