by Teresa Hill
Guys are dicks. That’s all there is to it.
Somebody died tonight, and here I am, thinking this is a million fantasies come true for me.
* * *
The next thing I know, I feel a rough hand on my shoulder shaking me, hear something that sounds like a growl coming from above me.
I open my eyes, blink to try to see through the dim light. It takes me a while to remember where I am -- with Dana on the couch in the family room at her house. She’s still asleep, sprawled all over me. Almost on top of me, with one leg pressed heavily between mine, and I’m hard against her thigh.
Ahh, that feels amazing!
But the rumbling continues, and that strong hand keeps shaking my shoulder. Finally, I look up and figure out this isn’t some crazy dream/nightmare. Her father’s standing over me. He looks about ten feet tall and is, I think, literally growling at me. The sounds finally form into words I can make sense of.
“Get up!”
I scramble out from under her and nearly end up falling to the floor. I’m not sure how she doesn’t wake up. She must be exhausted, because she curls back into the couch and barely makes a sound.
Her father jerks me up and pulls me by the arm into the kitchen, where a faint light over the stove shines in the near darkness. I sure as hell hope it hides what’s going on with my body and just where my mind has been.
He never liked me. I never could hide it from him – the way I feel about Dana. But it’s never been anything like this. Him coming home and finding us curled up together on the couch and my dick as hard as a rock.
I glance at the clock on the stove and see it’s almost three o’clock in the morning, and I’m still trying to clear my head, to go from that little bit of heaven that was being curled up asleep with her, to standing in front of her pissed-off father. He looks like he could happily strangle me right now, maybe throw my body in the river for fish food and never have to see me again.
Yeah, that would work for him.
He’s over six feet tall and as solid as a man can get, from working in construction his whole life. It’s hard, physical labor, and I think he could tear me into little bitty pieces, if he wanted to, and he does. Looking at his furious expression, I know he really does.
He draws himself up even taller. It’s like he’s made himself even bigger and more intimidating than ever as he leans into me and growls, “This is not happening.”
What?
What does he think happened?
I look down at my clothes and see that everything’s in place. I can’t see Dana’s, but I swear, she’s still wearing whatever she was when we ended up on the couch together, unless my hands wandered in my sleep. But I swear, I didn’t do anything.
“Nothing happened,” I say. “She was upset. She was crying. I just held her while she cried, and I guess we must have fallen asleep. That’s it, I swear.”
If possible, his jaw gets even tighter and the snarl on his face becomes even more menacing. “I’m going to say it one more time, so we’re clear. So you know exactly what I mean -- and I know you do. This? You and her? Not happening.”
Okay, yeah, I know what he means.
I’ve always known.
She’s his little girl, his perfect, beautiful girl, and I … He knows what I am. Both of us know what I am. The only thing that’s changed is that I got a little too close to her for just a bit of time, and there’s no pretending anymore. No pretending that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t know how I feel about her, and I don’t know he thinks I am complete shit and have no business touching a hair on his precious little girl’s head.
It’s all out in the open now.
I’ll never get this close to her again.
“Say you understand,” he demands, low and menacing.
Jesus, this man scares the shit out of me.
“Yeah, I understand.”
“Okay. Get out of here, kid.”
I grab my coat and my duffle bag and walk out into the cold, dark night.
* * *
Chapter Three
Dana
I wake up slowly, not sure where I am. Not in my bed. Blinking through the faint light, I see the dark leather of the couch in the family room. The afghan that’s normally draped across the back is covering me, and I’m still in my jeans and a plain, V-neck lavender shirt.
It takes a minute before I remember.
Aunt Grace’s husband, gone.
Peter and Uncle Zach coming to get me.
Peter staying to help me take care of my brother and sisters. The way he held me while I cried all over him and then ... I really thought he was going to kiss me. Finally.
I suck in a breath. My fingertips touch my lips without me even thinking about what I’m doing. It’s like I can almost feel that kiss, even now. And then I feel like crap, thinking about a kiss when Luc just died.
It’s just that I’ve been waiting forever, worrying it would never happen. I play this stupid game in my head. He likes me. He doesn’t. No, he really likes me. The way a third-grader would.
It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous when it comes to him.
Irritated with myself, sick of the way my mind always comes back to me and him, I sit up, look around the room, wonder where he is and what happened. The last thing I remember is losing it completely and crying all over him, and him holding me, me thinking he was going to kiss me, because my mind just goes there, all the time.
Kiss me, please. Finally!
I look back down at my body, note all my clothes are still in place, with nothing unbuttoned or even pushed up or down, out of the way.
Were we lying on this couch together? All toasty and warm and wrapped up in each other? Or I did just imagine that? Dream that?
I wouldn’t forget something like that, would I?
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, I turn toward the sound and see my dad coming down, his hair still wet from the shower. Mom’s still with Aunt Grace, he says, and he came home around 3 a.m. to get a little sleep and to get everybody off to school. He asks if everyone here was okay last night.
I tell him Tricia knows what happened, but Jamie and Lizzie have no idea anything’s wrong.
He thanks me for handling them so Mom could stay with Aunt Grace, and he could help Zach and Granddad take care of some things, which they could only do because I was here.
“Peter helped,” I say. “He was ... a big help. Where is he?”
“I sent him home when I got here,” my dad says from the kitchen, where he’s standing in front of the refrigerator staring inside it. “I’ll find something for breakfast for everybody, and then get Jamie and Lizzie up.”
“Okay.” I think for a minute he seems angry and wonder if there’s something he’s not telling me, something no one told me about Luc and Aunt Grace. Or maybe he’s just mad that it happened at all, that Luc died and now poor Grace must be shocked and heartbroken. “How’s Aunt Grace?”
He shakes his head. “It’s going to be tough, Dana, but she’ll get through this. We’ll make sure of it.”
“Yeah. I guess I just needed to hear that.”
Dad turns the coffee maker on. “You need to get moving. After you get out of the shower, will you wake up Tricia and make sure she starts getting ready?”
“Sure,” I say, still feeling kind of fuzzy-headed about everything.
I want Peter back, on the couch with me. I want to be curled up in his arms, waiting for him to kiss me, finally, and I’m sorry because that must make me a really selfish person, one who doesn’t really care what Aunt Grace is going through. And that’s not true. It isn’t.
Peter just messes with my head. I’m normally a very logical person, and I almost always know what to do in any situation. I problem-solve. I strategize. I set goals and meet them. It works in every area of my life, except with him. It’s like he takes that all away from me, and all I have left is the way I want him. Need him. Obsess about him.
Some girls get stupid about guys, otherwise nor
mal, intelligent girls, and I hate to be one of them. But that’s what he makes me – a stupid girl.
So what happened on the couch last night?
I wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of something that important, would I? Something I’ve only been waiting for my whole life? Surely I couldn’t have messed it up that badly.
I rush through the shower, getting dressed in my absolute favorite outfit -- my boots, skinny jeans and a long, cream-colored, linen shirt, tucked in at the front, hanging loose in back. With a wide leather belt and my hair down, I look like a dressy, updated version of a hippie-girl. It’s the best I can do. I have a body like a stick and I’m afraid I always will.
Finally, I get to school. First period AP English Lit feels like it takes three decades to pass. Second period, I have Honors Chemistry with Peter. My whole body is buzzing with happiness at just the idea of seeing him.
“Hey, wait for me!” my best friend, Becca, calls out to me. She’s in the classroom across from mine first period, and we usually walk to second period together. She takes in my boots, what she knows are my favorite jeans and shirt, my hair down, my lips shiny with cherry gloss, and asks, “What’s going on? I texted and called you last night, and you didn’t answer.”
“Sorry. Aunt Grace’s husband died. I had to babysit so my parents could be with her.”
“Luc, the luscious-but-arrogant ass?”
I nod, then tell her what I know--car accident, Grace not hurt, not in the car.
“So, why are you all dressed up? And why do you look all ... sparkly-glowy-happy?”
I sigh. She knows me too well. “Peter helped me babysit.”
“Oh! And?”
“And I was crying, and he held me for a long time, after everybody else was in bed. We ended up on the couch together and--”
“Oh, my God!” Becca shrieks. Heads turn our way. People stare. She whispers, “Sorry. Sorry. Really. Just ... Go ahead. Tell me. Tell me everything. You uncle dies, and you finally get to crawl all over Peter on the couch at your house?”
“No. I mean... Kind of. We didn’t really ... do anything. I mean ... I was so sure he was going to kiss me. So sure, and then ... ”
“What? What then?”
“I think I may have fallen asleep,” I confess.
Becca makes a face. A double-take, I-can’t-believe-you face. “No way!”
“I know! I can’t believe it myself, but we were lying on the couch, and he had his arms around me, and his whole body was ... hot. Like not just sexy-hot, but hot-hot. Warmer than a body should be, and it felt so good to stretch out together on the couch. He was holding me, and I felt so good I could hardly stand it. Warm and safe and ... like every nerve ending in my body was completely tuned into every place I was touching him. He was touching me, running his hands through my hair and down my back. I could have stayed that way forever, insanely happy to have his hands on me, and--”
“Dana, we only have five minutes between classes. What happened?”
“That’s it, really. For a moment, I was sure he was going to kiss me, and then, he didn’t. He just ... held onto me, and we slept there on the couch together, I guess, until my dad came home around three this morning. When I woke up, Dad was there, and Peter was gone.”
She waits, like there has to be more to it, because I got all dressed up and seem so excited.
“I know. Pathetic, right?” I ask her. “Sixteen years old, and I’m this excited by an almost-kiss and a guy holding me.”
“No,” she says. Then she starts over. “Okay, maybe kind of pathetic, but I’m your friend, and if he’s really the only one you want--”
“He is. You know that.”
We were such kids when we met, and even then I thought he was hot. At seventeen, he’s tall and lanky. His shoulders are starting to grow wide, and there’s new definition in his arms, stubble on his face at times, but it’s not like he’s the only guy hot guy at school. I feel it in my whole body when he’s close. He doesn’t even have to touch me. It’s like I come alive with him. I could stare at him forever, could happily sit with my eyes closed and just listen to his voice. It’s gotten so deep, and it kind of rumbles out of him in a rough way that makes my whole body tingle, too. Sometimes I think that I’ll die if I don’t get to kiss him soon, but that maybe I’d die on the spot if he did.
“I don’t know how to explain it, not really,” I say. “He’s just mine, my guy. That’s how it’s always been.”
“Then I hope it’s finally going to happen for you. Really, I do.”
And then I look up and see him standing in the hallway outside of our chemistry class talking to some girl. Missy? Marci? Something like that. A junior, not that smart, obviously, because she’s taking Chem in her senior year. On the girl’s soccer team, I think.
I stare at them as Becca and I get closer. I can’t help it. What is he doing with her? She does that stupid hair-flip thing girls do. Like hair moving for a few seconds is supposed to do something for guys? I don’t understand. And then she puts her hand on his chest, a little press of her palm to his pecs.
I might have made some growling sound, a kind that I’m sure has never come out of my mouth before. I know what those muscles feel like. They’re amazing. That hard swell and curve of the muscle, and the heat that blasts off his body. I had my head against his chest last night. I slept with my head there, and he had his hands in my hair, on my shoulder, my back.
Not six hours ago, he was with me, and now he’s here with her, and she has her hands on him. I actually think about grabbing her and pulling her away from him, as if I have the right …
“Come on.” Becca grabs me by the arm and jerks me along with her. She pulls me past them and into the classroom, doesn’t let go until we’re both in our seats, in the front on the far-left side. Then she whispers, “Okay, Dana. You can do this.”
I sit there, stunned and so angry. I still want to go outside and drag that stupid girl away from him. I think I could pull all her hair out, strand by strand and enjoy it.
Oh, my God!
I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry. It’s like all I can see is the two of them back there in the hall. Becca unzips her backpack and pulls out a book. I just sit there stupidly staring into space while she unzips my backpack and pulls out my book for me.
“I don’t understand,” I say finally.
She nods. “I know.”
“He was with me. He cares about me. I know he does, and last night, finally ... It meant something. I know it did.”
“Dana, get out your Chemistry notebook and your pen, and don’t you dare cry. You will hate yourself if you do. Do you hear me?”
I nod. She’s right. I will absolutely hate myself if I shed so much as one tear in front of him or anyone else in this room, in this school. I’m just being stupid, overly emotional, overly dramatic. God, I hate that. I never want to be a stupid girl, especially not in front of him.
The bell sounds. Class is starting. They walk in together, Peter and that girl, so close she might as well drape herself all over him. Missy/Marci whispers something to him, then giggles, one of those really annoying stupid-girl giggles, and Peter grins at her as she finally walks to the back of the room and takes her seat.
He slides into his seat, behind mine, and then glances at me -- looking either a little guilty or at least uneasy -- and says, “Hi.”
“Hi.” I choke on the word.
“Everything okay?”
As if there could be some question about why I might not be okay? I sit there with my mouth hanging open.
Becca rescues me by asking Peter, “What is that girl’s name? I can never remember.”
“I don’t know,” he claims. “Missy? Marci? Something like that?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Becca shoots me a reassuring look. He doesn’t even know her name. Or he claims he doesn’t. I can breathe again. She’s just some giggly/touchy/feely girl who flirts with him, and she’s far from the
first. I usually handle it better than this, but after last night ...
I stare back at him, and he gives me a kind of blank look, like he isn’t quite sure what’s going on. Guys can be so dense sometimes, or pretend to be. It’s a game he doesn’t normally play, especially not with me.
“Thanks for staying and helping me last night,” I say.
“Sure. You know I’d do anything I could to help you.”
Yeah, I know. I appreciate it. It just isn’t what I want from him. I want so much more, and I’m so angry. I want to grab him by the arm and drag him away from here, make him tell me what happened. I didn’t imagine that something happened between us last night. I know I didn’t.
So what changed between last night on the couch and this morning at school?
I could yell and scream until I get it out of him. I feel like doing just that. But I’m not a high-drama girl. I’m a good girl, a boring little rule-follower, dull as can be, and he’s ... There’s always been something a bit bad about him, a little edgy, a wildness that everyone seems to see. I do, too, but he’s different with me. He’s so gentle and protective of me, and the combination of that hint of the bad boy with the protectiveness, the gentleness, just slays me. There’s nothing like it, nothing that comes close to it, not with any other boy I’ve ever so much as looked at twice.
He just does it for me, and yeah, I know how that sounds. I just turned sixteen, and I act like he’s the only guy in the world and always will be. I get that it seems ridiculously naïve, but that’s how it feels.
He’s everything to me, everything I want and think I need. This whole year I’ve felt like we’re creeping closer and closer to being so much more than the best of friends. I thought maybe he was waiting for my sixteenth birthday to ask me out and finally show me he wants me, too, the way I want him. But my birthday was a month ago, and nothing happened. Then last night, I was so sure that finally …
And now he’s acting like nothing happened.
Something must have happened. I didn’t imagine all of this. I just have to figure out what changed.
