by Teagan Kade
“You? The NFL? But you hate football,” I say, surprised.
She waves her hand with a smile. “Meh, that was during my teen angst phase. I also used to listen to Good Charlotte and thought sharpies were acceptable substitutes for nail polish, so you know, the times they are a-changin!”
“Apparently…”
“This job is so extra, Jeanie. I got to help with a market research test group. Like, I went out on the street and invited complete randos to taste crackers. It was so fun. Oh! And for the NFL thing I got to sit in on the pitch to the Giants. There were even a couple real, live, pro footballers there. The sheer volume of male beauty was enough to blast even your V-card out of your hands,” she says, pretending to fan herself.
I feel the blush spreading across my cheeks, so I drop a mug and excuse myself to clean it. Ava is my dearest friend and not exactly a virgin herself, but I’m not feeling so great about the situation with Mason right now.
“Anyway, what’s up with you?” she asks. “Have you given any more thought to coming out to NY with me? My roommate Safi—you’d love her—she makes the best Massaman curry— anyway, she’s a photography assistant for Vanity Fair. She could probably help you find something in that sphere. Entry level, sure, but hey, we all start somewhere. And, I could totally give you a makeover! You would look so cute with denim hair. It’s a big deal right now.”
I laugh as she talks a mile a minute. She’s always been high energy, but ever since moving to the city, the speed and sheer quantity of words coming out of her mouth has increased exponentially. She looks at me expectantly. I realize there was a question in there.
“Oh, no, I don’t want to leave Silver Springs still,” I say, sobering a little and remembering she doesn’t know what’s going on with Jerry. “For one, I’d miss this place too much. I think it’s so wonderful you’re out there, following your dreams, I just… I guess my dreams are quieter. I still enjoy photography, but I don’t know that world is for me. I like the pace of life here, you know?”
She’s looking at me as if I’ve sprouted a unicorn’s horn, “Not really, but you were always an odd bird.”
“Says the girl in rainbow fringe,” I counter teasingly. “There is another reason, though. I meant to call you, but I know you’re busy, and it’s been a lot to deal with.”
She wags her brows. “Does it have anything to do with the part-time job you’ve got with the hunky new mechanic Maggie told me about?”
I shoot Maggie a look and turn back. “No… I mean there is that, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Okay, well, after you talk about whatever else there is, I definitely want to hear all about that, too.”
I tell her about Jerry’s diagnosis. The words are heavy as they leave my mouth.
She’s touching my hand from across the counter, telling me how sorry she is, and I’m fighting the lump in my throat.
“Thanks. Anyway, he needs me right now and even if he didn’t, I want to be here. I want to have this time with him.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you with this,” she says seriously, her eyes looking a little damp. “But if you need anything, you know I’m here for you, right?”
I nod my head and we share a moment of silence, composing ourselves.
Ava lost her father to a brain tumor when she was nine. It was one of the things that brought us together. A wallflower and a rebel; we bonded over our strangeness and our scars, and we’d been best friends ever since.
One of my orders is up and I take it out, leaving Ava for a few minutes while I make my rounds, offering water and dessert.
Ava changes course when I get back. “Okay, so, now you have to tell me what’s going on with this part-time job at the garage, and just how hot is this mechanic?”
I sigh. I was hoping she had forgotten about that. “It’s nothing. I took the job to help pay for some repairs to Jerry’s old GTO. I wanted to get it fixed up for his birthday.”
“See, you know I’ve known you since fourth grade, and you know I know when you’re lying. So when you say it’s nothing, Jeanie Bean, I know you’re full of shit.”
All the frustration comes flooding back. “Fine, you’re right. It’s not nothing, but it’s not really something either.”
I try to explain everything in general terms, but from the expressions she’s making it’s clear I’m not doing such a good job of it.
Finally, she chimes in. “Shit, Jeanie, I haven’t seen you this hot and bothered about a guy since Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You. So, begs the question, is he as hot as Heath?
I roll my eyes but concede tersely, “Hotter.”
Her eyes go big and she smacks the counter. “Look at you little Jeanie Bean. Damn!” Then, more soberly, “So, do you really think he’s playing you?”
I scrub the counter more vigorously than necessary. “I don’t know what to think right now. But it’s weird, right? He said he wasn’t good at relationships, but he never said he didn’t want one. He protected me from Clint.”
“That dickwad,” she mutters angrily.
“And then he makes these promises… Why would he do that if this was all just a game to him? And why would he come out and meet Jerry, then basically blow me off? I just don’t get what’s going on, and I sure as heck don’t understand what he wants. I don’t know… maybe he doesn’t know what he wants either? It’s possible, too, he just got freaked out. Approximately one-hundred percent of the guys I know have issues with commitment.”
“Hmph!”
“You sound just like Jerry!” Ava laughs, and I realize she’s right.
“Well, I think if that’s what’s going on that it’s ridiculous. I’ve been very careful not to talk about the future. I mean, I don’t exactly expect anything at this point. Nothing more than basic acknowledgment and decency. I’m not looking to get married tomorrow. You know, it’s not like he hits all of the things on my list, not to mention he hasn’t made a secret of the fact he’s been around the block a few times, so if he thinks I’m trying to chase him down and rope him into a commitment, it’s just a bunch of bull!”
“Although, that’s not to say I’m okay with this never having any potential to be more. If there isn’t even the possibility of a future, what are we doing?” I pause, taking in a breath and realizing I’m ranting a little.
Ava looks a surprised as she answers. “Good question—one you ought to ask him. Maybe he’s just as confused about your feelings as you are about his. I don’t know, I’m just spit-balling here. It sounds like you just need to be straightforward with him. No offense, Jeanie Bean, but you do like to bottle your thoughts and worries up.”
“Are you saying this is my fault?” I ask, feeling defensive.
“No, I’m just saying, you can’t get the answers you need without asking the questions. I’m no expert on relationships, but even I know you have to be honest with him. If it’s going somewhere or if it’s not, better to get that out in the open and deal with it.”
*
“Holy shit, that’s a nice car!” Ava exclaims.
The sun is setting as we park down the street from Mason’s white-trimmed bungalow. It’s almost like the old days when we’d ride around town, windows down, listening to music, lamenting high-school dramas and wishing we were grown-ups. Only now, we are grown-ups and life isn’t necessarily any less dramatic.
“What did you say his name was again?” she asks, pulling out her phone. “Maybe we can find something about him online.”
“Mason Beckett,” I say, nervous.
“Beckett? As in the Becketts? As in, he’s related to Cayden Beckett, the Giant’s quarterback that I met at the pitch?” she asks, incredulous.
My stomach churns nervously. “I don’t know.”
Ava looks back at the house and then shakes her head. “No, that wouldn’t make any sense. The New York Becketts are like old school WASPs. Why would someone from that world move here, to Silver Springs of all places
? I’m sure that’s not it, but there’s definitely something mysterious about your hot mechanic. According to Google, that car is in the neighborhood of $240,000.”
I do a double take and look back at Mason’s car in the driveway.
“So, are you going to go talk to him or what?” she asks, reminding me why we drove here.
She walked with me to the shop, while I stressed over what to say. When he wasn’t there, Ava talked me into showing her his house.
“I don’t know…” I say, the nerves increasing and not just because I now know his car is worth more than my house.
“Oh, come on, Jeanie. If you like the guy, you owe it to yourself to find out where he stands,” she prods.
“I know, I know. I just… what if he doesn’t want anything more than this?”
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Then at least you know. Now get goin’.”
I check my appearance in the visor mirror and take a deep breath. “Okay, you’re right.”
I hug her and we say goodbye. She’s leaving tomorrow night and we won’t have a chance to meet up again.
I climb out of the car and walk down the sidewalk to his front door, feeling my nerves go haywire.
I knock on the door. A minute later, Mason swings it open.
His dark blond hair looks tousled and damp like he was in the shower recently. His shirt is gaping open, revealing the tanned ridges of his abs and the dusting of hair that trails in a line below the waistline of his jeans.
He looks surprised and dazed. “Hi…”
“Can I come in?” I ask. He steps back, letting the door swing open.
The lights are off inside except for a single lamp in the living room. Some kind of industrial rock is playing and a short glass sits on the coffee table beside a bottle of liquor. From the looks of it, he’s been brooding as much as I have.
“I thought you were mad at me,” he says.
I turn back to him and realize he’s stepped closer. “I am, but…” I swallow, feeling the heat from his body.
“But what?” he asks, looking at me with a kind of feral hunger, as though he’s not particularly interested in words.
He’s like a storm—beautiful and powerful and I want to be swept up in it, but I also know how badly it could hurt, that I might not make it out the other side.
I open my mouth to talk, but all of my insecurities rise up like a tide, swallowing my words.
A drop of water falls from his hair onto his bare chest and trickles down his stomach, sparkling in the low light and capturing my gaze. I reach out to wipe it away, but the contact is like a catalyst, a spark on a line of gasoline, igniting an inferno.
All I know is I’m against the wall, my hands in his hair as his body is grinding into mine. Everything from before falls away as our bodies, our needs collide, and erupt into flames.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MASON
I’ve been sitting in the dark stewing over this failed experiment and wishing like hell I wasn’t born into this so called ‘privilege’ that has been more of a sentence than anything else. I’ve been drinking and longing for a certain pair of green eyes, for a forgiveness I know better than to expect.
Now, the heavy bass thump of Nine Inch Nail’s Closer is playing and she’s suddenly here, like some kind of mythical creature, summoned by my thoughts, driving me towards the edge of desire and reason.
It’s probably the scotch talking, the fog of it clouding my head, my thoughts, most of my senses, but not my taste. In my mouth, on my tongue is the sweet taste of her… innocence, decency, morality… all the things I’ve been denied by virtue of who I am and the name I was born into.
I feel like a starved, jealous maniac, wanting to consume her, to absorb her goodness and let it wash me clean. I need her with an urgency I’m ill equipped to deny.
“You taste so fucking amazing,” I manage to say in between the heavy pant of our breaths.
It’s primitive and sensual and intense but it’s also more. More than sexual, more than just the hot, delicious friction of our bodies. There’s absolution in her arms, deliverance in her kiss, redemption in her touch. The bruised and battered parts of my psyche are clawing for it.
Pushing her against the wall, I hear the clatter of glass as frames go crashing to the floor. I’m barefoot, fresh from the shower, and the painful sting of a slice to the top of my foot barely registers.
I can tell she wanted to talk, but I don’t. Not right now. And I’m selfish enough to let her be distracted by the physical magnetism between us.
I know it’s unfair, cheap of me, even. I know I should face the inevitable end of my time with her, but it feels like I’m possessed. Driven by a demon of lust and craven demands. My own darkness reveling in her purity.
She’s still wearing her uniform and the insanity that’s driving me isn’t patient. I grab her cheeks and she responds in kind, wrapping her silky legs around me as the hem of her blue cotton dress, the one with her name sweetly embroidered above her breast, gathers in sweaty, wrinkled chaos at her hips.
Fitting my fingers beneath the thin satiny fabric of her panties, I tear, ripping them off of her. With one quick movement at the button of my own pants, my cock is free, bouncing against the warm, wet mound of her snug against me.
I hear her gasp, her hands in eager search of purchase as she grips my shoulders. I dig in my pocket, finding my wallet and tearing the condom wrapper with my teeth, rolling it on, and preparing to bury myself in sweet, sensual relief.
I lift her slightly and let myself slip into her plush heat and the relief. The perfection in the way her body fits around mine is breathtaking.
Her body is gripping me, beckoning me deeper into what feels like a place I’ll never be able to escape.
I dip my head into the cavity of her dress between her swollen breasts, swirling my tongue, laving at the sweet, salty taste of her skin as I thrust into her. With my teeth, I yank at the lapel of her dress. A button springs free and bounces with a ping off the hard wood floor.
It’s not enough. Surrounded by her but separated by all this fabric, I feel angry at the dress, at my own clothes that exist in the divide between our bodies.
With a frustrated groan, I lift her and carry her to the couch. I fall back against the pillows and she lands on top of me, still riding my cock. I work furiously at the buttons of her dress, needing to see her body, to indulge in the image of her overset with the erotic pleasure I alone have given her.
I know it’s corrupt to take pleasure in defiling such chastity, such wholesome beauty, but for a brief moment, it feels like I’m stealing hope, stroke by stroke.
She’s moaning and rising up, riding me, setting the pace a little slower, achingly languorous. Every fiber in my body is drawn out and tortured as she undulates on top of me.
I let my hands rise up to her heaving breasts, still hidden behind the white lace of her bra. Through the fabric I pinch at the tight buds of her nipples, dragging a low, throaty sob from her.
The heavy cup of her full bra against my palm, I massage her and drop my other hand to her soft curls, to the tight peak of her clit, rubbing her, whirling my thumb over the sensitive apex. The way she’s throbbing beneath my hand and stroking me, it’s like an escape, and I want to throw myself towards it.
Letting my hands leave her, I grip her hips and sit up, pushing her to her back against the soft cushions. Her hair spreads out like a halo against the blue fabric of the couch, her face darkened with desire as I plunge into her.
Our eyes meet and I know I’m bare, exposed to her—all the words I don’t have, the uncomfortable feelings I push away are there, in my eyes, in my face. It’s galling and overwhelming and I try to look away, but I can’t. Something in me is forcing me to stay there, unmasked before her.
She tightens and I feel ravaged by the sincerity of this moment. The sensation plays across her face as release courses through me, unfettered and electric.
I grind into her, even after
my own orgasm has reached its crescendo, driven on by her voice, crying out my name.
“Mason!” The sound of it reverberates in my ears. Neither condemnation nor pardon, just this moment… and I’m lost to it.
*
Jeanie’s in my bed and dawn is only a few hours away. If you asked me now, I might be willing to part with what remains of my soul just to stay forever in this bed, unburdened by everything beyond.
Of course, nothing lasts forever. The weight of everything between us is adding up and I’ve reached the tipping point. I can’t put it off any longer.
Jeanie is smiling, curled in against my side, looking blissful and satisfied. On an elemental level, I do feel content, but I also know if I don’t act now, there may be no way to recover.
Don’t kid yourself. You’re already past that point.
But maybe she’s not.
“Jeanie?” I whisper quietly, almost hoping she won’t hear me, postponing this conversation, if only for a moment more.
She writhes against me. “Hmm?”
“I need to tell you something,” I say, feeling my mouth grow stiff in rebellion.
Jeanie leans back slightly, looking up at me, a gleam in her eyes.
She thinks you’re going to say something profound.
“I’m leaving.”
The gleam is gone. “What?” she blinks in semi-smiling disbelief.
And oh, how I wish it was a joke.
“I have to go. I’m leaving Silver Springs in two weeks. I’ve only just started making arrangements and I wanted you to know.”
She’s pulling back, gathering the sheet up around her like armor, but her face is registering the hurt I was trying to prevent.
“What are you talking about? How are you leaving? You just got here!”
“I know, and believe me I wish I could stay, but…”
“But what? What could possibly be so important you have to uproot after you just barely moved here?” I can see fear on her face as she’s saying it, wanting to know the answer but also not sure she’s prepared to hear it.
