Trust

by Kylie Scott

  A mass of doubt and negativity raged in my head, chasing away the happy. No, absolutely not. Not here, not now, not ever.

  "Don't stop." I grabbed his hand, putting it back on my hip. "My brain is just being stupid. Ignore it."

  Brows knitted, he remained on pause. "Stupid about what? Talk to me."

  Oh God, the embarrassment. I covered my face with my hands, unable to look him in the eye. I was the worst. Trust me to kill the mood. "You're just doing this out of pity."

  "No. I'm not."

  Maybe I should just crawl under the bed or disappear into the closet. Wait for him to go to sleep, then hightail it home. If I asked nicely, kept bringing him sandwiches for a while, we might even be able to pretend this never happened.

  "Edie?"

  I didn't respond.

  Oddly enough, there came the sound of a zipper being undone. Next, John grasped one of my hands, pressing it first to his mouth, then to his cheek. "Look at me."

  I sighed, but did so.

  "You're hot and soft. And you felt fucking amazing beneath me."

  "You're kind."

  "Not even a little." He pressed my hand to his heart, still beating double time. "Feel that?"

  I nodded.

  Then he led my hand down into his jeans, pressing my palm against the hardness beneath his underwear. "Now you feel that? That's what we call a penis. You saw one earlier in the book, remember?"

  Stunned, I said nothing. Of course I knew he had one and it would be involved in tonight's activities. Though I don't think I'd fully comprehended touching, feeling him. Even over the cover of his underwear. Attribute it to a lack of opportunities to fondle boys. I'd never gotten much beyond kissing and occasionally having a boob groped. Now here I had a penis almost in my hand.

  "To be fair, I hear they get hard on some pretty flimsy pretexts," I said.

  "I'm eighteen, Edie, not twelve." Once, twice, he kissed my lips. "I'm not closing my eyes and imagining someone else. That's not what's happening. I'm here with you. I want you, understood?"

  My throat tightened, my eyes sore.

  "Because you putting yourself down isn't okay," he said, gaze open, sincere, and a bit angry.

  "Fine." I sniffed, getting control of myself. So high maintenance, it was a wonder he didn't kick me out of bed. Slowly, carefully, I gave in to curiosity, wrapping my fingers around him. "It's not tiny."

  A hint of a smile curled his lips. "It's not useless, either."

  A grunt and his hips pressed into my hold. His mouth covered mine once more and then my hand got firmly but gently relocated back to his chest.

  "Later," he mumbled.

  Talented fingers followed the waistband of my boy shorts, teasing sensitive skin. Back and forth, he gently trailed his knuckles over the front of my underwear, from my navel to between my legs. Low in my belly tightened, the blood rushing through my veins.

  When he finally slipped his hand into my underwear, I wanted him to feel me there, needed him to. Even the most delicate of touches made me shake. My bare legs shifted restlessly against the mattress, every muscle in me drawing tighter and tighter. John knew things, magical things. And while yes, I could have done this myself, having him with me made it so much better.

  No time to be self-conscious or nervous. The sensation coursed through me, thrilling and complete. Sparkles and stardust and the best rush of endorphins. My whole body seized, fingers sinking into his back, mouth gasping for air. It took a while for me to come back down.

  A finger sat hooked in the front of my waistband, questioning.

  "We could stop here," he panted.

  "Don't you dare."

  "Thank God."

  In a moment, my underwear went flying into a corner of the room. Together we got my dress up and off, over my head. His hot mouth covered my chest in kisses, fingers fighting with the back of my bra. Meanwhile, I attempted pushing down his jeans. We were an overeager catastrophe, a mess of mouths and limbs. God, it felt good.

  I passed him one of the condoms off the nightstand. Determined though quietly freaking out. He got rid of his underwear and put on the protection. Face sober as he climbed on top of me, covering my body with the hot length of his.

  "You're definitely sure?" he asked.

  "John! Please, would you just fu--"

  His mouth fell on mine, hand sliding over my side before reaching between us. Slowly, he pressed forward. Strange, to be so impossibly physically close to someone. Over and over, he broke the kiss to check on me, always returning to my lips. I closed my eyes and hung on tight, trying to be relaxed.

  It hurt. Natural though it might be, my muscles tensed just the same, resisting the intrusion. From nerves or the slight edge of pain, I don't know. Then he was inside, burying himself deep, his body rocking against mine. One strong hand held my thigh, keeping my leg up and around him. Warm breath heated the side of my face, my neck. I stroked his back, slick with sweat, trying to memorize everything about him being so close. I held onto him and waited.

  After a while, his movements grew jagged, faster. Body tense, he groaned, holding me hard against him. Puffing out breaths, he slumped on top of me, only taking some of his weight on his arms.

  I'd done it. I'd had sex. How amazingly bizarre.

  "You okay?" he asked in a quiet voice.

  "Yes."

  Carefully, he withdrew, falling onto the mattress beside me. Then he looked down at himself. "Shit."

  "What?"

  He grimaced. "Blood."

  Crap. Things between my thighs were a bit of a mess. "Oh, um, excuse me."

  I got off the bed and rounded up my bra, dress, and underwear. After cracking the bedroom door and listening for any signs of life from the rest of the house, I broke land speed records racing into the bathroom across the hall.

  The girl in the mirror didn't look any different. Mussed hair, pink cheeks, and swollen lips. Nothing permanent, however, seemed to have changed on the outside. Inside, things felt a little tender. I cleaned myself up and dressed. Then searched for a face towel to wet and take to John.

  "I'd momentarily forgotten you don't like the sight of blood," I said, slipping back into the room.

  A grunt.

  "You okay?"

  "Back in a minute." After snagging his jeans off the floor, he took his turn in the bathroom. Apparently he wouldn't be answering my question.

  At a loss for what to do with myself, I took a seat at his desk and started putting on my boots. Sitting on the bed didn't seem right. We'd done what we'd set out to do, and John didn't strike me as the type to cuddle. Time to go back to being just friends.

  Right, I could do this.

  The toilet flushed and he reappeared, tying back his hair with a rubber band. He didn't look at me. Guess we'd entered the part of the evening where we avoided eye contact. Awkward. This wouldn't do.

  "John, look at me."

  He did as told. "Yeah. Everything okay?"

  I nodded, smiled.

  His smile slowly returned. "You sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay. Good." He sighed, relaxing a little. "You want me to give you a lift back to your place?"

  "To Hang's would be great. Thanks."

  A nod.

  I grabbed my cell and shot off a text.

  Me: Back in 15

  Hang: ???!!!

  Me: You still at party?

  Hang: No, come to my house.

  "We're fine, right?" I asked, not at all slightly nervous. "Still friends?"

  He looked up in surprise. "Of course."

  "Good. That's good."

  Shirt and shoes back on, he stood, hands on his hips. "Nothing's changed."

  "Right," I said. "Thanks for that. For what we did."

  "Sure." Another smile. "Ready to go?"

  "Absolutely."

  That weekend, I did the laundry as a non-virgin. I also cleaned the kitchen, attempted to study, and then tried to start reading a new YA sci-fi series. Studying didn't work as well
without John, but texting him to come over so soon after last night's events felt a bit weird. Eventually I gave up and took a nap.

  Still, all of these miraculous feats were performed minus a hymen.

  Remarkably, nothing much seemed to have changed. I still succeeded in doing the laundry, and failed on both the studying and reading fronts. Just like my previously hymened self. When we went out for lunch together at a local taqueria on Sunday, Mom didn't even notice how her daughter had apparently become a woman. Of course, Hang guessed what had gone on. She'd taken one look at my messy hair and makeup and squealed with glee. Though, she'd been in on the planning stages.

  I didn't wake up the next morning feeling particularly wiser or more mature. Things down there were a bit sore, but that was about all.

  Honestly, so long as there was consent and protection, the biggest danger in doing it for the first time seemed to be the memory you'd make and carry with you for the rest of your days. To be able to live with your decision and the whole reality versus expectations, etcetera. But once you'd started, did that automatically mean you should continue and just automatically do it with the next person you liked? Though that didn't really make sense. Guess it depended on how you felt about the next person. And also, the risk of things getting emotional. If the person you'd had sex with ignored you after, or talked crap about you, that would suck. (Learning how to deal with assholes did, however, seem to be an unfortunate part of life.) I don't know. Everyone's different. And how I'd feel when I saw John again, I had no idea.

  Found out first thing Monday morning in English class, though.

  Ripped jeans, a faded T-shirt, and the mother of all yawns. He gave me a chin tip. I gave him a smile. Awesome. Not awkward at all. We'd survive this whole having-had-sex thing no problem.

  "Hey, how you doing?" I asked, turning in my chair.

  "Good. You?"

  "Good."

  He pulled out his book and a pen, getting sorted. "Want to study tonight?"

  "I'll text you later." I turned back to face the front of the class.

  This was great. How stupid of me to have worried about how having sex would change things! Why, the scent of his sweat, feel of his skin, taste of his mouth, warmth of his breath, noises he made, weight of his body, strength of his hands, and his eyes, oh God, his beautiful eyes, never even entered my head.

  We were still just friends. Excellent. Everything was perfectly fine.

  While all remained apparently cool between John and me, the school grapevine was abuzz. Gossip had apparently been flying all weekend. We'd left the party together. Ooh!

  There'd been some scuffle between John and Duncan over me. OMG!!

  But at the end of the day, the possibility that the John Cole could be interested in someone like me was just so fantastically HAHAHA!!!

  No one could bring themselves to believe such a ridiculous thing.

  Duncan had attempted to corner me outside of Spanish class. I'd made vague gestures at my watch, apologized profusely, and done one of my finer disappearing acts. Now that I'd had sex with John, now that I knew exactly what was involved and how it felt . . . the thought of doing anything remotely similar with Duncan (or anyone else for that matter) freaked me out just a little. Sex was so intimate, so private. I'd hung a closed sign over my girl parts for the time being. Much easier. Not even the thought of dating appealed.

  "How about pole dancing?" asked Hang in the cafeteria over lunch. "Any experience in the live adult entertainment industry and/or exotic dancing areas?"

  "No. Sorry."

  "Damn. Sadly, that rules out a big chunk of the employment market." She flicked through the local newspaper employment pages on her cell. "Cat grooming services?"

  "Maybe."

  Hang tapped a finger against her lips. "I'm sort of highly allergic. But they have good allergy medicines these days, right?"

  I just looked at her.

  "No. Okay." She took a sip of her soda. "I'll keep searching."

  "Good idea."

  "What's a good idea?" asked Anders, squeezing his sweaty self onto the seat between Hang and me.

  "You going and having a shower," said Hang. "Yuck. You stink."

  "I smell manly."

  "No. You smell like unwashed feet."

  Anders threw his hands up into the air. "Why are you so mean to me? What did I ever do to you?"

  "Go. Shower. I'm done with this conversation." After pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, Hang returned to studying the want ads. "Edie, do you have any secret business credentials you haven't seen fit to share with me?"

  "Um, no." I bit into my apple, crunching away. "In fact, I'm reasonably certain I'm going to fail math."

  "We can work on that some more tonight," said a familiar voice. He sat down opposite me, blue eyes inscrutable.

  I just froze. I don't know why. Or worse yet, I did.

  Truth was, I'd gotten off easy having him seated behind me in English. Faking it hadn't been so hard. With him right there, however, staring at me, all of the complicated and difficult stormed through my head. A hurricane's worth of oh shit, what the hell have I done with my best friend.

  Time. That's what I needed.

  The time and space to put him firmly back in the just-friends box. No need to panic; everything would be fine. I had a plan. After all, it's not like I had so many friends that I could afford to lose one to lust. Especially not one as important to me as John. Yet all I could think when I saw him was how I'd had my tongue in his mouth. He'd had his penis in my vagina. And despite the actual sex part kind of sucking, maybe with my hymen out of the way, next time would be better. Hell, maybe next time would be awesome. With someone who wasn't John Cole, of course.

  Yes, he and I would go back to being just friends. Just. Friends.

  "Well?" he asked.

  "Ah, maybe?"

  "Let's talk later."

  I kept my face pleasantly blank as Hang's gaze switched from John to me and back again with interest. Luckily for me, John didn't notice. Also, Hang did subtle well, God bless the girl.

  "We shooting hoops?" asked Anders. "Or you going to the library again like a loser?"

  "Hoops."

  "All righty then." After wiping the sweat from his brow, Anders trailed a damp finger across Hang's cheek. "Later, babe."

  "Oh God, gross!" she cried, ducking out of reach. "Get away from me."

  "I know you want me," he said, getting to his feet.

  Nose crinkled, Hang stared at him in disgust. "However did you guess? Hooking up with a feral raving lunatic is absolutely my dream."

  A crease appeared between John's brows. "Leave her alone, man. See you later, Edie."

  And the recipient for the Best Fake Smile award for the year was (insert drum roll here) . . . me. "'Bye."

  "God, now I'm going to have to decontaminate myself with bleach or something." Hang scrubbed at her cheek with a Kleenex.

  "What was that?" asked Sophia, moseying on up to our table. Carrie stood beside her, holding her hand. "Are there things going on with you and basketball boy?"

  "Good question," I said, despite my own need for privacy. "Seems like he's into you."

  "No, no. Absolutely not," said Hang. "I'm not the slightest bit interested in that too-tall idiot. And it's a testament to our friendship that I'm still talking to either of you."

  When Sophia turned to me for answers, I gave a small shake of the head. Most definitely not going there anytime soon.

  "You sure there's nothing going on?" she persisted, taking a seat. "Are you really really sure?"

  "I saw them talking outside of History earlier," said Carrie. "Looked cozy."

  With great zest, Hang slapped her hand down on the table. "That's it. You're both dead to me and I'm not even going to mourn you."

  "Ooh," Sophia chortled. "The bitch pack won't like that. First Edie and John, now Hang and Anders. You should have seen their faces when the guys were just here. Ouch."

  The table
full of girls in question sat on the opposite side of the cafeteria, laughing just a little too loud, flipping enough hair around to cause permanent neck damage. I didn't care who the cool girls watched or what they thought, yet conditioning from my early years whispered that it mattered.

  As if.

  Hang cocked her head, eyes unimpressed. "Seriously, guys?"

  "I'm not with John," I said, finishing off my apple. "We're just friends."

  "You two doth protest too much." Carrie and Sophia shared a look.

  "Don't you two have something better to do than listen to dumbass gossip?" asked Hang. "Like, live your lives or go make out or something?"

  "Actually." Sophia leaned into the table, her chin in her hand. "I come bearing good news."

  The frown stayed on Hang's face. "What?"

  "My old manager is running a home decorating place at the mall and just so happens to be in need of a couple of people for Saturdays." Sophia grinned. "I just might have told her about two mature, honest, and hardworking friends of mine who are looking for jobs."

  Hang clapped her hands. "You're alive to me again! Oh my God, that's great, Soph."

  "Really?" I asked, excitement building inside me.

  Sophia nodded. "She wants you both to stop by one day this week after school."

  "That's great." I smiled. "Thank you."

  Hang and I beamed at each other. This was it: money, fame, and fortune would be ours. I could feel it.

  John: U awake?

  John: Edie?

  "If you had to make a list of everything you'd need to survive the apocalypse, how high would napkin rings rate for you?" asked Hang.

  I put on my thinking face. "Hmm. Food, water, napkin rings."

  "You'd put them ahead of the napkin itself?"

  "What use is a napkin without its decorative ring?" I asked.

  "True."

  Carefully, I attached the price sticker she'd handed me onto another shining example of the aforementioned item. "What about you?"

  "Yeah," said Hang. "Pretty much the same."

  We were gainfully employed. Or at least employed. Box and Jar had a wide and wonderful selection of everything you could possibly require to fulfill your domestic needs. It boggled the mind, half of the stuff. I mean, who the hell felt the need to invent three different varieties of dill pickle extractors? Pickles were great on a sandwich or burger. Absolutely awesome. But did getting the damn things out of the jar really warrant such a complex array of tools?