Shift

by Ginger Scott

  “Okay, that’s a bit dramatic,” Bailey teases, glancing at me in the mirror as she works to pull her hair back into the strict fashion her mother prefers. From what she knows, this is all about prom and my brother having a date and me not.

  “What do you know?” I throw back. Her brows lower, and I feel bad the moment my words hit her ears.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and she waves me off, turning her attention back to her hair. I know she’s hurt, though, so I step in behind her and take over brushing her hair.

  “One day, you should let me cut your hair to your chin. You’d look really cute with one of those blunt bobs,” I say, relaxing my hold on her hair and folding it at the base of her neck to mimic the way a bob would look.

  Her mouth curves at the look and she turns her head slightly to the right, her eyes flitting to meet mine in the reflection.

  “I could so rock that look, huh?” she says.

  I nod and lean forward a little to hug her around the shoulders. She grabs my hand as I do and squeezes.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “I know,” she responds, patting the back of my hand.

  We both admire the look on her for a few more seconds before making plans to actually follow through with the cut when we go away to college. When it’s too late for her mom to stop us, and when she’s already had her first semester of tuition paid for.

  With all things bland and proper recreated on my best friend, we head downstairs so I can walk her home. We’re halfway down the driveway when my brother’s car rolls up toward us, Dustin in the same seat he left in this morning. Tommy pretends to swerve to hit us and Bailey flips him off.

  “That’s probably the one untoward thing your mom would be okay with you doing,” I laugh out.

  “Oh, when it comes to your brother, I don’t think she has any rules as long as I’m clothed head-to-toe. She’s still not over the fact I wore a swimsuit in front of him last summer.” Bailey rolls her eyes as my brother parks in the side garage.

  “It wasn’t even a two piece,” I add.

  My friend busts out a snorting laugh.

  “Oh, my God, could you imagine me in a bikini?”

  I step to the side and glance up and down Bailey’s frame. Truth is, she would own every man in this town if she put on a two piece and took a dip in the town pool. I’m about to shower her in compliments, partly to bait her into trying it sometime, when my attention gets completely sucked away by Dustin’s gaze. Tommy’s already slammed the driver’s door and is busy with something in the back of the garage, but Dustin is lingering, one hand resting on top of the door, the other flat on the roof while his eyes rake over me. His mouth hangs open, as if he’s trying to push out words that will meet my expectations—something sweet or affectionate. Hell, I’d even take an apology for being clueless earlier. Eventually, his mouth snaps shut and my brother makes a noise that draws his eyes the other way. He doesn’t look back again as he shuts the passenger door, and the whole thing pushes me to the most extreme measures.

  “Hey, Dusty!” I use that name to scratch at his insides. His relationship with it is part love, part hate, and now I’ve gone and thrown myself into the mixture.

  As expected, his shoulders bristle before his head jerks my direction.

  “Don’t worry about prom!” I yell. I feel Bailey’s eyes on me, questioning. She’s not subtle sometimes, and I can see her hands out at her sides. “I got a date already!”

  Pulse racing from the lie I just uttered, I flex my fingers to signal to my friend that I’ve got this handled. I need her to keep her mouth shut until we’re out of here.

  Dustin’s turned to face me completely and he’s moving toward the back of Tommy’s car. His hand drags along the trunk, and everything about his movement reads territorial. This is the single best lie I’ve ever told, and it’s about to get better.

  “Someone make you a cute poster board you just couldn’t resist?” His words are touched with humor, but the way he nods at me, his mouth a hard line, teeth clenched so hard I see the movement in his jaw, I know that nothing about this is funny to him.

  “Nah, he just asked. I said yes. Simple.” I shrug.

  Dustin takes a few steps away from the car and toward me, glancing over his shoulder to where my brother has popped the hood and is distracted. I’m sure Tommy’s listening to all of this. I couldn’t care less.

  “I said I’d go,” Dustin says in a loud whisper, leaning toward me.

  I lift a brow.

  “Again with the romance,” I chide.

  His chest deflates a bit as his shoulders slump and he sighs, weight shifting to his heels.

  I shrug again.

  “You can still go. Just . . . not with me.” I shift my weight so my hip pops out. He wants to ask, but Tommy’s bound to hear us eventually. I’m sure my brother will interject and applaud the idea of me going with anyone else, even though I made it up. I know that’s not what Dustin wants. He’s just afraid. Yeah, maybe some of it’s warranted. He hasn’t had a lot of people in his life actually care about him. But I’ve never wavered. Not when we were friends, and not now that we’re more. He needs to believe that it’s worth it, that Tommy will come around, and that my parents will, too. That it’s not a choice between having a family or having me; he can have it all.

  His tongue is pushed to the roof of his mouth, his smile showing a hint of his teeth, one dimple deeper than the other. He nods, and I brace myself for the question, ready to make this lie massive.

  “I bet you’ll look real pretty in your dress.”

  His eyes settle on mine and there’s a brief flare in them that fills me with a fire so hot and angry that it rages up my throat. I’m not sure what it means. Is he trying to be cruel? Or just taking my brother’s advice, ending us before we get in too deep. Tommy, who has never had feelings for anyone other than himself.

  “Huh,” I eek out in a whisper-type pout. I grip my bottom lip with my teeth and shake my head. He’s really going to listen to my brother . . . over me.

  My gaze falls to the ground as my head stills, and after a few seconds, I glance up to my friend, whose eyes aren’t burrowing into me anymore with shock but instead are tilted and heavy with pity. Pretty sure Bailey knows more about what’s going on than I give her credit for.

  “Let’s go,” she says quietly, leaning her head in the direction of her house.

  I manage to pull my lips into a tight smile, one that I’ll leave plastered there until we’re safe in her room and I can tell her everything, from the first kiss to the last one right before Dustin fell asleep last night. I fall in line with her footsteps, but in my periphery, I can still see Dustin standing there, watching me go.

  Letting me go.

  I spin to walk backward, not slowing, but giving him one last chance to choose differently. His expression is unchanged—almost void of feeling, eyes steely and jaw locked. It’s as though he’s trying to become an impenetrable wall all on his own. Why, though? For Tommy?

  “I think Michael Bosa will love it.” I don’t smile when I utter the words, and I’m sure there’s a part of Dustin that knows it’s all bullshit, that I would never let that guy near me unless it’s to hand over cash I’m owed. But I’ve sold it well enough to leave him unsettled. His façade cracks, just a little. His brow draws in, creasing briefly. It’s almost a flinch, but it’s there, and I catch it. I take some pleasure in him having to think about my lie while I’m gone. And I don’t plan on coming home until well after midnight so he can suffer with it for a few hours.

  As suspected, Bailey knew more than I originally thought. I’ve been sneaking her out for parties, races, and meet-ups with cute boys long enough for her to shed most of that sheltered cocoon her parents raise her in. What I didn’t expect was how much she understood my feelings for Dustin.

  “I’ve been watching you two together for years. You’ve always had a thing,” she said.

  And we have. I just thought I was the only one awar
e of it.

  Whatever that thing was, it’s entirely different now. And the closer I get to the glow of solar lights that lead up the gravel pathway that cuts through my xeriscape front yard to my driveway, the less sure I am about any of it.

  I shouldn’t have turned this into a game. I should know better than to go against a guy who doesn’t lose. Besides, the one true thing that makes my bond with Dustin special is our honesty, and instead of following the path we’ve forged our entire lives, I made a sharp turn. An immature one too. At this point, I’ll be lucky to get Michael Bosa’s baby brother to take me to prom.

  My feet crunch against the pebbles that wind toward my house, and when the gurgle of the dripper system kicks on to water my mom’s few flower beds, I startle, gripping my chest as I take a tiny leap backward.

  “It’s not a snake,” Dustin’s voice says. It’s too dark to tell where he is exactly, but I sense he’s near the garage.

  “You told me that once before, and I seem to remember it was a snake,” I say, recalling a family hike Dustin joined us on when we were younger that ended in me sprinting down the mountain when I discovered Dustin had been lying about the cricket sounds. My hand grips my T-shirt for a different reason as I inch forward. My eyes scan the driveway, adjusting to the dim light as I search for him.

  His legs come into view first as he kicks off from the back of Tommy’s car and flips on the light by the garage entry. His hair is a disheveled mess. He’s wearing a pair of my dad’s extra-large sweatpants that hang from his hips enough to expose the red band of his boxer briefs, and a gray racing T-shirt that he’s worn several holes in over the last few years. Sloppy, like a kid wandering out from a sleepover, and still the most attractive guy my eyes have ever seen.

  His feet shuffle toward me in Tommy’s too-small slides, and I smile at the sight of his white socks, heels hanging off the back of the shoes.

  “In my defense,” he says, drawing my eyes back to his face. His head is cocked, and his smile is crooked as he bites on the tip of his tongue. “I was fourteen, and I didn’t want you to freak out. We were on a canyon trail and you were inches from the edge.”

  “What’s the worst that could have happened, I’d slip and fall to my death? I mean . . . snake versus plunging death. Tough one, really,” I joke. One look in Dustin’s eyes, though, and I can tell he isn’t amused.

  “That’s pretty much the worst that could happen, yeah,” he says, no more humor in his voice. His response weighs heavy in my chest, smothering my heart and muffling the beat. Gone is the daring look from earlier, too. He’s dropped the charade, and it’s time for me to as well.

  “You wait up for me?” My hand lets go of my shirt long enough to slide across my body and weave under my other arm. It’s warm out tonight, no reason to be cold. Yet I can’t seem to hug myself tight enough.

  “You really going to prom with Michael Bosa?”

  He knows I’m not.

  I hold his gaze through a full breath, and eventually shake my head and look down at our feet. We’re still too far from each other to touch. A small cricket cuts through the space between us, and I take a quick step back, my jumpiness amusing Dustin enough to pull a breathy laugh from his mouth.

  “What? You have me thinking about snakes,” I say, kicking gravel from the walkway onto the driveway at his feet. He leans back, thumbs hooked in the sweatpant pockets, and laughs for real. I guess I’m in the mood to blame him for everything.

  “I’m sorry I made that a big deal. Prom is stupid,” I say, glancing at him briefly before looking out at the dark roadway, stars spilling down from the sky. I swallow the rock in my throat.

  “No, it isn’t,” he says, his voice nearer. I work my jaw, afraid to turn back and face him because he’s right, it isn’t stupid. For some reason, it’s important to me. But it’s more important to me that I go with him. That we show up together, for people to see—for Tommy to have to accept.

  Giving in, I turn my head and find him close and waiting. He reaches for my arm, dragging his knuckles from my elbow to my wrist until I relent and let go of the vice grip I have on my chest. He takes my hand in his, weaving our fingers together, and my pulse races. I blink wildly, strangely overwhelmed, but then one touch of his other hand under my chin and my body calms.

  “Prom isn’t stupid. I was being stupid. And I don’t want you going anywhere with that Bosa asshat,” he says as the right side of his mouth lifts into a smirk.

  “He’ll be so disappointed,” I say in a hushed tone.

  Both of our chests lift with a short laugh.

  Closing all space between us, he cups my face and moves so his toes touch mine. I look up from his shadow to find his eyes peering down at me while his thumbs draw tender circles on my cheeks.

  “I’m going to talk to Tommy tomorrow and tell him how it is,” he says.

  My lips pull in for a tight smile, and I let out a soft laugh.

  “Oh, yeah? And how is it, exactly?” I ask.

  His hand moves into my hair as he coaxes my chin to tilt, making room for his mouth to cover mine, pausing right before our lips touch.

  “It’s me and you, and then Tommy. And if he has a problem with it, he’ll have to sort it out on his own, or pout about it like a whiny little bitch.”

  His mouth stretches into a grin that I feel grow as it tickles against my lips. The sensation makes me smile, too. That’s what Dustin used to say in junior high to make Tommy mad. When my brother didn’t want to do something the rest of us did, Dustin basically shamed him with peer pressure. It’s a bit mean, actually, but in this case, I think it’s called for.

  “Okay,” I say, the last word I’m able to utter before Dustin’s mouth collides with mine.

  We turn, Dustin walking me backward as his hands hold my kiss to his until my back finds the wall of the garage. I reach to the side and flatten my palm along the wall until I feel the light switch along with the button to close the door. I return us to the shadows before the door completely shuts so we can keep doing this without catching unwanted attention.

  My thumbs hook under the bottom of Dustin’s shirt and I lift it up his chest, allowing myself to feel the hard ripples of his stomach and chest along the way. His body is warm to the touch, and he lets go of my face long enough to let me pull his shirt up over his head, freeing his arms on his own. He bends down and lifts me against him in a blink, and my legs wrap around his hips as he spins around and moves toward the hood of Tommy’s car. He sets me down, but I keep my grip on him with my thighs. It’s dark in the back of the garage, but my eyes have adjusted enough to see Dustin’s form, and my God, is it straight from my dreams. The skinny kid who jumped from the high-dive platform with me when I was eight and he was nine has grown into something spectacular, with defined lines along his biceps and back, and tight muscles that arrow beyond the waist of his boxers.

  Our lips break and I run my hands along the sides of his chest, leaning into him so I can kiss the skin over his beating heart. It’s not long before he bends down enough to find the nape of my neck with his mouth and I lean back, exposing my throat as I arch and urge him to keep going. He does, his teeth gripping the center of my T-shirt, tugging it toward him like a hungry animal. A coy smile plays at his lips when he lets go, his hands taking over, gathering up the fabric of my shirt and pulling it over my head and from my arms in one smooth movement.

  The roughness of his chin scratches the skin between my breasts and he soothes the light burn quickly by pressing kisses in his wake, his hand gliding up my side to my shoulder where he slides the straps of my bra down my arms. I arch again on instinct as the straps fall and the cups of lace loosen their grip on my breasts. Dustin’s breath is hot on my skin, his mouth hovering at the edge of the lace as his hands come together to unhook the clasp at my back. When the material breaks free on my spine, I suck in a quick breath, ready for more of this moment I’ve imagined so many times.

  His fingers hooked in both straps, I lay back completel
y as he drags the delicate material down the front of my body, slow enough that I think he’s teasing himself, until I’m bare for him to see and admire.

  “Fucking hell, Hannah,” he utters, his mouth hung open, hungry.

  My palms flatten against the hood at my sides and I lift my chin as my knees fall open, welcoming him closer. His hand flattens on my stomach, fingers splayed wide, and his touch firm as he trails up my stomach to the center of my ribs. Leaning down, he sweeps his other hand behind my back, supporting me as he presses lingering kisses on my stomach, following the same path his hand took.

  I whimper as his fingertips tease along the curve of my breast, his thumb moving up one side while his fingers graze the other. I hold my breath while his mouth moves higher, his thumb inching closer to the hard tips of my breast, the ache from want so strong inside me that I feel as though I may pass out from it. When his thumb finally passes over the tender skin of my nipple, I cry out and clasp my legs around him.

  Dustin’s breath cools my skin as he samples my skin with his tongue, his mouth moving from the center of my chest toward his hand, growing closer to the sensitive hard bud of my left breast. I feel the sharp pinch as his thumb and finger bring my rosy peak to a painful head that is instantly consumed by his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hard tip while he sucks it raw. Unable to take it, my palms abandon the cool metal of the hood and grasp the band of Dustin’s pants, tugging him closer to my center as my body slides along the hood into him. I hook my right leg around his waist and am rewarded with the sweet pleasure of his hard-on pressed between my legs.

  “Hannah,” he growls in a whisper against my nipple, letting go of his hold on it. The release knocks the wind out of me. His chin digs into my skin, his tongue and teeth dragging up my breast and neck until our mouths collide as he rocks into me, hard melding into soft, heat against heat. Dustin grinds into me while we kiss, his force so strong at one point I think we may dent my brother’s hood. I’m lost to him, to his touch and taste, and to the pressure that both tempts and satisfies the need growing between my legs. We kiss through raw lips, our bodies covered in a sheen of sweat, and our eyes meet as he moves against me.