Annabel rolls her eyes, but a smile graces her face. “You’re ridiculous.” She pulls herself up so she’s sitting in bed. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight. We don’t have to leave here for a couple of hours,” I say, leaning over and kissing the side of her neck.
Annabel gently pushes me away. “I’m going to take a bath, and you have some edits to do.” I open my mouth to protest, but she covers it. “Besides, the Milton internship submission is due today. I know you would rather submit the final article, but since that’s not possible, I thought you could send in the piece you wrote last night. Work now, play later.” She kisses me quickly on the mouth, hops off the bed, and disappears into the bathroom.
With a groan, one born half out of despair and half out of pure want, I fall back on the bed.
“I don’t hear typing,” Annabel calls out from the bathroom. Sitting up, I grab my laptop and place it in my lap. I smash down on the keys as hard as I can without breaking them. “Not funny,” she says before turning on the water.
I imagine Annabel will chain me to this bed in an homage to Misery before she lets me leave this hotel room without working on the edits. And Kanye knows that if I don’t get my submission in for the Milton internship by the deadline, she’ll have my balls…and not in any way that’s enjoyable.
Not that it really matters. The internship, that is. Out of the ones she suggested I apply for, it’s by far the one I would want the least. But I highly doubt that I’m even able to secure a yearlong stint with Poldark Press in Kingston, Maryland, much less one of the ones in Chicago or New York. I know Annabel meant well, but all of these applications are rather pointless. Hundreds of miles from Belltown, and I can still hear their taunts. All those things the people back home said about me and my mom. They branded me in ways I still don’t really understand.
That doesn’t stop me from going to town on last night’s piece. Once I get into the edits and fully take them in, my fingers come to life the way Jerry Lee Lewis’s danced across the keys of the piano—fire moonwalking across ivory. A good half hour passes, and I’ve made the revisions and added three more paragraphs.
“You haven’t drowned in there, have you?” I yell to Annabel, noting that the sound of running water stopped about fifteen minutes ago.
“No, just relaxing,” she calls back.
Just relaxing. Naked. In a bath.
I scramble from the bed and knock gently on the door. “And would you like some company to help you, you know, relax?”
“Did you finish?” She sounds more like a scolding teacher than the girl who ravished me last night. But this is Annabel Lee we’re talking about. It’s all about priorities.
“Yes, I finished. Now, can I come in?” I ask, pulling off my shirt in anticipation.
“Read it to me.”
“Huh?” I ask, my shirt not completely removed from my head yet.
“I want you to read it to me.”
Of course she does. Why did I expect any less? I pull my shirt the rest of the way off on my walk back to get my computer. When I go to open the door, her voice halts me. “I didn’t say come in. I said I wanted you to read it to me.”
“And may I come in when I’m done?”
“Only if it’s good,” she sings. She’s enjoying every bit of this torture. The lovable vixen.
And so I read it to her sitting on the floor outside the bathroom door. Even I have to admit it’s good. It’s, like, fucking fantastic. When I get to the part about us dancing up there together, the whole crowd making us feel like gods, she makes me read it again, and I smile knowing it meant as much to her as it did to me.
“You can come in now if you want,” she says, sounding a little shyer than I expected to hear. Gone is the bravado of the schoolteacher, replaced again by the girl who still doesn’t know the power she has over me. How does she not realize she’s had power over me since that first dare when she made me switch out Mrs. Peterson’s peanut butter sandwich with kitty litter?
My heart starts beating a little faster, knowing what’s waiting for me on the other side of this wall. My breath catches in my throat when I open the door and see her sitting there, staring up at me, and waiting. Despite the bubbles, I can see the curves of her perfect porcelain breasts. Her knees poke out of the water. Little strands of hair that escaped her bun matted to her neck and cheek. Her skin’s the prettiest pink Kanye created. I’m not entirely sure if the flush is from the warmth of the water or from seeing me standing there in nothing but my boxers.
That’s when it hits me. We actually haven’t seen each other completely naked. Now I’m the one who’s red in the face. Despite the highly intimate moments we’ve shared, there’s still so much that we haven’t discovered about each other.
“Do you want to join me?” she asks, all breathy.
Modesty be damned. I yank down my boxers, not able to wait one more second to join her. Upon seeing me, really seeing me, Annabel bites down on her bottom lip, and that’s about all the encouragement I need to proceed. I climb into the water with her, spreading my legs so they lay on the outside of hers. I rest one of my arms on the side of the tub and lean back.
I let my other arm rest on top of one of her knees. My fingers draw tiny little circles against the inside of her thigh. Annabel leans her head back and sighs. My fingers crawl farther down her leg. Suddenly, she grabs my hand and sits up.
“It’s my turn,” she says, running a hand over my leg and down my thigh before it disappears under the water.
“You don’t have to.” I somehow manage to speak between shudders. I don’t want her to stop. Oh, hell no. But I also don’t want her to think everything I do for her has to be returned. That’s not how I work. I’ll always want to ravish this girl. Even if she never touches me back.
“I want to,” she insists, a confidence overtaking her voice that I haven’t heard in a long time.
Her fingers graze the head of my dick, and I jerk. Annabel notes the effect her touch has on me and grins. She bites down on that bottom lip and scoots a bit closer to me. Her fingers delicately run up and down my shaft, and every hair on my body stands on end. Slowly. Teasing. I clutch the side of the tub, fully willing to let this torture go on for as long as she sees fit.
Then her hand wraps around me, continuing to move along the length of me. Not too slow. Not too fast. When she gets back to the tip, she spreads her fingers, pushing me in and out of them, and I groan. Deeply. The tempo of her movements picks up, and I start breathing like a marathon runner about to cross the finish line.
Annabel’s eyes lock onto mine. I reach forward to grab for her as well, even though at this moment, I’m seeing two of her. She pushes my hand away. “Let me do this,” she says. So I lean back and close my eyes, fully giving in to the sensations that rush over me in waves.
Her hand moves faster and faster, and I groan harder and harder until we’re both left panting. I’m finished. Done. Destroyed by this girl. And I’d let her destroy me over and over again if she wanted to. Annabel lays her head against the side of the tub, her chest moving up and down from exertion. I manage to grin at her despite the feeling that my heart is about to literally beat through my chest. She winks at me, and the beast is back.
“Now I get what I want,” I growl. I stand up in the tub, pulling her with me. She squeals as I reach down and scoop her into my arms. I carry her into the main room and lay her on the bed. Crawling up, I move my body so I’m hovering over the girl lying below me. I let my eyes roam. “You are made up of the stuff people write songs about,” I say.
Before she can rebuke my compliment, I press my mouth against hers. I let my lips travel down her neck and over her breasts, pausing briefly to flick my tongue against her nipples. As she moans, I move farther down. Covering the whole of her abdomen with slow, languorous kisses. I move even lower until I find her.
Annabel gasps. Her hands wrap themselves in the sheet. Her legs, now nestled on either side of my face, tens
e. I lick, and flick, and suck. I taste her. Moist, and warm, and wet. A hand moves to my head, fingers running up and down the back of my neck.
The cries that come from Annabel are different than before. A whole new verse in a song. Higher pitched, less controlled. And when I finally get her there, it’s a firework display of cuss words.
I lie next to her and gather her in my arms. “Good morning, again, Annabel Lee.” I chuckle.
Chapter Seventeen
Annabel
“You’re seriously designing a battle plan here,” Kennedy points out.
“Of course I am,” I reply, furiously crossing out and circling bands on the schedule I had printed out before leaving home. “There are like fifty acts performing today. I have to be very judicious with how I spend my time. That means a few Sophie’s Choices along the way.” I bite down on my bottom lip as I try to choose between going to see Børns and Twenty One Pilots.
“You seriously have to stop doing that if you ever want us to leave this room,” Kennedy teases, reaching up and rubbing his thumb against my bottom lip.
I grin and smack his hand away. “This is the only way I’m going to conquer day one,” I say, holding up my schedule. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
“What about just going with the flow?” Kennedy asks as he leans back against the headboard.
Sitting up, cross-legged across from him, I learn forward and tickle his foot. “You’ve picked the wrong girl for that.”
Kennedy jumps up and pulls me into his arms, knocking my very detailed schedule to the floor. “I think I picked the perfect partner,” he says before kissing my forehead. His hand makes its way under my shirt, and even though every pore in my body screams out for him, I shift away so I’m sitting up again.
“If we don’t leave now, we might be late. I’ve calculated extra time for traffic, but we should leave in the next few minutes. I really want to see Chvrches. They’re one of the first acts,” I explain. “I would hate to miss them.”
Earlier in the morning, when Kennedy and I shared those moments, he made me realize something very important—he made me understand that it was all right to want things. Not just because they would make your existence better or put you ahead in the great game of life, but just because you wanted them. And I really wanted to see Chvrches. And then I wanted Kennedy…all night long.
I’m not saying it didn’t scare the crap out of me, but it’s like I didn’t know how to say no anymore. I have no proof that when life gets difficult he won’t leave, but I have no proof that he will, either. At least not any recently collected evidence. The not knowing is a little bit exciting. Like a dare.
Like losing your compass on the open sea and not giving a damn if you ever saw land again.
“Well, then let’s get our asses moving, so we can see Chvrches,” Kennedy exclaims, jumping off the bed.
After gathering our bags, we head out into the parking lot. As Kennedy loads up the car, I notice one of his tires is a bit low. “Kennedy? Have you seen this?” I ask, pointing it out to him.
Kennedy walks around to where I’m standing and crouches down to examine it. “I think we’ll be fine. Once we get to the festival campground, I’ll call someone to come out and fix it.”
“Do you have a spare?” I ask in case Kennedy’s car doesn’t decide to run on optimism alone.
“Yeah, about that…” He trails off, scratching at the back of his head. “I had to use it a few months ago, and I never got around to replacing it. Seriously, though, we will be fine. Trust me. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“I have AAA, though,” I say. “They’d be here in no time. Like I said, I did build in some extra time to our schedule for traffic. I’d rather we wait here than get stuck in the middle of nowhere.” While the hotel was located in a small town, there was still a bit of desolate country roads between us and the festival grounds.
“Annabel Lee, has anyone told you that you worry entirely too much?” Kennedy asks. He gently taps me under the chin with his finger. “We’ll make it. I’ve been driving this old lady around since I was sixteen, so I know what she can do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just trust me, Le Chat,” he says before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.
I shouldn’t have trusted him.
Not even an hour into our drive, the tire goes flat. I slam the door a little harder than I need to as I climb out of the car. No sense sitting in it when it can’t go anywhere.
“It’ll be fine,” Kennedy tries to pacify me.
“Will it?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“It’s just a little setback.”
“A little setback that didn’t need to happen in the first place,” I mumble. “I know it’s not the most glamorous or rock-and-roll of tasks, but most people replace a spare tire after they use it.”
“I’m sure we’ll make it in time for you to see your band.”
“I am sure we will not.”
“What? You afraid you’ll miss meeting up with sad little hipster boy from the karaoke bar?” he jokes, trying to distract me from our current predicament. He knows I texted said hipster earlier in the morning gently letting him down. Considering it took three minutes of texting back and forth for him to remember who I was, I don’t think he was too heartbroken about it.
“Maybe I should text him and see if he can get me to the music festival. I bet he has a spare tire in his trunk,” I counter.
Kennedy strides toward me, wrapping his hands around my arms and backing me up into the side of the truck. “Take a deep breath,” he demands. “I know it makes you uncomfortable and anxious when things don’t go according to plan. And I feel like shit that you might miss your show, but this is going to be all right,” he promises.
I open my mouth to protest, but Kennedy grabs my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s rough and frenzied. I should pull away, but there’s something about the way it makes me feel that keeps me right there with him. His leg moves forward, forcing mine apart. His knee comes up and finds me, pressing against me. He rubs me gently in all the right places as our kiss deepens.
“You don’t fight fair,” I manage to gasp when I’m able to pull away.
His hands reach forward and unbutton my jean shorts. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his mouth against my lips.
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around his neck.
The blast of a car horn startles us apart. A minivan with large tie-dyes flags covered in symbols I’ve never seen before zooms past us, music blaring. No doubt, they’re heading to the festival.
“I have an idea,” Kennedy says, buttoning back up my pants.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he climbs into the truck. I wonder how he can even walk right now. My legs feel like wet noodles from anticipation and want.
“I have your fifth dare,” he says, returning to my side with our bags in our hand.
“Why do I feel like I’m not going to like what I’m about hear?”
“You probably won’t. But that’s why it’s a dare.”
I take a deep breath. “Fine. What is it?”
“I dare you to hitchhike.”
“Oh. Hell. No!” I exclaim.
“Now, let’s calm down and talk about this—”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I interrupt. “Clearly you didn’t think I would take you seriously when you said I would be returned home with all my body parts intact.”
“What are you afraid is going to happen?” Kennedy asks.
“Um, I don’t know. Dismemberment. Death in general? This isn’t some Jack Kerouac novel.”
Kennedy reaches out and takes my hand in his. “There’s no one but music festival peeps driving down this road right now. The worst that could happen is they threaten to glitter you, or maybe offer you a bit of weed.”
“Well, I’d rather not catch the herpes of the crafting world if I can prevent it,” I retort.
Kennedy brings my hand toward his lips and
kisses it. “Remember that whole conversation about calming down and trying to control our anxiety? This is the best way for us to get you to your show. I won’t let anyone glitter you, or dismember you for that matter,” he promises.
“You’re really going to just leave your car here?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not even sure your doors lock. What if something happens to it?”
Kennedy shrugs. “Then I’ll spend two hundred dollars to get another one. I promised you I would get you to your show, and I plan on keeping all of my promises these days.”
I’m not sure if his words are wildly romantic or further evidence of a carelessness that defined my childhood. “And you’re going to pay all that money to get it towed to the festival grounds when we could simply just wait for AAA?”
“I don’t care about money,” he groans, clearly growing a bit frustrated with my pragmatism.
“The only people who don’t care about money are people who have too much or don’t have any at all,” I argue. This was impractical. Crazy.
“Annabel,” he warns.
I sigh. “Please don’t make me do this. Besides, you only have one dare left, and we’re not even at the festival yet. Don’t waste a dare on this,” I beg.
“Don’t worry, I’ll save my last dare for something really good. Besides, I have other ways of coaxing you to do my bidding now.” He grins. Once he sees that his charm is not having its desired effect, he takes a deep breath. “Annabel, just give it a chance,” he says so earnestly that I am not entirely sure if he’s still talking about hitchhiking. Maybe Kennedy can also hear the doubts that whisper to me so traitorously.
I walk toward the edge of the street and stick out my thumb. “If I end up getting murdered, I swear I’ll haunt your ass.”
“Perfectly reasonable.” He chuckles.
“You sure about the car?”
Kennedy shrugs. “Leave it here. I’ll make sure it gets towed to where we’re going.”
Yes, wherever it is we’re going.
…
Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart Page 16
