The Boy Next Door

by Ella James

  I slow my pace a little, and notice a bleary streak of white-gray over to my right: a trail of pebbles cut into the trees.

  It’s so weird, so random, I can’t resist—even though the path is shadow-swathed and I know the little pebbles will be hell on my feet.

  Running without shoes hurts my tender soles, but I adjust my stride so I can keep moving. The pebbles are pale, the path wide, so I’m not scared of getting lost; I know when I’m finished, I can simply turn around.

  The moon is big and bright, floating in the black sky soup above the swaying treetops, beaming down its long, thick arms of light so I can see the swatch of path ahead.

  One minute, my body is moving, my thoughts racing—and the next I’m on my belly, my knees lit up from skidding on the ground, my lungs stunned by the impact. For the first blink, I’m afraid I hit my head, because everything is blurry. Then I realize: I’m missing my glasses.

  Holy hell—where are my glasses?

  I run my hand over the pebbles, over the grass and leaves. I crawl forward, backward, sideways. I pull my phone out of my pocket, shining it around, but my vision is so terrible it doesn’t really help.

  I crawl so much I get turned around, and I can’t tell which way is back toward the house. Not without my glasses…

  I draw my legs up to my chest, balance the phone on my knees, and blink down at it. I can’t even see the screen. Can I make a call if I can’t see the screen?

  Tears well in my eyes again, and at that moment, I hear footfall. Heavy. Fast. I know it’s Dash from memory and instinct.

  I feel more than see him kneeling down beside me. “Am?” His hands come down on my shoulders. “What are you doing?” His voice is strong and clear, but I can feel his chest pumping, hear the ragged edge of his breaths.

  “I lost my glasses,” I say thickly.

  Dash pulls me up against him, and I smell whiskey and warm skin.

  “Hang on,” he says, as if he’s going to find them—but he doesn’t stop hugging me. With one big arm still locked around my back, he murmurs, “There…”

  Then he’s letting me go, sliding my glasses on my face.

  “They were this close?” I ask after I blink at his older-Dash face.

  He smiles softly. “Right beside you.”

  I can’t look at him. I look down at the ground.

  “I’m sorry, Ammy Dove.”

  “For what?”

  “You know what.” His voice is husky.

  “That you disappeared?”

  He just looks at me, his lips pressed flat, the corners downturned slightly. It’s the face people make when they have bad news.

  “Why? I don’t get it, Dash. Was college that awesome?”

  “No, Amelia.” Dash stands with a heavy sigh, wiping his palms on his pants before holding out a hand for me. “You want to walk?”

  I answer by taking his hand.

  There’s an air of gravitas about our quiet, moonlit walk. All around us, pines sway in a gentle, summer breeze. Dash leads me down the trail, our hands folded in sweet union that doesn’t go beyond our fingertips. I feel dizzy with the nearness of him. It’s as if no time has passed—or maybe a million years have glided by us.

  When we see white light spilling through the leafy trees ahead, I realize it’s the moon reflecting off the lake. Dash parts a few limbs, and we follow a grassy path down to the red clay shore. After a few steps toward the water, I let his hand go. It felt good to walk with him, but now we’re out here in the open, and I know if I stay too close, my heart will beat so wildly it will burst right out and flop at Dash’s feet.

  I cast my gaze around the tiny strip of beach. It’s shrouded by veils of moss, by green trees, leafy with summer, by boulders scattered to our right. Near the boulders, the shore juts out into a little point, water lapping quietly around it. I can’t even hear noise from the lake house, despite knowing that we must still be close. It feels like we’re in another world.

  Finally, I let my gaze touch Dash. I find him looking down on me with serious eyes, a solemn mouth. And in that moment, I don’t want to be here. Whatever he’s going to tell me…

  I sit down on a nearby boulder, pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. Dash paces in front of me, his thick arms folded.

  I can feel the pent-up words inside him fighting to get out. And I can see he won’t let them. It’s in the way he moves, so taut and tense. And then his shoulders slump and he pulls a flask out of his pocket. Sits down in the sand in front of me and takes a long swig.

  “You have your own flask.” My words sound dry and disapproving.

  I wait for Dash to answer, but instead he draws his knees up like I have mine, but more loosely. He wraps his arms around them, showing me the well-honed muscles of his biceps and his forearm. He looks so much bigger. So much sturdier.

  I watch as he lifts a hand to his face, rubbing the scruff along his jaw. And I note his gaze: down on the ground.

  Finally, he looks up at me. “You would like it there.” His jaw is tight, his shoulders tighter. The words sound like a confession, which makes no sense at all.

  “It’s how you said you thought it would be. Especially the water. It’s… There’s nothing like it. The smell. The way the air feels. Like it’s passing over you. Moving around you. Like it’s never going to stop, it just goes by… It makes the city feel alive.” He lifts his head, but doesn’t look at me. Instead he keeps his gaze out on the water. “The snow is thick and dry. Like Colorado, but…I think colder. With a different kind of wind. I’m no writer, but it makes you want to be outside in it, and indoors by a fire too. I had a fireplace there. I drank coffee. Not black, but just with a little bit of cane sugar and milk. The way you said your dad told you your mom liked it. I had this red mug that I bought. In Boston. All our rooms where I lived—I lived with a bunch of other students— they were built around this common-room workshop. I didn’t like that, though. I don’t like working with anybody else around. Not most of the time. I put sheets up and I would work behind them, by this window. Outside it, there were these huge trees. I don’t know what kind, but I painted them. Painted a lot of cityscape, because that’s what I saw. The street vendors, the RIPTA—public transportation. The professors there are awesome. Hands down. Like your dad, but…more enthusiastic. Open. Helping students is their life. Not that Oliver isn’t awesome, but this was different. They’re…hands on. Sometimes too much.” I watch his big hand come up to his forehead, rubbing. Still, his eyes are on the water.

  “Everything you’d want there. It’s exactly like you said.”

  “I guess I see now why you didn’t call.” I mean the words to sound sarcastic, but they don’t. They’re understanding. Approving, even. Because I wanted this for him. I wanted it to be perfect for my perfect Dash.

  I can see him from the side, see the way his lips press together and his nostrils flare. That’s the only way I know he isn’t happy. Isn’t satisfied with magical Rhode Island.

  “I un-enrolled.”

  “What?”

  Dash is stone still.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  He brings a hand up to his eyes, as if he’s shielding them from sunlight. “I’m going to travel,” he says toward his palm.

  And I can feel it rolling off him: misery. I don’t know why. I don’t know anything. But I know I can’t stay on my dumb rock, watching him ache in front of me. Not when I could sit beside him on the sand.

  I know even before I’m there beside him that my arms cannot be stopped. They’re going around him. I slide down to my knees there in the sand and embrace him from the back, throwing my arms around his shoulders, leaning on him as I press my cheek against his neck.

  I can feel his body stiffen—“Am…”—before his back relaxes and he’s reaching back to touch my face.

  “Amelia—”

  “I miss you…”

  Then he’s lifting me over his shoulder. Then I’m in his lap, hugging his neck, and Dash’s ar
ms are locked around me.

  Oh my God. My cheek is pressed against his throat, and I can smell him. He’s hugging me so hard, it almost hurts.

  I feel this little jerk… this shudder. I can feel his lungs expand, then freeze—as if he’s holding his breath.

  I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He nuzzles my hair with his chin. Runs his warm hands down my arms. He hugs me tight once more, then pushes me away with wide eyes.

  “What?” The word is breathless.

  “No.” He tries to stand up, but I catch him by the elbow.

  “Dash— What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t let you touch me, Am! Can’t you tell I’m fucking drunk?”

  Tears sting in my eyes. “No.” They start to fall down my cheeks, and I feel so stupid. So, so stupid. Why do I love him like this? Why do I love him when he doesn’t feel the same way? I fold my arms around myself. “I didn’t know.” The words are quiet and shaky, turning Dash’s hard face soft.

  He moves toward me, catching me again and pulling me against him.

  “Am…” He rubs his lips against my hair, and I can feel him panting. As if he’s been running. It’s peculiar, even more so because it makes me feel so hot and restless. “Thanks for walking with me,” he says, husky, “but you’ve gotta go now.”

  My body thrums. Everything I’m sensing points to one conclusion, but my mind just can’t accept it. Too outrageous.

  I press myself against him, smiling up at him to let him know I want to be here. That’s when I feel something hard against my hip. I notice, as my mind does a slow somersault, that Dash’s eyes are heavy, molten.

  His hips seem to twitch, and I feel it clearly against me: his erection. “Am…” His hand rubs over my hair. “You’ve gotta go. I’m fucking drunk and I’ve been missing you for months. All I could think about up there was you.”

  The words are so shocking, at first I think I heard him wrong.

  “What?”

  “I know,” he says heavily. His warm fingers stroke my cheek. “But I can’t stop myself. You’re perfect.”

  Perfect?

  “Me?”

  “I wanted to call,” he says with those strange eyes. He seems sedated somehow, but also energized, as if the two of us are buzzing. “I wanted to, Amelia, but I couldn’t. It’s so wrong,” he groans.

  “What do you mean?” My heart is pounding so hard, I think I might be sick. “What do you mean?” I ask him, breathless.

  He frames my face with both his palms, and I notice that they’re damp. “I mean,” he says softly, “it’s wrong to want you like this.”

  Dash wants me.

  He wants me.

  Tears swim in my eyes. I feel my body start to tremble against his. I grab onto his arm, and Dash wraps me against his chest.

  For a long moment, we just stand there, holding onto each other. I feel him breathing. I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat. Something deep down low in me is pulsing.

  He wants me!

  “It’s not wrong.” I twine my arms around his neck, and am electrically aware of my breasts against his chest—of the flickering between my legs. “If you mean it… If you really…think that about me. I feel the same way,” I whisper.

  Bliss and terror wash through me. That this is even real. When Dash doesn’t reply, I look up to find his eyes squeezed shut. His hands, on my shoulders, feel like talons. “Please, Amelia.”

  “What?”

  His eyes open. He heaves a heavy breath. “You have to stop. I told you…I’ve been drinking.”

  “I’ve seen you drunk before.”

  Again, his eyes shut. “You don’t understand… You don’t even know what I’m saying.” The words sound tortured.

  My mind is a fog of unseen landscape. I can feel the terrain all around me, but as ever, I can’t see it. I look up at Dash, the heavy breathing, the glazed eyes, the stark face, and I realize: he wants me. Dash…he wants me physically. When he’s saying that he’s drunk…I think he’s implying that he can’t resist me. Suddenly, I’m giggling. I tuck my head against his chest and laugh and laugh.

  “Oh God…” One of my arms is wrapped around his side. Tremors rack my body. “You’re not lying?” I pant.

  He blinks. “No.”

  I’m shaking so hard now my teeth are almost chattering: pure adrenaline. “For real?”

  Dash’s eyes shut as his palm pushes my hair off my forehead. “I’m surprised you’re surprised,” he says softly. “I worried it was obvious a couple times before I left.”

  “Last summer?” I laugh. “It wasn’t. And…you never called…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I just don’t get it.”

  His eyes blink open. “You’re my little sister’s best friend, and I think about you all the time. If I had called, I would have begged you to come see me. You’re not even sixteen.” He runs a hand back through his hair, wobbling a little, and I think for the first time that he does seem pretty drunk. “Damnit, Am, there’s something wrong with me.”

  I shake my head. “I feel the same way—about you,” I whisper fervently. “I have forever.”

  “If I’d come home, I would have kept you on the roof with me all fucking night. Doing things like this…” He presses his lips against my temple. When he pulls away, his eyes are heavy-lidded. “I shouldn’t, but...”

  His lips possess my own, making my legs quiver as I try to kiss him back. I feel young and pale and insubstantial, so different from Dash with his searing heat and firm body. His tongue glides into my mouth. The air around us throbs as I cling to his neck and Dash’s hand strokes up my side.

  “Everything you say…” he breathes between kisses. “I like you too much. Being away…” His mouth is hard, demanding, hungry. “Being away and seeing you tonight. Fuck me, Ammy, I came hoping I might see you.”

  He stops kissing me, presses my cheek against his chest, where I hear his heartbeat through the cotton of his t-shirt. “This is bad,” he says, breathless.

  “Because how old I am?”

  “You have to go.” He lets me go, then shoves me lightly toward the pebble path. “Go back, Amelia. Just forget about this shit.”

  “No way. I can’t.”

  His jaw is clenched. Shadows flicker on his face as he turns toward the water, takes a few steps, folds his arms, and, with his eyes averted, turns back toward the rocks and strides to sit down on the largest boulder. From my angle, off to his left side, I watch his shoulders rise and fall. I move closer, and Dash puts a hand over his face. “I’ve been drinking all damn day. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

  “Don’t do that. I’ll never believe you now.”

  His eyes are on mine, furious and hot. “You’ll believe what I tell you to, Amelia.”

  “No I won’t. You can’t tell me this stuff and then say forget.” I snap my fingers. “You’re drunk, but I believe you. What are you so scared of? I won’t tell. Is that the problem? If it is, I won’t tell anybody.”

  I kneel in the sand in front of him, summoning the nerve to touch his knee. My hand on him must bring him around. I see his body settle, shoulders relaxing as he blinks over my shoulder, then dares move his gaze to mine. His eyes are earnest and intense. “Do you promise?”

  “Yes. Of course. I just want you to be happy.” I stand in front of him, then reach my shaking hand for his.

  Dash closes his hand around mine.

  “What would make you happy, Ammy?” he asks quietly.

  “If you kiss me.” I can barely get the whispered words past my tight throat. I’m still waiting for the ricochet when Dash’s body folds around mine. Then we’re on the sand, our bodies moving fast and urgent, slow and sweet and heady as the fog around us.

  “Don’t let me hurt you, Am,” he bites out.

  “You’re…not...”

  We kiss until I can’t breathe, then we pull apart, our sweaty limbs a tangle, my face over his. Beneath my belly, Dash’s chest rises and falls in frenzy. �
��I thought…if I didn’t drink,” he pants, “I’d come after you for sure.”

  “But when I saw you, you had…”

  He shakes his head. “Couldn’t.” He rests his forehead against my cheek. “Am.” His lips press gently on my chin. “Why did this happen?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” I kiss his forehead. “I’ve felt this way since the tree. Remember, the one where we’d leave each other poems and sketches?”

  “Of course.”

  I run my hand along his chest. “I love to touch you.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  I slide a hand under his shirt, and Dash moans. “Am…”

  “I want to hear what happened at college,” I murmur. “Tell me everything I missed.” I kiss his ear, and Dash’s body jerks beneath mine.

  “Please…”

  “Please what?” My throat feels full of my heart. I’m surprised I can even speak, yet here I am, rubbing Dash’s chest as his hand squeezes my hip.

  “Please don’t…do this to me.”

  Pleasure spreads all through me, ancient satisfaction—power. “I’m doing something to you?”

  “Yes. Fuck.”

  He tries to sit up, but I wrap myself around him. I’m on top of him and it feels perfect. “I just want to hug you…”

  Dash groans again, and my pulse races. I can make him groan, and that’s not all. I still feel him pressed against my inner thigh as I straddle him.

  Unable to stop myself, I rock my hips a little. Dash’s body stiffens. “Am…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Do you want me to move?”

  “No. Yes.”

  But I can see the truth. “You don’t,” I whisper.

  His eyes open, drunk and glazed. “Of course not.” He pushes up on his elbows. “But Ammy, you’re so young. And I’m…not good.” This time, he wraps his hands around my hips and sets me on the sand beside him. He sits fully up, leaning on his arms as he stares out at the lake. “Even if we both want it, I can’t.”