by Y. A. Love
So, he might just like the food. The bugging me might just be a nice bonus.
Anyway, I’ve worked at the Castle over a year now. It’s close to my house, so I can walk there.
When Ryan came into the restaurant tonight, I remembered how Carly had gushed about him, and since I’d just learned he follows me home (on occasion), I figured he might do me a favor. Maybe. Anyway, I thought I might as well give it a shot. But he was with a girl (of course), so I couldn’t ask him my favor—not in front of her—so I followed him to the restroom.
When he did his weird counter-proposal to my offer—you know, me having to spend time with him—once I heard the obnoxious plan, I tilted my head at him. “Why do you have to always be like this to me?”
He played dumb, though he knew what I was talking about (I’ll give you a glaring example later). He jutted his chin, “What do I do to you?”
“Force me to endure you.”
He breathed out a laugh. “Some girls enjoy me.”
“Right. Carly would. And that girl you’re with out there in the restaurant probably does, right? So why bother me? That girl looks like a model.”
He grinned at that. “She looks like you.”
Then he conceded. “She used to be a model.”
“Right. Well, she makes me suspect you don’t need closure.”
He grinned weakly. “And yet I do.”
His eyes stared into mine. “As much as I’m enjoying this, you playing with body in the bathroom—I really do need to use it. Both actually—the bathroom, and my body part that you got all excited. But it won’t calm down while you’re watching, so I need you to go away.”
“Fine. I’m leaving.”
He grinned. “But don’t forget to contemplate our deal.”
CHAPTER 5
Of course I’m contemplating “the deal.”
But I’m also contemplating his “body part.” Not on purpose. And not the way you think. (Gag!) I’m just remembering something. Something I’m sure he remembered too—the exact moment it happened.
I’m beyond certain the awkward “movement” reminded him of another awkward moment with me. I’m sure it made him smirk inside when it happened tonight —like laugh his head off at the irony, though he didn’t say a word about the incident—I mean, the one from our past.
I’ll just come out and say it: I have bittersweet memories with Ryan. If anyone really needs closure from our past, it’s me. For him, it’s different. He likes to tease me about our past, but in reality, he’s moved on. He’s dated hordes of girls. So many he can’t even contemplate spending a month just dating one—Carly. (And Carly is adorable!!)
For me, it’s different. I try to act tough—but it’s just that: an act. I still melt around Ryan and turn into goo when he does something sweet—like the following me home thing.
He probably just saw some creepy guys checking me out at the restaurant last week and decided he should make sure I got home okay … which is heart wrenchingly sweet (I know that), but it’s not like he sits around thinking about me. He doesn’t have time to sit around thinking about me. Or our past. When it’s brought smack into his face—like when it follows him into the bathroom—then yes, sure, he’ll look at it and go, Hey, I remember this girl. I used to make her beat me at chess before I’d let her ride my horse. (A literal horse.)
Or, he might even remember that’s how he got me to kiss him the very first time that he got me to.
We were twelve and I’d been at his house while my mom cleaned. We were playing this game—Zombie Attack—because he was obsessed with the game, and I was good at it. Which he loved. So he made me play it with him even while I wanted to do something else.
As we played, I could see his family’s horse stables from his bedroom window. (I loved his horses and made him ride with me like, every time I came over. Though he liked riding about as much I liked Zombie Attack. Well, in truth I liked Zombie Attack. I just didn’t want to play it all the time … just like he didn’t want to ride horses all the time. But he would, in the end, always give in to what I wanted … after he tortured me with doing what he wanted for an hour. I mean that sincerely—a whole hour. He would put on a timer and everything.)
I told him longingly as I gazed out the window, “I want to ride your horse.”
He murmured huskily, “I want to kiss you.”
He said it matter-of-factly, and yet in a way, just as longingly as I had said I wanted to ride his horse.
I choked on my gum. He wanted to kiss me??? We were twelve!! (Yet, okay, I had dreamed about kissing him—tons of times. But—but … this was real-life. Very different.)
I choked and choked.
He sighed, doing it the dramatic, teasing way he has, then strolled over to his bathroom and got me a glass of water, so I didn’t, you know, choke to death.
Once I gulped the whole contents of the glass down, he grinned, “We have twenty minutes left on the timer.” He raised his eyebrows, “We don’t have to play Zombie Attack anymore.” He grinned, “—I know how you hate it.” His lips curved up even more, “So would you rather kiss me for the next twenty minutes? Then we’ll ride the horses … for as long as you want. For the rest of the day if you want.”
My heart exploded.
Not going to lie, I’d had a huge crush on Ryan forever. I always did. But it had quadrupled the week before he suggested the kissing, so, yeah, I was on fire. And hyperventilating.
The thing that happened the week before, though—the thing that got me completely bananas and gaga for him—it happened like this:
My mom was sick one day—really sick. So she sent me in her place to clean Ryan’s house—just do the mandatory stuff. She gave me a list—not that I needed it. I’d helped her tons of times, so I knew pretty much what had to be done. Though usually Ryan would steal me away to do my “dutiful” hour, and then he would do mine, whatever I wanted (which was always riding his horse). Both our mothers seemed pleased with the arrangement. His, because I kept Ryan entertained. Mine, because it pleased her boss. (Mom really liked her job. Ryan’s mom was way nicer than anyone else my mom had ever worked for.)
The day Mom sent me to Ryan’s alone was a Monday. Ryan and his mom were never home on Mondays, so that’s when Mom did most of her “deep” cleaning, so I was stuck doing it.
But once I got to Ryan’s, I discovered Mom wasn’t the only one that was sick. I started to feel sick too. Ryan came home early and caught me puking in his toilet.
Shocking me, since I didn’t know he’d come home, Ryan was at my elbow. He gently held my hair back for me. He did it soooo tender.
Then he made me get into his bed, though I kept protesting. “I have to clean,” I told him. “I have this list.”
He snatched the list from me. “I’ll clean,” he said. “You get into the bed.”
So, I did. And immediately fell into a deep, sweaty sleep.
When I woke, Ryan had done all my chores.
And he also lied to his mom and said I did them.
I heard them talking when I woke, through his bedroom’s closed door.
His mom was not pleased I was in his bed. She was like—upset. Very.
“Mom, she’s sick,” he said. “She finished all her work, and then she needed to sleep.”
“I do not want her here alone with you, Ryan. Not ever.”
He sounded exasperated. “I didn’t plan it. Soccer practice got cancelled and Keith’s mom needed to take him to some school thing. So, I came home early.”
I creaked the door open.
Ryan’s eyes washed over me. He looked embarrassed that I’d caught them talking about me—and that I heard what his mom was saying. Her emphatic concern about me being alone in the house with him—in his bed.
“Where’s your mother, Lexi?” Ryan’s mom sounded hostile. It was the first time I heard her sound that way. Ever.
“She’s—she’s at home,” I stammered. “She was really sick. So she sent me, since she knew you�
�re having a party tomorrow and she wanted your house to be nice for it. But when I got here—I got sick too.”
Ryan’s mom’s eyes instantly changed. Turned ashamed, and sympathetic. Totally softened. She pursed her lips. “Tell your mother I hope she gets feeling better. And thank you for your hard work, Lexi. The house looks beautiful.”
My eyes cut to Ryan.
He shook his head slightly, giving me a look that said: ‘Don’t tell her, Lexi.’
So, I didn’t. But I hoped my eyes told him, ‘Thank you.’
After that day, I couldn’t get how tender Ryan had been while he was taking care of me out of my head. How he had gently pulled back my hair. Had tenderly wiped my face.
And now here he was—twelve years old—suggesting we kiss. It was just like out of my dreams. (The steamy ones I had just started to have of him—of him doing exactly this: wanting to kiss me.)
Ryan did a weighing motion with his hands. He grinned, “Zombie Attack or kissing?”
I started to choke again.
“Kissing,” I coughed.
He smiled. Huge. “Yay,” he murmured happily.
… we didn’t get around to riding horses that day. The timer went off, but we just kept eagerly getting our mouths acquainted. It was even better than my dreams. Way better. Ryan’s warm eager kisses had me breathless.
I was swooning. Big time.
CHAPTER 6
So, Ryan became my very first boyfriend. And though we did a LOT of kissing that day (Tons!!) it wasn’t something we went around doing on a regular basis. I mean, after that day we were actually kind of shy about it. But we went on to do a lot of holding hands, and he suddenly was amenable to do anything I wanted—anything—whenever I wanted. No more making me wait for a timer to go off.
He was very sweet and made me birdhouses and stuff all the time. (He’d make things like that in Boy Scouts, and then bring them over to me with poems. Poems!!) He was a very wonderful boyfriend and I was filled with happiness and in heaven.
Then once, we were on his bed, wrestling around having a tickling fight (I think we were thirteen by then). I was on top of him, getting him good, then I jolted back, shocked, and truly alarmed.
“Something moved!” I gasped.
Ryan laid his head back. He sort of laughed, “Yeah, me.”
“No, in your pants.”
“Yeah me, my dick.”
My eyes widened, huge. “It moves?”
“It does that when it’s happy—and when it gets attention. You were giving it both.”
I stared at the bulge, mystified.
He raised his eyebrows. “Do you want to see it?”
“No!”
His eyes twinkled. “It kind of seems like you do.”
“Well, I don’t.”
I eyed it again, still mystified, “Is it going to be okay?”
He grinned, “If you stop staring at it.”
CHAPTER 7
So, that was that day. But the next time it happened (well, the next time that I noticed that it happened) it did it while we were kissing.
I jumped away from him, startled.
“I’m going to go,” I told him quickly and ran out of his room.
I waited out in our car for my mom to finish cleaning,
Ryan texted me: “I wasn’t going to attack you with it, Lexi.”
I didn’t text him back.
Instead, I texted with this boy I was doing a science project with—Devin. He kept texting me, everyday—constantly. Ever since he became my partner he was obsessed with me. Well, not in a bad way, not exactly. Normally, it was just a little bit baffling. But while I was in the car, I was grateful for his continual babbling, because I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened up in Ryan’s room.
… or stop thinking about all the conversations I could hear his mom sternly having with him about me—behind closed doors, when she thought I couldn’t hear.
She was always talking like were going to have sex.
And have babies.
CHAPTER 8
The next day I told Ryan I wanted to break up.
He leaned his head back against the locker. “Yeah, I figured that,” he muttered. “Since you didn’t answer any of my texts.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing. Turning white as a ghost. “You’re really breaking up with me? All guys have one, Lexi. Even that dufus, Devin.”
I bit my lip, hurting just as much as him. Probably even more. But his mother’s words haunted me. “We’re too young, Ryan. I’m not ready.”
“I don’t feel too young. I feel ready,” he said.
“I know,” I whispered. Then I ran from him. Literally. I ran to my next class and I turned off my phone so I wouldn’t get his texts begging me to change my mind. Because I knew I would. But I didn’t want to ‘ruin our lives’ … and Ryan’s mom was sure that we would.
I just needed time to … I don’t know what.
Digest?
Grow up?
???
CHAPTER 9
After I broke up with Ryan, he started flirting with girls. Constantly. It huuuurt. So bad.
I would look up in the school hallway and find him watching me from across the crowded corridor. Whenever he caught me noticing, he wouldn’t look away, not even slightly. Sometimes he would wince, but never look away. Instead, with his eyes still on me, he’d kiss the girl that was with him (and a girl was always with him now—always). He would kiss them, like to prove to me—he could get another girl, easy. Or maybe it was more to prove to me that I missed his kiss. Because I did. Everything inside me would shrivel and die every time I saw him kiss a girl.
Once he even called me on it. He texted: “You looked like you were going to faint while you watched me kiss Kara.”
He said the “watch me” part like as emphasis—I would watch him kiss girls, my heart aching and yearning. But yes, I’d watch. Couldn’t take my eyes away from him any more than he could take his eyes from me. Sometimes he would raise his eyebrows afterwards, as I just stood there, staring.
That always snapped me out of my heart-wrenching daze—his eyebrows going up, as though to say, ‘You’re watching me, Lexi.’
When I didn’t text him back about his remark about me almost fainting as I ‘watched’ him kiss Kara, he texted more: “I only kiss them to get you jealous. It seems to work though.”
When I didn’t text him back, he wrote more: “Are you only hanging out with that dweeb Devin to get me jealous?”
When I still didn’t answer he texted: “Well, if you are, it’s working … even though he’s a dweeb.”
Then he texted: “He has a dick too, Lexi.”
After a moment, he added: “He wants to use it, Lexi. Don’t let his dweebie-ness fool you.”
CHAPTER 10
Even after we broke up, Ryan would make me come while my mother cleaned.
His mother arranged it, but I know he had her do it. Every Wednesday while my mom was at their house, I had to speak French with Ryan.
“It’s for practice,” his mother told my mom. “Ryan needs the constant conversation—and they flow well together, don’t you think?”
She paid for me to come—calling me his ‘tutor’ … though Ryan was in my French class, and better at it than me.
One day, he had his latest girl-toy over when I got to his house. “Oh, it’s your ex-girlfriend,” the girl exclaimed to Ryan when she saw me in the doorway, watching them kiss, pale and tortured, and hurting. (The scene would haunt me forever. Until the day I died. Him fervently kissing another girl.)
Ryan’s eyes darted to me and he let go of the girl, like pushed her away. “You need to go now,” he murmured to her.
“Why?” She seemed wounded. “You said she helps you with your French? I can help you with your French.” She kissed him on the mouth with a smile, purring, “—French kissing.”
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut. “You really have to go, Maddie.”
“Fine,” she sna
pped. “You called me Lexi earlier anyways—so maybe don’t call me anymore.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay.”
Maddie froze. Like, stopped in her tracks. She whipped back to him looking stricken. “You’re not going to call me anymore?!”
He shrugged. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I do want you to.” She was almost crying.
His jaw muscles ticked. He glanced up to the ceiling a moment, then back to her welling eyes. He winced.
His voice came out soft and gentle, “Look, we’ll talk later, okay?”
She glared at me, like it was my fault he wasn’t begging her to stay and ‘French kiss.’ And like it was my fault it sounded as though he was going to break up with her—though they couldn’t actually ‘break-up’ because they weren’t even exclusive, not by a long shot. She was just one of the many toys on his shelf. (He had tons of toys.) (Too many to keep track of.) So her saying she didn’t want him to call her anymore had probably been a relief to him. Which was not her desired effect—obviously.
Still, he walked her to the door, but stepped back when she tried to kiss him goodbye. Again, she looked stricken. And again her eyes darted to me, and narrowed. Like this was my fault too—that he didn’t kiss her. Ryan maneuvered his body between our field of vision, so she couldn’t kill me with her eyes.
