by Sarina Bowen
I flicked his card in the trash and went back to work.
After I finished with Mrs. Walters’ tires, I went back to painting. But this time with gritted teeth and the first drug cravings of the day. And it was only eleven o’clock.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was sweaty, shaky and coated in a gritty layer of paint dust. I put my tools away, looking forward to a shower and a trip to the Shipleys’.
“Waste of time,” my father said suddenly.
I spun around, almost dropping the paint scraper I was holding. I hadn’t heard him walk in, and I was a little jumpy after my visit from the goon squad earlier in the day. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm down. “Place needs a coat of paint.”
“Not if it’ll be knocked down.”
“What?”
My father held out a hand, offering me a piece of paper.
I took it and read. It was a Cease and Desist order from the planning board of the Town of Colebury. “The automotive business operating at 2371 Granite Road is out of compliance with the property’s zoning designation as LDR-2, Low Density Residential.”
My father’s face was slack when I looked up again. Maybe he’d dulled the pain with some whiskey before showing this to me. Or maybe he’d been a drinker for so long that I could no longer find the new expressions on his face.
I held the letter out to him. “This happened before, right? When I was in junior high? That time, you got them to agree to an exception for ‘mixed use,’ right?”
He shrugged. “Sure. But here they come again. Takes money and brains to fight ’em off. Don’t have much of neither one.”
That was the most self-aware thing my father had said in years. How depressing. “Do you know anyone you could ask for advice?” But I already knew the likely answer. It wasn’t that my father had burned all his bridges. It’s just that he’d allowed them to wash downstream, board by board. Numbness and neglect were his habits.
After a bunch of talk therapy at rehab I was excellent at diagnosing other people’s problems.
“Maybe,” he said. Then he shuffled over to close the register. I wondered if he’d even respond to the letter or just turn up the volume on the TV and wait for the city to show up with a bulldozer.
Tomorrow I was supposed to paint this place, and now I couldn’t even remember why. My shoulders were as tight as boards, and my dirty fingers clenched into fists. At that moment, I would have smoked, drank, inhaled or injected any substance anyone might hand me.
Instead I went upstairs to my room to shower, because it was time to go to the Shipleys’ dinner.
Thank fuck.
Jude and Sophie are 18
Sophie’s birthday has come and gone, and Jude is leaning over the engine of his car, tinkering with the connections. But all he can think about is sex.
When he started up with Sophie a year ago, he gave up other girls. And therefore sex.
He knew what he was getting into. (Or not into, as the case had been.) He knew Sophie hadn’t had a boyfriend before, and he’d never rush her. And the wait would be totally worth it.
The rule he’d made about her eighteenth birthday was meant to help him stay strong—to make the moment less arbitrary. Without that line in the sand, they would have gotten carried away on any of the hundred occasions they got hot and heavy in his car or under a tree in the woods.
But now the deadline has passed, and every minute of the last ten days has felt heavy with yearning.
His phone buzzes in his back pocket.
Jude releases a breath of air, and it’s actually shaky. He’s vibrating with anticipation as he pulls out the phone to read the text. We’re at Tracy’s now. Come over.
He washes his hands carefully, making sure to get any motor oil off of them. He pats his other pocket to make sure his wallet is there. Inside that wallet are two condoms, brand new.
Hell. He’s actually a little nervous, which is ridiculous. He isn’t the virgin in this situation.
Later, he won’t remember the walk to Tracy’s house. Her parents are gone for the weekend, but Sophie’s dad doesn’t know that, and Sophie has arranged to stay over.
When he arrives at the pretty farmhouse on the edge of town, Sophie is alone in the living room. “Hi,” she says, looking shy, closing the door behind him.
“Hi yourself. Where’s…?” He doesn’t finish the question, because a loud, rhythmic thumping starts up just overhead. It’s the sound of a headboard hitting the wall. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Sophie says, her cheekbones pinking up.
“Uh…uh…uh…unnngh. TRACE!” a male voice shouts.
Jude and Sophie stare at each other for a second before they both burst out laughing. Jude wraps her into a hug and their bellies shake against one another. “Let’s go into the den,” Sophie gasps between laughs.
He follows her through the kitchen and into a low, cozy room with sectional sofas and a TV. It’s the sort of room that happy families live in. Tracy’s younger brothers’ video games are arranged into denim-lined baskets, and the TV remotes are lined up like soldiers on the coffee table. A Christmas tree glows in the corner, beside a brick fireplace.
“You’ve got to see this,” Sophie says, grabbing one of the remotes off the table. She points it at the fireplace. With an airy whoosh, a gas fire jumps to life behind the fire screen. “Isn’t that silly?”
“Yeah.” Though the warm, flickering firelight is both beautiful and effortless. A high-functioning family home is like a foreign country that Jude stumbles on from time to time. He’s mostly learned the language but everything still seems a little unfamiliar.
Sophie sits in the corner of the sectional and he flops down beside her. “Should we watch a movie?” he asks. They haven’t been alone together like this in a week or so. But he isn’t about to jump on her like an animal.
“Do you want to?” Sophie asks carefully.
Everything is suddenly so awkward. And they’re never awkward with each other. “Baby we can do whatever you want. Seriously. Just because Tracy and her guy are bonin’ doesn’t mean we have to…”
She stops him with a hand on his chest. “Jude.” Her voice is low and serious. She turns to him, eyes flashing. “I listened to my friends moaning for twenty minutes before you got here, because I was afraid to leave the living room in case I missed your knock. And I have been waiting a long time for you to have sex with me. If you don’t whip it out right now, I may not be responsible for my actions.”
Jude nearly swallows his tongue. “Well, honey.” It’s a miracle that his voice is nearly steady. “Guess you’d better close the door.”
Sophie leaps up to shut the door to the den.
Jude’s heart bangs away inside his chest as he repositions himself on his side, his back to the cushions. When she returns, he waves her down for a kiss.
Tentatively, Sophie spreads herself out against his body, her hand on the waistband of his jeans. They’ve been horizontal before, but opportunity and privacy make it seem brand new. “Hi,” she whispers.
Jude leans forward, finding her soft lips with his. He can’t think too hard about this or he’ll be intimidated. He’s never been anyone’s first time before. It’s downright nerve-wracking. But when he cups her head, instinct kicks in.
Sophie moans into the kiss. The sound unhooks his self-consciousness. Both his arms wrap around her and he dives in. Love you, his tongue says against hers.
Need you, her hips say against his.
They make out until she’s panting, and his dick is harder than the lug wrenches hanging in the garage. Sophie’s fingers shove at his T-shirt. She’s trying to undress him while they kiss. It will never work.
“Sit up a second,” he begs.
When she rights herself, her face is flushed, and her lips look slick and bee-stung. Gawd. So beautiful. He lifts her T-shirt over her head and drops it on the floor.
She reaches around behind herself and unhooks her bra. When she casts it aside, he can�
��t even breathe. Sophie is always so put-together, in cardigan sweaters and with her hair tied back in a shining ponytail. He’s touched her so many times, but this is the first time he’s seen her truly topless. Her breasts are lush and full, with generous pink nipples.
“What?” she asks, self-conscious. Her hands come up to cover her breasts, and the sight of her touching herself tightens his balls. There aren’t even words for how she looks right now—all sweet and innocent and turned on at the same time.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he grunts out. “Take off your jeans.”
She lifts her chin. “You first.”
Jude doesn’t need to be asked twice. He peels off his shirt then pops the button on his jeans while Sophie stares. He shimmies out of them, kicking off his socks.
“Keep going,” she says, her voice trembling.
It’s fun to disarm her this way, the same way she disarms him. So he drops a hand to his aching dick, giving it one slow stroke through his black boxer briefs. When he meets her eyes, Sophie swallows roughly, looking a little nervous now. “Hey,” he says, laying a hand on her head. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. We could just fool around a little.”
She shakes her head. “Now is our chance.” She stands up and sheds her jeans and a little pair of white panties, while Jude quietly dies five times over. Just a glimpse of the curve of her hips makes him want to ejaculate immediately. He shucks off his briefs, kicking them away. Then he lays on his back. “Come here.”
“Wait,” she says. “I have condoms.”
Jude, you dumbass. He didn’t mean to make her worry about that. “Me too.” He fishes around on the floor for his jeans and pulls one out. “But we don’t need this just yet. We’re going slow. Now come here and kiss me.”
She kneels over him, her breasts right in his face. If he died right now he would still consider this a perfect life. “Fuck.” He pulls her down clumsily so he can lick those pink nipples. They’re larger than he expected, and somehow that seems scandalous. He closes his lips around her breast and sucks.
Sophie grips his shoulders, her gasp helpless. He lets his hands wander up her naked hips while he tongues her nipple. She presses into his mouth and groans. He slides a hand between her legs and feels how wet she is already, and his dick leaks in sympathy.
They’ve waited so long and now he isn’t even sure if he can get inside her without blowing his load just from the foreplay.
He releases her nipple with a wet pop and reaches for the condom. Sophie tries to catch her breath. She’s braced above him, her arm on the back of the sofa, her very naked body visible everywhere.
Jude closes his eyes as he tears open the packet, taking a short break from the most erotic sight he’s ever seen in his life. Calm down, he orders himself. He rolls the latex down and the condom’s tight grip steadies him.
“Lie down, baby,” he says, shifting out of the way.
“Okay,” she whispers, taking his place on the sofa.
Jude kneels between her legs, nudging her knees apart. Then he drops his mouth to her beautiful pussy and kisses her.
“Oh!” she gasps.
He gets down on his elbows, drags his lips against her softness. She’s ridiculously sweet. He’s never done this for a girl before, and it’s even better than he’d imagined. The musky scent of desire envelops him, and he tries his first lick.
The result is a vise-grip on his hair and the most beautiful whimper from Sophie’s lips. “Oh God,” she cries when he does it again. “Jude!”
He’s immediately hooked. The more he tastes, the more he wants. Her legs splay open for him. The look of uncertainty is gone from her blissed-out face. So he goes to town with kisses big and small, licks and a couple of gentle sucks. Sophie curses and moans, gripping his head and then his hair.
Then she starts begging. “Please, Jude. P-please.”
She’s so close. He’s made her come many times with his fingers, and he knows all the signs. He’d planned to get her all riled up before doing the deed, so it’s now or never. Sitting up a little, he wipes his face with one hand. Then he grips the base of his cock and lines up against her. He closes his eyes.
One sweet push and he’s home. Her warmth grips him like a fist, and he braces himself to stave off the orgasm that’s been waiting since the moment she took off her bra.
Her gasp opens his eyes. She’s staring up at him in shock. “Are you okay?” he asks immediately.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Just…”
“Hurts?” His libido dials back several notches in a hurry.
“It did,” she admits. “But now it’s already less.”
“Do you want to stop?” He leans down to kiss her nose.
She shakes her head. “Never.”
His heart spasms with happiness. He gives his hips a gentle roll, and her eyes widen. He stops again. “Hey.” He strokes her cheek with his hand. “Tell me how to help you relax.”
“Just kiss me.”
Yes, ma’am. Their mouths melt together. He slants his head to make each kiss more perfect than the one before. She sighs beneath him, relaxing into the beautiful rhythm of their making out. They’re champions at this part already. They kiss and kiss, and Jude’s hips can’t resist getting in on the action. Her mouth is so sweet and she’s firmly underneath him, just like in every one of his dirty dreams.
Sophie’s knees squeeze his hips, and she begins to meet him for every slow thrust. Her breathing hastens. She strains against him as if stretching for something that’s just out of reach.
He’s not going to last much longer. Hell, it’s a miracle he’s held it together for this long. So he sits up a little bit to make enough space between them. Then he slips his fingertips down to tease her clit, just the way she likes.
“Oh,” she pants. “Ahh…”
Sweating now, Jude pumps his hips and bites his lip. But the sight of her lush, naked body writhing beneath him is almost too much. He closes his eyes, hopefully buying himself five more seconds of patience. He’d wanted to make her first time perfect.
Then he hears it—the high-pitched gasp of victory. She sobs his name as her body clenches around his cock.
Sweet Jesus. He drops back down for one last kiss and lets go completely, thrusting with abandon. His balls hitch tight and his muscles clench and he gives a happy shout against her lips. He comes so hard that he sees spots in front of his eyes.
High on victory and satisfaction, he drops his face into her neck and whispers all the sweet, lovesick things he can think of.
And every one of them is true.
Chapter Sixteen
Sophie
Internal DJ tuned to: Billy Joel’s “Pressure”
It was hard to believe that my last set of final exams was upon me.
This—my final semester—I’d only taken two courses. My senior seminar on public health required only a take-home exam, but it was a bear. And my statistics course was no picnic, either.
Two classes didn’t sound like a lot, but I’d been working twenty-five hours a week at the hospital. That left the weekends for homework and housework. No wonder I had no life.
That would have to change in the New Year. Many things would change—I’d need to get a full-time job and move out of my parents’ house somehow. Staying there another year would never work.
But first: exams.
To get through the next few days, I employed two tactics. The first was record-breaking coffee consumption. The second was forbidding myself to think of Jude.
Whenever a particularly tricky statistics concept bedeviled me, it was tempting to close my eyes and remember the feel of his scruff against my face and the press of his hips against mine. A girl could get lost in a memory like that.
But there was work to be done, and I chose to do most of it in places I didn’t associate with him, like the student center, the university library and—closer to home—Crumbs. Jude and I had never been there together because it had opened whil
e he was in prison.
Time marches on whether you notice it or not. It was hard to believe that my diploma was in reach. After Gavin’s death, there had been moments during college when I thought I wouldn’t make it to the finish line. Friends and roommates had come and gone, most of them focused on parties and schoolwork, blissfully ignorant of the fact that your family and then your life can fall to pieces when you’re only nineteen.
Those difficult years were behind me now, and I would soon have a degree to prove it.
I’d arranged to take the next Wednesday off from the hospital in order to study and attend a statistics study session with the course’s TA. But I’d never bail on the Community Dinner. When evening came I put my books aside and headed over to the church.
Once again I walked into the church kitchen with fear in my heart. But this time I wasn’t afraid that Jude would be there. Instead, I was afraid he wouldn’t be. There weren’t any promises between us. We could never have a real relationship again. For all I knew, Jude could get a better job and vanish into the wind.
Somehow I’d already begun measuring my time in terms of Wednesdays. That couldn’t be a good thing. But there it was.
“How are the exams going?” Denny asked me when I walked in the room.
“Okay, thanks. One down and one to go.” My gaze traveled over Denny’s shoulder to the place where it longed to rest. And there he was in all his tight-T-shirt glory, strong forearms flexing over the prep table as he chopped up something leafy and green.
“Sophie?”
“Yeah?” My gaze snapped back to Denny. I’d been staring at Jude like a lovesick fangirl. “What’s um, the green stuff? My head is so full of, um, statistics that I can’t remember the menu.”
Denny’s face implied that he didn’t believe me. But he answered the question anyway. “It’s taco night.” His thumb jerked back toward Jude. “Cilantro for the pico de gallo. I asked him to do the garlic next.”
