by DL White
He pulls a brochure from the inner pocket of his jacket and slides it across the table. “Knock yourself out.”
The glossy trifold opens to a panoramic view of white sands, blue water, and a sprawling, elegant resort. My brows rise as I run my eye down the package prices. “A week’s stay for a grand per room?”
“Yeah. But that’s the summer deal. We need to book right away to get that price. Also, the McCord’s would have to get married this year, since you have to use the deal before the new prices kick in.”
I almost choke on my breath. I thought we had a year to plan, not months. “And if our friends can’t get away that soon?”
“Then our friends won’t go.”
“Preston…” I breathe, chant, rub the pads of two fingers across my closed eyelids. Then open my eyes. “The point of us planning is so we can coordinate with everyone, right?”
“Nope.” He taps a finger on the corner of the brochure. "The main event is the wedding. The two people that matter are Nate and Morgan.” He pokes up two fingers and sticks them in my face. “Whether or not everyone else can make it, they're going to get married. We plan what’s best for Nate and Morgan, and people will come if they can.”
“That seems…" I squirm, trying to think of an appropriate word. "Harsh.”
“That’s why you and I are planning this event. We tell the McCord’s where to be and when to be there. They enjoy their destination wedding without the hassle of trying to plan an event when everyone can be there. We know that doesn’t exist.”
I glance through the brochure again. I love the idea, but I’m not willing to admit it to Preston. “Maybe we can make it work. I’ll check it out and we can talk again.”
I add #1 to my list and write, Research St Lucia resort—dates and pricing.
Preston taps the surface of the table. “That’s my contribution. What do you think we should get them for a wedding gift? Are they registering?”
“Morgan said they have everything they need. They want us to come to the wedding as their gift.”
“Still, maybe you could work Morgan, and I’ll work Nate and see where we end up. Let everybody know so we can all be thinking about it. Write that down.”
I start writing but stop, rip a page from the tablet and slide the pen across the table. “I’m not your secretary. Make your own list.”
To my surprise, he picks up the pen. In neat letters, he writes #1: Call Angie. Tell her to go fuck herself. Pleased, he slides the pen back across the table, and relaxes, giggling madly.
“You’re a dick,” I tell him, slipping my note pad into my bag. “I’m not going to be doing all of the legwork. We’re both working on this, so you get a to-do list, too.”
“I have a to-do list. Just looks different from yours.”
I push my chair back and stand, sliding the straps of the bag over my shoulder. “I have to go. I have a lot of work to do, thanks to you.”
Preston sets his glass back onto a napkin bearing the Prime logo. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I can see my car from this table, Preston. I’ll be fine.”
Despite my protest, Preston has followed me out of the front door and is annoyingly close behind me. “It’s like you don’t want me to be nice to you, Angie. You wouldn’t know a nice guy if he sat in your lap.”
“I’ll let you know when I meet a nice guy because you’re not one.”
My car sputters to life, and as I drive away, I pass him standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching me leave.
4
Before Preston and I were always at each other's throats, tossing barbs back and forth across a table or a courtroom, we got along quite well.
I'm an only child, but I had friends on our block. Troy was Preston's shadow. Morgan's family lived a few houses down. The McCord's had two wild boys that grew into free-spirited, world-traveling men, and then sweet, gentle Nathan. He was always rescuing a bird that had fallen from its nest or inspecting someone's scraped knee. His father, the senior Dr. Nathan McCord, was our pediatrician until he retired.
We were drawn together, especially Morgan and Nate. That meant Preston and me, as their best friends, were together a lot. We rode bikes and dug in the dirt and played touch football in the summer and basketball in the winter. I was always game for HORSE in the driveway, softball at the park, or biking the trails around our suburban neighborhood.
The summer between sixth and seventh grade brought a change that was night and day.
We’d all planned to walk together on the first day of seventh grade. Preston was waiting on the porch, and I was already late. I hopped down the stairs with my backpack, wearing new jeans that hugged my hips, heeled sandals that showed off sparkly toes, and a white blouse that flared at the waist and was clingy, especially across my chest.
Overnight, I woke up with breasts. Gangly, awkwardly thin arms and legs developed some shape; my hips began to curve, and suddenly I had an ass. I wore form-fitting jeans and dresses that barely kissed my knees, and my legs, long and golden brown, were on display.
It's funny how you can see someone every day and not notice how much they've changed until it’s glaringly apparent. Preston was taller, his hair was cut close, edged, dark, and wavy. He had pecs. His arms had a little bulk to them, and his muscles rippled when he hiked his backpack up onto his shoulder.
And his voice, when he said, “Hey. You ready?” had grown rich and deep.
"You look nice," I said, while we picked our way down the sidewalk to Nate’s, a few houses from mine.
Preston mumbled, "Thanks. You too. Cool shirt."
"You mean cool boobs."
He laughed. I wasn't used to how the sound of it made me shiver but also warmed my insides. “That too.”
"I didn't ask for them. Boobs just show up." I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to Preston. "Are your friends gonna laugh at me?"
“Nah.” Preston looked me over, head to toe. "You look pretty.”
I laughed. He laughed. The gap between his front teeth reminded me that he was the same old Preston.
"Shut up, Preston.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked ahead.
"I mean it."
A quiet moment passed. That flutter in my stomach and the shy smile that crossed my face had never happened before. "Thanks," was all I could manage because I could barely breathe.
Preston was cute. And I wasn't the only one that noticed.
A few inches of growth, a lush head of hair to match his pretty eyes, and a gorgeous smile meant Preston had been declared most desirable at West Orange Junior High. A gaggle of girls showed up at his locker each day and dragged him to sit with them at lunch, where he'd eat and laugh, all the while looking over his shoulder at me and Nate and Morgan at our table. I didn't mind most of the girls. We'd all gone to school together and were all friends.
But there’s always one bitch.
Stacey Fulmar decided she wanted something or someone and was annoying as fuck until she got it. She wielded power because, for some reason, everyone was afraid of her. She decided that year that what or who she wanted was Preston.
Preston's relationship with Stacey was fire and ice. They were off and on throughout junior high. He wanted to be seen with her but didn't want to be chained to her. She wanted to be closer to him than anyone else, but she couldn’t outrank me. We’d practically been in diapers together.
Stacey and I were mortal enemies, in a battle for Preston's attention.
One night, when our parents were out to dinner and a show together, Preston came over to wait the night out. We ate frozen pizza and he put on a zombie movie. I was a wimpy fifteen-year-old. The dragging of feet, creepy moaning and blood-curdling screams were terrifying.
I pressed my fists into my eyes and whimpered. “Turn it off, turn it off, turn it off!”
He laughed, but I heard the ‘zap' sound of the TV flipping off and felt it was safe to open my eyes.
"It’s a movie, Angie.
It’s not real.”
I picked up on the tease in his voice, so I gulped back the tears that had been threatening. "I know it’s a movie. It still scared the shit out of me."
“It’s off,” he soothed, patting my thigh. The palm of his hand was warm as he rubbed my skin. Ever so slowly. I didn't want him to stop, so I didn't say anything.
He grew bolder, rubbing my thigh from my knee to the hem of my shorts. Every stroke was an electrical current shooting through me. I'd gone out with boys, but I never wanted them to kiss me like I wanted Preston to lean over and kiss me.
Right when I thought I would explode if he didn't, he did.
I started to giggle, and he pulled back, so I grabbed his face and brought his lips to mine and planted my mouth on him. He sucked in a breath through his nose. I felt a groan as he moved even closer, tipped his head and opened his mouth. My tongue twisted and swirled with his.
His hand crept beneath my t-shirt. Fingertips fluttered over my stomach and settled over one breast in a thin bra. He kneaded softly, carefully squeezing, and when his thumb happened to brush over my nipple, the sensation made my body jerk.
“Should I stop?" He whispered, lightly panting.
"No," I answered, shaking my head violently.
He flicked my nipple again, and I could feel his smile when I moaned and writhed beneath him. "You know what feels good to me?"
"What?" He shifted, pressing himself into me. "Oh! Does... does that hurt?"
"No. It feels good. Especially with you."
We laid on the couch, kissing and touching and giggling for a long while. I glanced at the clock on the VCR, the LED numbers glowing in the darkroom.
"Get up," I said, pushing his shoulders. “My parents will kill us both if they catch us.”
He sat up, then leaned over to the edge of the couch and turned on the lamp. For the first time, I was seeing him in all of his horny glory. Sweat and exertion had shrunken his waves back into dry, tight curls. His face was flush, and the crotch of his jeans bore the unmistakable sign of arousal.
I didn't imagine I looked any better. I smoothed my hair and pulled down my t-shirt. We grinned at each other, embarrassed at what we'd spent an hour doing.
“I have to shower before my folks get home." Preston got up and headed toward the door.
“Come over tomorrow,” I blurted, getting up from the couch.
He had reached for the doorknob but stopped and turned around. "What's tomorrow?"
“My parents have a monthly meeting at the dealership. They always go to dinner afterward. They leave around six, so if you wanted to study. Or whatever." I smiled.
"Oh." Light bulb. His face lit up as he caught my hint. "I'll come… study."
The door closed behind him. I leaned up against it and exhaled.
I tossed and turned that night. My thoughts were nothing but Preston. The thought of him kissing me, touching me, doing much, much more to me made my body pulse.
I tossed my blanket and sheet aside and lay there, letting the night air soothe my raging hormones. I stared out the window at the cloak of darkness obscuring the Reid house. What was he doing? Was he knocked out? Or was he wide awake like me?
I got out of bed and tiptoed over to my desk, reached behind the computer and flipped it on, wincing at how loud it booted up, I clicked on the AOL button and waited for the modem to squeal. Thankfully, my parents slept heavily, and their bedroom was downstairs at the other end of the house.
You've got mail. I smiled, recognizing Preston's email address.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Thought you might be up. If you wake up, message me.
P.
My heart thumped hard. I clicked to reply, "I'm up." I pressed send and waited for a reply.
And waited.
And waited.
As I was getting sleepy again and was about to sign off, the sound of a door opening blared through the speakers. Preston was online.
preid1: couldn't sleep either?
angiebee: keep waking up.
preid1: what's waking u up?
angiebee: thinking about stuff.
preid1: earlier tonight stuff?
angiebee: yeah. you?
preid1: yeah. U mad at me?
angiebee: no. :) I had fun
preid1: ok. cool. me too.
angiebee: why would I be mad at you?
preid1: i don’t know. didn't want u to be. ur my best friend. besides nate.
angiebee: aw. :) I’m not mad.
preid1: thought about that for a long time
angiebee: oh.
preid1: did u? ever think about it I mean
angiebee: not til you did it. but i wanted you to
preid1: me too. i gotta go before my mom hears me typing.
preid1: pick u up at the same time for school
angiebee: ok. still coming over later?
preid1: Y.
I signed off, stupidly giddy, and checked the time. 4:34 AM. It was going to be the longest day ever.
"Okay, kids. Get to bed on time," my mom chirped. "You'll need a good night's sleep for your test. What is it that you're studying anyway?"
"French," I said.
"Geometry," Preston said.
Confused, her gaze bounced from Preston to me, but she let it pass. "You're good kids to help each other out." She followed my dad out of the kitchen door to the garage. We stayed put until we heard the car rumble down the street.
Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief. "I thought they’d never leave!"
Preston threw his pencil down on the table and slammed both books shut. "I didn't even have any homework."
I got up from the table and walked around it to the refrigerator. "You want anything? Soda, water, milk–"
Preston stood next to me with an arm slung over my shoulder. He’d mowed the lawn earlier, so he smelled of sweat and fresh-cut grass and guy. His scent was... guy.
"I don't want anything, Angie. I mean, I don’t want anything to drink.”
I stepped back, closed the refrigerator door, and turned to face him. I was nervous but unsure why. This was Preston, the kid that lived two houses down, the same kid I've known for years.
Right?
No. Preston was different. I didn't know what to expect from this tall, almost man standing in my kitchen. The fact that I couldn't predict him was exciting.
I bit my bottom lip, then lunged toward him, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing myself against him. Once he regained his footing, he wrapped me in his arms and tipped his head toward me. Our lips met in a crush of pants and moans, shuffling feet as we moved to the living room and landed in a heap on the couch.
Preston wiggled around so he was on top of me, between my legs as the night before, except tonight, he wasn’t polite. His tongue swirled; his body pressed into mine. It felt so good to open my legs wide and buck my hips and stare up at his face while he moved. He was concentrating intensely, eyes closed, breathy moans coming in fast, hard puffs.
"Wait, wait, wait. Stop."
Preston moved to the side, wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "Sorry," he said, his voice gruff. “I didn’t mean to…”
“I mean, don't stop, stop. I want to move, uhm…upstairs."
"Oh." Relief washed over his face, and he stood. "Okay."
We climbed the stairs, Preston following me to my room. He stepped in, looked around, and smiled. "Where's all the pink stuff you used to have?"
When I was younger, my mother mourned the fact that I was a tomboy. She decorated my room in pink, and it was so sickeningly sweet, I refused to sleep in there. I'd had the white eyelet comforter and curtain set for a few years, and while it was dull, it was better than pink.
"Got rid of it."
"Good. That shit was ugly."
We laughed, relaxing a little. I sat on the bed and kicked off my shoes, then gave a soft pat to the spot next to me. Preston sat, tucking his
hands underneath him, and stared at his feet.
He tipped his head up to look at me, his eyes finding mine. "Do you want to… you know?”
"If you want to." I shrugged, calm, but hoping he wanted to.
He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet, ripped the Velcro flap open and fished out a small disc wrapped in plastic.
I took it and inspected it. "How old is this?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. I found it."
I felt the color drain from my face. “What if it has a hole in it or something?"
He grabbed it from me and held it up to the light. "It doesn't have a hole in it. See? I couldn't get one from my dad. He had a vasectomy."
"It could still have a hole in it."
I rolled off the bed, stomped down to my parents' bathroom and reached deep into the closet for the basket of things my mother didn't know that I knew existed. I fished out a couple of condoms and went back upstairs. Preston still sat in the same place. I handed one to him and threw the other one into the drawer in the nightstand.
Preston looked from me to the square package and back to me. "You want me to wear your dad's condoms."
I shrugged. “It's better than something you found.”
"Okay.”
Off came his shirt, which he laid out carefully along the edge of the bed. He stood to unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans, and kick off his shoes. I watched with amusement and amazement at him, his body, and what we were actually about to do.
I pulled my t-shirt over my head and unzipped my jeans, letting them fall to the floor and stepping out of them. We were in our underwear, in the middle of my bedroom, staring at each other.
"So, we should..." I gestured toward the bed, and we climbed on top of the comforter and sat there. "Maybe we should pull the covers back. I mean, I'm a virgin, and I heard–"
"Okay." We got up again, pulled the cover back, and stared at the crisp white sheets. "You should get–"
"A towel," I finished, then rushed to the linen closet next to my bedroom and dug out a dark towel. I spread it over the middle of the bed. "Okay. We have to stay on that."
