“Well, that’s nice. What does her father do?” he asks.
My mom clucks her tongue in disgust. She’s clearly annoyed at his curiosity in anything that remotely has to do with Quinn.
“He’s an accountant,” I say with a smile. Mom looks pissed.
“What about her mother?” Dad asks.
“She stays at home. Quinn still has a younger brother at home, and he has a really busy schedule of activities outside school.” I explain.
“Quinn seems like a sweet girl. How long have you two been going steady now?” my dad asks.
I smile at his old fashioned reference. “She’s great, Dad. And it’s been a couple of months.”
My mom pushes her still full plate away from her, and snorts in annoyance.
“Well, sounds like a nice family. Have a good time,” Dad says.
“Speaking of nice families, I’ve spoken with Nancy again about finalizing Caroline’s stay with us.”
“Mom, don’t start. We were talking about Quinn, not Caroline.”
She turns to my dad. “Do you know that Quinn is from California?” The way she whispers California makes it sound like a dirty word.
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
My mom shakes her head in disgust. “We talked about this the other day. I just don’t think you need to be getting so serious about someone. You’re still in high school.”
“And?”
“And, you’ll be going off to college soon, and lord knows what she will be doing—”
“Mom.” I warn.
“You aren’t going to end up with this girl, Benny. It just isn’t realistic, is all.” She tosses her napkin onto the table.
If she’s trying to piss me off, it’s working.
“You and Dad got married right out of high school,” I say, intentionally trying to stir the pot.
“That’s different.” Her expression is nothing short of pure terror.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about marriage?” My dad perks up, finally present in the conversation.
“No one, Dad. No one is talking about marriage. We’re talking about a party. That’s it. So back off, Mom.”
Later that night, I’m in my room fuming over my mother’s assumptions that Quinn can’t possibly be good enough for me while I clean my camera lenses. I hold the 28mm up to the light to make sure I have wiped all of the dust and fingerprints away before stashing it back in my camera bag and grabbing the 50mm.
“Benny?” mom appears in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say. I put the lenses back into the bag and zip it closed.
“Are you still messing around with that photography? I thought you were over that little hobby. Between playing your guitar, and this—” she motions to the camera bag on my desk, “and that silly girlfriend of yours, I don’t know how you’re going to get into college.”
I sit there silent. I know I should speak up, but it isn’t going to change her mind.
“By the way, what does Quinn think of Caroline coming to town?” Mom says with a smug smile. I tense up.
Shit. Quinn has been so distant this week that I haven’t found the right time to tell her Caroline was even coming. She doesn’t strike me as the jealous type, she didn’t get upset over finding the photo of Caroline, but still, I can’t be sure. Mom knows she has caught me off guard, and backs out of the room grinning.
I grab my iPhone from the nightstand, deciding now is as good a time as any.
“Hello?” I answer the phone without looking at the caller id, which probably isn’t smart. I shouldn’t have even answered, I’m still so freaking livid I can hardly see straight. It’s likely that whoever is on the other end of this call, is about to feel my wrath.
“Hey, baby,” Ben says.
I feel my mood instantly soften and my posture relax at the sound of his voice.
“How’s the rest of your day been?” he asks.
Unbelievable. Shitty. Shocking.
“Fine,” I say. I can’t even admit to myself what is happening, how am I supposed to tell someone else? “How about you?”
“It’s been good. I miss you. I wish we could’ve gotten together tonight. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
“Me neither,” I say. I mean it. He’s all I want right now. More than anything I just want him to hold me like he did the other night in the kitchen. To be swept out of my life for a minute, to be in the safe confines of his arms. “So, you sound like something is up, is everything all right?” Please let it be, I can’t take any more drama.
“I have something to tell you. It’s not a big deal, and it’s out of my hands, so I hope you don’t get pissed,” he says. Awesome build up, tonight of all nights.
“Shoot,” I say through gritted teeth. I can tell already that I’m not going to like this.
“You know my ex, Caroline?” he begins.
Oh, how could I forget? The one your mother drags out pictures of every time you leave the room? How she loves to tell me how she expected you to marry Caroline? How Caroline already calls your mom, “Mom”? The sweet looking, perfect Southern girl she has probably been dreaming about adding as a daughter-in-law since the day you were born? No, I don’t believe I have heard of her.
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, tightening my jaw.
“She’s coming out to look at some schools.”
“Cozy.”
“And she’s staying with us.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I say. I can feel my blood start to boil.
“I know, it’s not cool, I’m sorry. My mom invited her.”
“Of course she did.”
“And you know my mom, there was really no way I could talk her out of it. It’s really not a big deal though.”
“Not. A. Big. Deal?” I repeat, clipping each word in anger. Normally, I’m the least jealous person you will ever meet. I don’t keep tabs on people, and I sure as shit don’t want them to keep tabs on me. But for some reason, and maybe it’s just after meeting my dad’s new office-fuck that happens to be our twenty-one-year-old next door neighbor, I’m just not having it.
“Baby, you have no reason to be upset. There is nothing between me and Linney.”
The thought that this apple pie bitch, who is everything I will never be, gets to stay the night with Ben when I can’t, really gets under my skin in a major way. And to hear Ben use her nickname makes me even madder. Linney?
“Screw you, Ben!” I spit.
“What?” He sounds stunned.
“You heard me,” I yell.
“Quinn, baby, please don’t read more into this than there is. It’s not my fault.”
“Of course it’s not your fault, it’s your mother’s. She hates me, and she’s bound and determined to split us up. And do you know what else? You’re a fucking coward, Benjamin Shaw! You could stand up to your mom, but you don’t because you’re a selfish coward! It’s fine to let me down, but you sure as hell don’t want to upset your precious mother! So you have fun with Caroline.”
I hang up the phone before he has a chance to defend himself.
Yelling at Ben didn’t make me feel any better, but I couldn’t help it. The words just flew out before I could filter them. Ben may be a total Boy Scout compared to everyone else I’ve ever been involved with, but right now, in this moment, he’s just like every guy who has ever hurt me.
Mark yells for me to come in when I knock on the door. His condo looks like IKEA threw up in it; somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. My phone vibrates in my hand, it’s Ben. I shut it off without answering and toss it into my purse.
“Hey, you made it.” Mark calls from the kitchen.
“Yep,” I say, walking through to join him .
He twists a bottle of beer on his forearm to open the metal screw top. Frat boy.
“I’d offer you one, but…”
“Right.” I nod. “So, anyway, here’s your contract.”
I hand him the f
our pieces of paper that have been severely mangled in my Mena-generated anger.
“Been through the wringer a little bit, eh?” Mark laughs. He sits down at the kitchen table to read the contract. “Sit down.” He motions to me.
I don’t really know why I need to, I brought him the papers, this should be it, but regardless, I sit. Where else do I have to be, anyway? Home?
As I watch him look over the documents intently, it occurs to me that he actually looks kind of hot doing it. Even though his hair is still damp from, I’m assuming, just getting out of the shower, and he’s just wearing a faded heather gray t-shirt and plaid shorts—he’s more attractive right now than when I’ve seen him in the office. He doesn’t look so stuffy, but he still looks important.
After signing the pages, he heads to another space that he must use as a home office because it has a fancy-looking desk with a computer in it. He crosses the room to a scanner, but he watches me, rather than the pages that are slowly filtered through the machine, each of them silently drifting to the floor. Mark doesn’t bother to catch them before they hit the carpet. My skin begins to prickle more with each fallen sheet.
“So, is everything okay with you?” he takes a long pull of his beer.
“I guess so, why?” I wish I had some snappy retort like I typically would, but sadly, the last few days have left me fresh out of snark.
“I don’t know. You just seem a little uptight tonight. Not really yourself. Is something bothering you?”
I drop my shoulders, trying not to live up to the accusation of “uptight.”
“Do you think I would tell you even if there was?” I ask.
“Fair enough.” Mark nods.
There is a long moment of silence. I can hear the clock on top of the mantel ticking. I feel like each passing tick is telling me in no uncertain terms to leave—but I ignore it. For some reason I don’t want to go.
“I quit working for my dad today.”
“Really? Why?” His eyebrows dart up. He looks nervous.
“I don’t like numbers.”
He chuckles, and then starts toward me. I should feel tense about that, but I really don’t.
“What do you like, Quinn?” he asks.
I feel my pulse skyrocket at his words.
One second he was across the room, tending to a fax and now, suddenly, he’s right behind me, brushing the hair off of the back of my neck and pressing his lips to my skin. They are hot and hungry. I can smell the beer on his breath and the soapy scent on his skin. I should protest, but still, I don’t.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“What are you doing?” I choke out, as if I don’t already know.
“I’m trying to make you feel good,” he murmurs in my ear. His breath ruffles my hair and sends a chill down my back. I feel vulnerable. I’m used to being in charge in situations like this. Actually, I’m used to being in charge in pretty much all situations, come to think of it. But that’s the problem, I’m not thinking. If I was using my brain, I would get up and leave— after kicking Mark in the junk. But I don’t. Instead, I’m still standing here, thinking yes, please.
“I should go,” I finally say. But I make no attempt to actually move.
Tick.
I’m so damn weak, and it does feel good.
Mark moves round to face me and slides the strap of my tank top off of my shoulder, exposing the skin completely. The heat of his mouth moves down my neck and across my collar bone.
“How many people have you been with?” he asks.
It’s totally not his business, but he’s staring up at me with amused eyes that tell me he doesn’t actually expect me to answer him— so of course, I have to.
“Three,” I whimper. Not a sad, uncomfortable whimper, a whimper that says if you don’t stop, this is going to go too far. Like it hasn’t already. Mark is experienced enough to distinguish the two, and I’m pretty sure, he’s counting on it.
“Three?” He sounds surprised. Is it because he thinks three is a high number, or a low one? His eyebrows pinch together, questioningly. “How old are you?”
High, that tone definitely says high.
“Eighteen, why?”
The words barely escape my lips before his land on mine.
Nice, waiting to get confirmation that I’m legal.
Except that it is nice. His tongue thrusts deep into my mouth. There is nothing sweet about the way Mark kisses me. I’m momentarily stunned by the forcefulness behind it, before giving in to the pleasure it brings. His kisses are like nothing I have experienced before. They are, well— experienced. Hungry. Animalistic. I haven’t had a sip of alcohol, but the room is spinning just the same.
“I think I could teach you things.” He breaks away and murmurs in my ear.
“I doubt that,” I counter.
He chuckles deeply. “Is that a challenge?”
I don’t respond. Look, I know I’m in a situation here that I shouldn’t be in. I know that I look like a total teenage slut. Right now, I’m no better than Mena-I’m-screwing-your-dad-Lombardo. I get it, trust me. Why can’t I be good? Normal? Faithful? Can I play the victim card here because he’s older, I feel pressured? No. And I’ll tell you why. The truth is— I want it… I want him. I hate myself for it, but I do. And he knows it.
I try to block the image of Ben out of my mind, and instead, concentrate on how Mark’s hands expertly float over my hips, and then move on to exploring the rest of my body. I try to enjoy it, and put aside the thoughts of how Mark wants me, even though Ben doesn’t seem to. I’d be lying if I said his touch made me cringe or repulsed me, because right now, it feels amazingly euphoric to be wanted like this. Still, Ben’s face isn’t far from my thoughts. I can’t help but wish that it was him touching me like this, making me feel good and wanted. But he can’t be that for me. I’ve known from the start that I wasn’t right for him, and tonight just proves it.
Somehow, Mark and I end up on his couch. My skirt has found its way to the floor, and I’m sitting on his lap facing him. His lips form a satisfied grin that tells me he’s thoroughly enjoying himself as we move together. Is it possible to have an out of body experience when you aren’t dying? Because I totally think I am.
The wall that I’m facing is covered in small mirrors that are clustered together to form one huge wall of glass, and I’m forced to stare at myself on top of him. I’m sure there is some metaphor there that is lost on me. I recognize the mirrors, IKEA’s Malma Mirrors, Page 272, $2.99. I, who hate math more than I hate Courtney Love, am trying to count each square, and mentally calculate how much it cost him to put them all up.
I’m trying to look interested, really I am. But the reality of this screwed up situation is finally hitting me. I don’t know how the hell I ended up here, doing this. It’s not that the sex is bad; I wish I could say that it was. But it’s wrong. Really, really wrong. I keep willing myself to leave, but in my mind, I know I’ve let it go this far, and I might as well let him finish before I bolt.
“You’re so damn sexy,” Mark says and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
I’m not one of those girls who likes to pretend I’m not pretty. I know I am, and I don’t mean that in a conceited way. But right now, I really wish I was something else. Something that matters— like being sane and “normal”.
Mark surprises me by suddenly standing up. My legs are still hitched tightly around his perfect ‘V’ of a waist.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he says. His lips press into my collarbone while he speaks, and the scruff of his cheeks chafes my skin.
In one quick movement, I climb off of Mark and grab my skirt off of the floor. His eyes narrow as he tilts his head to the side.
“I really need to go,” I say. “My parents, I, um, they’re going to wonder where I am.” I feel like such a freaking idiot bringing up my parents while I have this guy— this man—sitting here with no pants on. But I really have to get out of here.
Quinn’s text comes through after I’ve finally fallen asleep. I usually sleep with my phone on silent, but I couldn’t stand the thought of missing her call. She was right to be upset about Caroline. If the situation were reversed, I’d be furious. I’m just going to have to lay it out for my mom. All I want right now it to give Quinn the security she needs, and to not have her think of me as a coward.
Maybe I am a coward. I can’t think of the last time I stood up to someone over something that I felt this strongly about. The thing is I’ve never felt passionate about anything the way I feel about Quinn. It’s never been worth it to me to get upset—until now. Now, I’ve actually got something I don’t want to lose.
I shoot straight up in bed when I hear the ringtone. Quinn had set it to one of her favorite songs. I dug the bass line, although I had never really listened to the lyrics.
I’m so sorry. You were right, not a big deal.
See you tomorrow.
xo, Q
I can’t believe I did it. I cannot believe I had sex with Mark. Shit. When I first started seeing Ben, I knew I’d do something to screw it up—I just didn’t see this ginormous of a fuck up coming.
The second I walk through the front door, I text Ben and then take the longest shower of my life. I push the hot water heater to its limits, unable to scald the feeling of Mark’s hands away.
My neck and chest are rubbed raw from the stubble of his cheeks and I wish I could stop replaying what happened. The memory of Mark’s tongue on me forces acid up into my throat, toying with my gag reflex. I choke it back down. He didn’t even get the condom off before I was out the door.
What the hell have I done? How am I going to face Ben?
We’re eating lunch the next day and Quinn looks upset. She’s looked that way all day long but she won’t talk about it. I keep trying to tell myself that it’s probably just another fight with her parents, something she never wants to talk about, especially not at school, but my gut tells me it’s because of what happened between us yesterday. I should have told my mom that there was just no way it’d be cool for Caroline to stay with us.
Risk the Fall Page 24
