Forever Hearts

by CJ Martín

  And guess what? My plan is successful. In fact, I can’t believe how easy it is. No one bats an eye as I hurry out with book bag in hand. But when I turn the corner, the school fading fast in the distance, I quicken my pace, running the last half-mile to my house.

  Jesse’s already on the steps leading to my front porch with a lopsided grin on his face. “Never thought I’d see the day.” He shakes his head. “Riley Ann Jones. Skipping!”

  “Shh.” I push him into the house. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

  “Relax. No one’s home.” He plops onto the armchair in the living room. “Go change.”

  “We’re really doing this?” I’m not sure if I’m referring to skipping school or the kissing part.

  Unaware of my racing thoughts, he answers easily. “It’d seem so.”

  “What about you?” I walk toward the stairs. “You gonna change?”

  “Already did.” He flashes a cocky grin. “Ditched after lunch.”

  My mouth drops open, eyes wide in shock “You’re gonna be in so much trouble, Jesse Samuel.”

  He shrugs, unworried. “Only if I get caught.”

  I shake my head, halfway up the stairs, when his voice stops me.

  “Ry?”

  I turn slightly to face him. “Yeah?”

  “Wear a bikini.”

  The unspoken question is written in my eyes as they find his, but he simply smiles. “The red one.”

  I take the stairs two at a time and strip out of my clothes. I don’t allow myself time to think or wonder as I tug on my bikini. The very one Jesse requested.

  6

  Jesse

  I’m playing with fire, pushing this thing with Riley too far. But now that I had her, however small, however fleeting, I wasn’t missing one second.

  I do nothing to hide my smile as she tugs her shirt off, exposing the flimsy red strings and triangle cups. I’d seen her wear this bikini once. One torturous time. It was right before I left for North Carolina. I spent the summers with my dad, so I usually didn’t have the privilege of seeing Riley in a bathing suit. But the day before I left, she and Emma were at the community pool, reclining on chaise lounges, talking and laughing. She never took off her damn cover-up—believe me, I waited all day. I’m guessing because she was too self-conscious. But here at the lake it’s just us. Me and her. And no extra layers are needed to shield self-doubt and insecurities, because there aren’t any between us. There never were.

  “You’re staring.” Her voice is quiet as she drags a sandaled foot in the dirt.

  “Can’t help it.”

  Her eyes meet mine, searching, and I downplay the intensity that has blossomed around us. “You want to know what guys like?” I shrug but continue to hold her stare. “They like bikinis.”

  She’s the first to look away. “Are we going in?”

  I walk farther down the dock, closer to the lake. “Ladies first.”

  She snorts and walks nearer to me as we approach the edge. She bends at the waist, extending her hand as though to feel the temperature of the water, but at the last second she reaches up, grabs my arm and pulls me forward. I gasp as the shock of cold water pierces my skin.

  I break the surface, sucking in a huge breath. She finds my eyes, her own warm with laughter. “You have ten seconds,” I say, voice calm but menacing.

  The laughter dies on her lips, and she narrows her eyes. “Don’t be a baby.”

  “Ten.” My voice booms as I paddle toward the dock. “Nine. Eight. Seven.” My body cuts through the water until I’ve reached the ladder. My hand circles the top rung. She’s standing stock-still, watching me as she contemplates her next move. “Six,” I call, as I lift myself from the lake.

  “Holy shit! You’re serious.” She begins to backtrack down the narrow, wooden deck. As I get closer, she spins around and breaks into a run, but I’m too fast for her. Much too fast.

  My arms circle her from behind, holding her tight against me as I lift her up.

  “Stop!” She squeals. “You’re all cold and wet.” She thrashes in my arms as I stalk back toward the edge. “Jesse, stop. Stop.” She’s breathless, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s how she’d sound during sex. Strong, yet desperate. “Please. I’m sorry.”

  With those last words her voice softens, and if I didn’t know her quite as well as I do, I might have fallen for the cute and innocent act. My body shakes as a low chuckle rumbles through me. “Nice try.”

  “Jesse Samuel Collins.” Her voice rises. “Put me down this—”

  Splash. Her body hits the water and she shrieks right before her head goes under.

  I jump in a moment later, set to grab her and toss her again, but she’s already cutting through the water. Riley’s a great swimmer. But then again, so am I.

  I reach her a minute later, and she splashes me in the face. “Asshole!”

  “Hey.” I splash her back. “Who pushed who first?”

  “I didn’t throw you. Jesus. I almost lost my top.”

  My eyes immediately drift to her tits, where the fabric remains fully intact, not an inch of extra skin exposed. “Then I’m only sorry I didn’t throw you harder.”

  Her eyes flash once, but then she plunges beneath the surface and is off again. We swim for another hour. Splashing. Racing. Doing the same tricks we performed as kids.

  When I was younger—before I started spending summers working with my dad in his mechanic shop—Riley and I would spend our entire break together. I can’t even begin to count how many times we came down to this very lake on lazy summer afternoons. I remember one summer she made me play Ariel and Sebastian with her every single day—that was during her Little Mermaid phase.

  Today, though, things are different. Like when she climbs out of the water, my eyes remain glued to her ass. Yep, that’s definitely new. And when she leans back and raises her face to the sun, my lips twitch with the urge to suck the water droplets from her chest.

  “God, today was fun.” She angles her face toward me. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

  I shrug. School. Work. Tod. “Life gets in the way, I guess.”

  Her smile slips a bit, but she quickly rights it. “Let’s make a deal.” I wave my hands for her to continue speaking. “Once a month, no matter what, we come here and go in.”

  A bark of laughter escapes my lips.

  “Don’t laugh at me!” She nudges me with her elbow.

  “I’m not,” I lie, but she raises her eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s September, Ry. It’s warm now, Indian Summer, but it’s gonna get cold real quick.”

  “So?”

  “No way.” I shake my head. “No way you’re gonna do it.”

  She squares her shoulders to face me, fully accepting the challenge. Riley is by far the most competitive person I know. “Wanna bet?”

  “That depends. What are the stakes?”

  She taps her finger to her jaw. “Okay, we both have to go in, together, once a month until graduation. The first one to back out loses.”

  “Okay.” I scratch the back of my neck. “And what does the winner get?”

  She shrugs. “Whatever he or she wants. Loser agrees to one favor of winner’s choosing.” She extends her hand. “Deal?”

  I take her hand in mine and shake. “Hope you’re ready to lose, Ryan.” I can’t help tagging on the silly nickname, because I know it will rile her up even more.

  She pulls her hand back and narrows her eyes. “In your dreams, Jessica.”

  She gathers her hair in one hand and pulls it into a high ponytail atop her head. “Wanna get ice cream before heading home?” She speaks around the hair tie between her teeth.

  “Huh?” I mumble, eyes still on her tits, her hardened nipples straining against the fabric.

  Okay, so maybe I was indulging a fantasy or two, but when she said “one favor of the winner’s choosing” my brain hit the ground running. I can’t quite help it if the favor of my choosing involves her spread naked in my bed.
>
  “Ice cream?” she repeats, and my eyes snap to hers.

  Hell no, I don’t want to get ice cream.

  When we were younger, Riley and I played for a co-ed soccer team, the Stardust Strikers. She had no interest in sports (still doesn’t) but she joined the league because I signed up, and back then we did everything together.

  She was terrible—and no, I’m not being sexist—she was that bad. During game time she’d watch the “pretty” butterflies or wave to me when I tried to pass her the ball. To be honest, I’m not sure she even knew that the object of game was to get the ball inside the net.

  After our Saturday games, Coach Bempke took the team to Dip Delight, and we’d each get to order a soft-serve cone. On days we won (hardly ever) we were allowed to order rainbow sprinkles.

  As we got older, Riley stopped playing sports—thank God—but she still made an effort to come to my basketball games, the home ones anyway. And Dip Delight was a tradition (read: punishment) we kept to this very day.

  Somewhere along the way our innocent ice cream dates turned X-rated. Well, at least for me. I remember when I was thirteen, her blue cotton candy ice cream had melted and dribbled onto her fingers. With bated breath, I watched as she sucked each digit clean. I was horrified when my dick hardened, absolutely convinced that she knew every naughty thought that had flickered through my mind. But she simply smiled that huge Riley smile and chattered on.

  From that day, I both looked forward to and dreaded our ice cream dates. I covertly (or at least as covertly as possible) watched as her tongue licked round and round the cone, darting side to side, catching each drop of sweet cream.

  And in those moments, my very first Riley fantasy was born: her on her knees, looking up at me, wide-eyed, slowly licking my cock as she would the cone.

  Over the years, that fantasy had progressed, had become much more detailed, much more explicit. Now, she was naked underneath my basketball jersey, legs spread wide with one hand buried between her legs. Those beautiful full lips were wrapped tightly around my cock as I whispered all the filthy things I wanted to do to her.

  “Earth to Jesse!” She waves both hands in front of my face.

  I clear my throat once, and say, “Nah. No ice cream today.”

  Her bottom lip pouts, but she says. “All right. Whatever you want.”

  If only it were that easy.

  7

  Riley

  Despite Jesse’s text message suggesting otherwise, he didn’t kiss me that day. In fact, it was as if he’d forgotten all about his agreement to help me overcome this hurdle. The more the days dragged on, the less inclined I was to bring it up, because a million doubts flooded my mind.

  He was trying to be nice. He forgot. He’s hoping you forgot.

  So here we are, nearly four months later and still no kiss, from Jesse or anyone else, for that matter. My anxiety increases daily because Tod—yes, the same Tod from the party—asked me to the movies tomorrow night. I know he’s going to kiss me, or at least try to, and I can’t go in there cold. I’m too awkward. Too inexperienced. I need Jesse’s help because I’m crazy nervous, no matter how many Buzzfeed articles I’ve read or how many clips I’ve watched. What I’m most worried about are my hands. What do I do with my fucking hands?

  Today is my only chance, and I pray that I’ll have the courage to ask him. Again. Jesse’s picking me up in a half hour for our monthly “lake dive.” It’s the third time we’re taking the plunge, and its by far the coldest it’s been—I’m not looking forward to it.

  It’s a typical Saturday morning at my house. Dad is working an extra shift at the station. Did you know, statistically, there are more break-ins around Christmas than any other time of the year? Mom took Mikayla to ballet practice so I have the whole house to myself.

  I slept in a little later than I probably should have and have to rush to get ready. I put my bathing suit on first—a one piece this time because I need all the coverage I can get—and pull on Jesse’s old navy blue Adams Vikings Basketball hoodie that he let me borrow months ago and I never returned. Jeans and sneakers are last. I pull my damp hair into a clip without bothering to style it since I’ll be in a freezing ass lake very soon.

  Jesse texts me a little after eleven to let me know he’s done with practice and is on his way over. By the time I make it downstairs, he’s already in the driveway. The drive to the lake is short, and once parked, we stare at each other across the console. It’s as though neither one of us wants to leave the warmth of the car. I check the weather app on my phone: twenty-nine degrees. He leans over to see the temperature and shakes his head. We have a decision to make, and we silently communicate our options with our eyes.

  Option A: Go in and risk hypothermia.

  Option B: We both get a pass this month, but the competition is still on.

  Option C: One of us goes in and the other loses.

  We both shake our heads. Not Option C, because neither of us wants to back down.

  “What do you say, Ry?” Jesse reaches for his door handle. “We doing this?”

  I nod, following his lead down to the dock. Thankfully, there’s no snow blocking our path, but once we get near the edge, we can see certain glassy patches of water that have crusted over with a thin sheet of ice.

  No freaking way I’m going in.

  “Uh-uh. No way.” I shake my head as I back away from the edge. “Not happening.”

  “You forfeiting?” He cocks his head to one side. “That means I win.”

  I roll my eyes. “Only if you go in.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t think I’ll do it?”

  Yes. Maybe. “No.”

  He shrugs off his coat and hands it to me. “Jesse.” My voice booms in the quiet, my breath a puff of white smoke. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He looks at me over his shoulder. “A bet is a bet—”

  “Fine, fine.” I cut him off. “You win. You win.” I spread my hand wide. “Just please don’t go in there. You’ll get hypothermia.”

  He gives me a look that says, “You’re being dramatic,” before stripping off his sweatshirt and jeans.

  “Jesse!” I shriek, right as he dives into the water.

  In a panic, I rush to the edge of the dock, gathering his discarded clothes along the way. I clutch the garments to my chest, and time seems to stand still. I count the seconds.

  One…

  Two…

  Three—

  Three long, dreadful seconds pass before his head pops up from beneath the water. “Fuck!” he curses, paddling full force. “Fuck! It’s cold.”

  I drop the clothes and extend my hands to help pull him up. Once he’s out of the water, I band my arms around him, pulling him flush against me. I read somewhere that body heat, physical proximity, is the fastest way to raise core body temperature. He buries his head in the crook of my neck, and his cool lips press against my skin, causing me to shiver.

  “You’re such an idiot.” I try to make my voice sound angry, but my concern and worry bleed through. I stretch my coat around him, pulling him closer and walk us toward the car. “Get in.” I point toward the passenger side. “I’ll drive.”

  He raises an eyebrow at my authoritative tone.

  I walk to the driver’s side and open the door. “Right now, the only thing you need to worry about is getting warm.”

  He gets in and slams the door.

  An hour later we’re in Jesse’s bedroom. He took an extremely long, extremely hot shower while I made him a mug of hot cocoa with extra fluff—just the way he likes it.

  “Thanks,” he says, taking another big sip of the cocoa. “I’m finally starting to warm up.” He sets the mug down and his hand falls to his crotch. My eyes trace the movement, but I turn away, embarrassed when I realize what he’s doing: adjusting his junk.

  He catches me looking anyway. “Just checking.” He laughs. “For a minute I thought my balls were gone for good.”

  “What?” I question,
confused.

  “Cold water? Makes your dick and—”

  I feel the blush on my face. God, sometimes I’m so naïve. “Yeah, I get it.”

  Grabbing the blanket off the foot of the bed, I plop down next to him near the headboard and shimmy my butt against his hip so he moves over. He scoots to the side, and I drape the blanket over our legs.

  “That was stupid. Promise you won’t ever do something like that again.” I pinch his side.

  He pinches me back. “Won’t have to, since…I won.” He gently taps the side of his face with his finger. “Now, as for my favors—”

  “Favor,” I clarify before he gets any ideas. “You get one.”

  He nods his head. “Then I better make it good.”

  I groan inwardly. He’s probably going to make me do something embarrassing, although after tomorrow’s date with Tod it won’t even matter, because I’ll be the laughingstock of the entire school.

  “Maybe I’ll have you write my lit paper.”

  I shake my head. “No thanks.”

  “It’s my favor. I get to choose.”

  “Yeah, but that paper is due next Monday.” I tick my fingers. “And it has to be ten pages long. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t even started it yet.”

  He shrugs. “Okay, then, something else...” He closes his eyes in concentration.

  “Jesse,” I whisper after a long minute.

  “Shh. I’m thinking.”

  “Jesse,” I whisper again. Just do it, Riley. Ask him. It’s now or never.

  “Mm?” he whispers back, with eyes closed and hands resting atop his belly.

  I swallow my nerves, take a deep breath and blurt the words, “Will you kiss me?”

  His eyes pop open and he springs forward with impressive speed. “What?” He turns to face me. “What did you say?”