When I realized the chattering had died down, I slowly swiveled my head away from the gorgeousness sitting next to me toward Leo and Amy. They wore goofy twin smirks, barely containing their amusement at the sight of me gawking at Truman. My eyes widened, then narrowed quickly, somehow communicating "What?" and "Shut up!" in quick succession.
"It's pretty hot out here." Amy's exaggerated sweep of her hands as she fanned herself made me roll my eyes.
Leo was just as bad. "Yeah. It's almost like the temp is up another ten degrees in the last few minutes."
Truman chuckled beside me, lowering his eyes to the towel as he shook his head.
"You want to take another dip, Leonardo?" Amy stood, brushing off her rear as she grinned at him. Leo winked before he followed her over to the water.
I fought the heat; physical—because it really was stinkin' hot—and figurative, as I channeled my embarrassment into picking at little bits of leaves and dirt on my towel.
"How's it going over there, Jessa?"
He was sitting right next to me, but I wanted to press closer. I closed my eyes at the sound of his voice. God, my name on his tongue. For a moment, I blocked out the rest of the world and narrowed my focus to the vowels and consonants caressing my ear. He could've been Johnny Cash, his voice deep with the slightest hint of a southern accent. We'd both grown up in Oregon, so there was no explanation for it. He was cool enough to pull it off.
I managed a smile. "I'm good. You?"
"Better now." I could feel his eyes on me, hear his grin as he spoke.
"So, um..." I had no game. None. I couldn't think of what came next.
Luckily, he was better at it than I was. "What are you doing tomorrow?" The question mitigated his rasp, softening his tone.
Adrenaline sent tingles through my limbs, shocking me enough to finally make eye contact. "Nothing."
Damn, I sounded so eager.
Tru chuckled, his deep brown eyes crinkling in the corners. "You want to go somewhere with me?"
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
Never had three syllables combined to make me feel as important as that one word from him. I grinned. "Um, okay."
"I have some shit I need to do first. Can I pick you up at six?"
"Sure." Another witty remark from me. I was on a roll. I wanted to stomp my foot with a combination of glee and frustration.
Tru's eyes were warm on me. "All right, darlin'. It's a date."
***
The next day I cleaned the whole house, knocking my three siblings out of the way with the twitchy energy of an overly caffeinated housewife. By mid-afternoon my mom was barely containing a smirk while I frantically scrubbed at a stain on the kitchen floor.
"What?" I answered her unspoken commentary, slowing my movements as I glared from my position on my knees. She smiled down at me from her seat at the table.
"Nothing, baby. I'm just wondering if you're trying to clean or completely strip the finish off." She snickered, blue eyes shining as she ran a hand through her short hair. She'd cut it after dad's accident. At the time, she'd said she needed something different, but it wasn't hard to guess the real reason. He'd loved her hair. He had this habit of holding her face in his hands before running his fingers through the long blonde strands and planting a kiss on her lips. It used to gross all of us out, but I'd do anything to see them together like that again.
I pushed a hand through my own hair, noting how badly it needed a wash. I'd inherited the blonde from her and the wavy from Dad. If he were here he'd coach me through my anxiety and talk about all the reasons Truman was the lucky one. He'd never want me to settle for less than what he'd had with mom. God, I missed him. I missed the way he always had everything under control.
I collapsed, forehead to the floor and sighed. "I have a date," I mumbled, my breath hot against the hardwood beneath me.
"I gathered that, despite the fact that your expression says you're going to a funeral. Either you're being blackmailed or you really like him. Anyone I know?"
I raised my gaze to hers and arched an eyebrow. "I just spent four years living and dying by some invisible, ever-changing social rank, which was totally confusing—not to mention my place on the damn ladder was never in my control—with my life on the verge of becoming miserable at any moment, and you've never once asked me about any of it. So, no. You don't know him."
Mom's head jerked back as if I'd slapped her. "Jessa..." My name emerged, wobbly, from her trembling lips.
"Shit, I'm sorry." I shook my head, burying my face in my hands before standing and moving toward her. Dad had died my sophomore year. With seven kids, five of us at home at the time, Mom could hardly have been expected to clue in to my high school drama.
She accepted my hug, looping her arms around my waist as I pulled her against me. I sighed. "Truman Miller. I've had a crush on him for, like, ever, and never thought in a million years he'd want to be with me. I'm kind of freaked. I don't want to do anything to screw it up."
Mom tiled her head up to look at me and smoothed a lock of hair out of my eyes. "How could you possibly ruin this? You're my perfect Jessa. You've never done a thing wrong in your life. In fact, I don't know what I would've done without you after your dad..." She swallowed hard, and tears welled in my eyes. The loss was still fresh for all of us.
Mom shook her head and wiped at her cheeks. "If he can't see how perfect you are, then it's his loss, pumpkin."
"I'm not perfect."
"Yes, you are."
I rolled my eyes. "Seriously, I'm not. Look at how I just snapped at you."
Mom smiled and let me go, turning back toward her coffee and newspaper. "Sure, but look at how quickly you apologized. My perfect girl never lets anyone feel bad for long. That's what makes you so special." Her exhale was heavy. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you."
I managed a shaky smile, my body physically weighed down with guilt even as my mind soared with the thought of getting out of this house. Grief had been like a supernatural fog these last three years. Sometimes I was sure the air itself would suffocate me. "Campus is only a fifteen-minute drive away."
"Yes, of course you're right. It's time for you to move on, just like Jackson, Devin, and Hannah." At the mention of my older brothers and sister, her gaze grew hazy for a few moments. "I knew it was going to happen, just seems like time is getting away from me. My babies are leaving the nest. They're building their own lives, and here you are, going on a real date for the first time."
My gut tightened. Of course it wasn't my first date. She'd missed my first, second, and every one of the limited number I'd had in high school. She'd thrown herself into a new job, despite the fact that the insurance money from the accident had meant we'd live comfortably.
A noise, suspiciously like one of a fist landing on a body, sounded in the room where the TV played. Soon after, Everett or Winston—it was hard to tell the difference between the twins if I was relying only on their voices—let out a pained cry. I waited, but Mom kept her eyes on what she was reading, as if nothing unusual were happening.
"I'm going to check on the boys." I left the room, taking a deep breath along the way. For just one night, I wanted to be free to focus on my own life. I helped my brothers settle their differences and then checked on my sixteen year-old sister, Simone, who was in her room reading a book, music blaring.
"What?" She looked at me expectantly, eyes wide on her heart-shaped face, as if I'd interrupted the most important moment of her life and whatever I had to say had better be good. I leaned against the door frame, drawing it out until I got the dramatic sigh I knew was coming.
"I'm heading out later." I couldn't control the way my voice trembled from trying not to laugh.
She rolled her eyes. "Bye."
"Hey, how did that poem turn out? The one you had to present in class as part of your final exam?"
Simone's face softened with a small smile, even as she tried to cover it up by picking at a fingernail. "Oh
, it went all right. Mr. Hayes said it was one of the best he'd ever heard."
My chest swelled with pride. "Of course it was. You're an amazing poet. I hope you find a way to share that with the world someday."
Her small smile grew, even as she said, "Whatever."
I grinned, turning toward my room. It was always best to end conversations with Simone while you were ahead, something my mom had yet to learn. Besides, I needed to quit procrastinating and find something to wear on my date. Shit.
Amy proved to be less than helpful when I called. After five minutes of screeching into the phone about how cool it was that Truman had asked me out, her best advice was, "Be you!" Her clothing suggestions weren't much better; a combination of the few skimpy pieces I had in my closet and a lot of comments about how I never showed off enough of my "rockin' bod."
I'd given up, telling her I'd call her later, but that'd left nearly three hours to wait until it was time for him to pick me up. By five-thirty, I'd showered, dried my hair, changed clothes eight times, and was twitchier than a drug addict looking for a fix.
The doorbell chimed just before six. When my brothers made a bee-line for the door, my glare was so full of menace, they skidded to a stop on the floor and backed slowly away. Satisfied that they weren't going to embarrass the crap out of me, I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and pulled it open.
Truman looked amazing in beat-up jeans with holes in the knees and thigh, a checkered, western- style shirt and a white tee underneath, emphasizing his deep bronze skin. Since I had no idea what we were doing, I'd chosen jean shorts and a simple baby-blue tee with sandals. His eyes found my legs first before he smiled huge and leaned in to give me a long, hard hug. It was unexpected, awkward even, but it sent a thrill through me.
With his arms around me, everything inside me settled. Like a million tiny keys tossed in the air and somehow miraculously landing in their own unique locks. The deep breath I'd taken eased out on a slow exhale.
He stepped back, his gaze moving up. "Jesus, you live in a mansion." He scowled at the front of our southern colonial-style house, and my elation took a nose-dive.
"Oh, I...yeah, well, it's smaller than it looks." I shifted on my feet.
He arched a brow at me before moving his gaze over the expansive front yard. "Looks pretty fucking giant from here."
I looked around us. The tall, pitched roof, big bay windows, neatly trimmed hedges and round columns framed what was, I had to admit, a majestic-looking house. I'd never thought of our family as wealthy, but in that moment my middle-class upbringing felt a lot more privileged. "Well, I'm moving out next week to house sit for the summer, then to the dorms in the fall, so I won't live here much longer."
He pegged me with his eyes again, more whiskey-colored in the sunlight today. "How many kids in your family, anyway?"
"Seven. I'm right smack-dab in the middle." Meaning money was tight at times, and no one ever paid much attention to me, and I've been drowning being a parent to my siblings and making sure my mom doesn't work herself right off the deep end since I was fifteen, so I'm not really a spoiled rich girl like your expression is telling me I am.
He whistled and shook his head. I clasped trembling hands behind my back. My big, stupid house and my parents' inability to stop procreating were on their way to cock blocking me from the guy I wanted more than anyone else. I dug my fingernails into my palms until I was sure they were bleeding.
"Meh. Doesn't matter, right? I mean, who gives a fuck about money, anyway. Besides, this house isn't you." His signature grin was back.
I chuckled, letting my hands relax a little. "Oh yeah? What kind of house is me?"
His eyes were assessing as he bit on his lower lip and then looked out over the yard, past the front lawn, to the vast, empty space of the park across the street. "You're definitely not a house that sits on a hill kind of girl." He returned his gaze to me, hand on his chin as he studied my face. "The way your eyes light up when you see someone you care about, or your smile when you laugh at a joke...you need a house that sits close to the street, with a wide, path straight to the front door. Something that says 'come on in, everybody, this is a safe place.' Maybe lined with pots of flowers or some green stuff. Big windows that let in lots of light, and show everything going down inside the house, because every thought you have is written on your face."
My cheeks grew hot. I looked down, unable to cope with the knowledge that Truman Miller, my crush, had paid enough attention to notice anything about me, much less what he'd said about my eyes or my smile. Since he clearly knew I had a terrible poker face, I had to look away. Otherwise, he'd see how much more in love I was with him now than I had been a minute ago, when what I'd felt a minute ago was more than I'd ever felt for anyone.
But, he wasn't done. He tucked his finger under my chin and pulled my face up so that I was forced to look at him. His eyes crinkled with warmth even as they stayed glued to mine, like he wanted to be sure to catch my reaction this time. "Everything about you says 'welcome', so, yeah, I'd put you in a house that was as light and beautiful as you are."
He turned before I could say a word, leading us to the driveway, a perfect ass cupped by jeans that had been worn just enough. I suppressed a joyful sigh at the sight, denim hugging him just right, not too tight, not too baggy, a hint of rounding underneath the material that made me want to cup my hands there.
I was so mesmerized I bumped into him as he stopped in front of his motorcycle. I'd completely forgotten the conversation about his new bike. He grabbed a helmet and handed it to me. I grieved the loss of my carefully styled hair right before I got excited at the thought of being so close, holding on to him as we raced through town.
He pulled the strap through the loops on his helmet, a set of dimples showing as he grinned. "I thought we'd go to Alton Baker Park. I have a blanket and stuff."
"OK, that sounds fun."
I had trouble threading the strap through the metal loops, so he stepped up, inches from my face and, with the most adorable look of concentration, finished securing my helmet. When he was done, he paused, gazing into my eyes, his warm chocolate meeting my greenish-brown. I risked a glance at his lips. They were full, a rose hue against his tanned skin. He'd shaved, and I longed to run my hands over his cheek to test the smoothness.
He rubbed his lips together as though spreading Chap Stick on them, and I froze. I'd only kissed a few boys up to then, and my stomach rioted at the thought that he'd try something right there in my driveway. What if I was a horrible kisser? We'd be over before we'd even started. I'd never felt so conflicted, wanting him to, scared he would.
He seemed to sense my hesitation. He backed away, still grinning, before he knocked the top of my helmet a little too hard, jostling my head to the side as he turned to get on the bike. I prayed he hadn't read the terror on my face as rejection. Damn it. I resolved to be more visibly eager, if he ever looked at me that way again.
After he started the engine and told me to hold on, I gingerly clasped the fabric of his shirt on either side of his hips. He turned, his eyes visible only through the visor and crinkled with humor as he grabbed my hands and pulled them to his front, pressing them against his hard abs. The movement forced my chest into his back and for the first time I became aware of his scent—a hint of cigarettes and a clean, minty soap.
As we shot out of the driveway and onto the road, happiness and terror caused a shiver to race up my spine. I gleefully pressed closer to Tru's back, gripped harder, and settled in. The dueling sensations of the bike vibrating underneath me and my hands on his body had my panties wet. I tried hard not to squirm, but I had Truman Miller between my legs. Sophomore-in-high school me was freaking about the situation post-grad-me was currently enjoying the hell out of.
He handled the bike with such confidence it didn't take me long to relax, enjoying the feeling of the wind rushing past us. The sun was still high in the sky. The breeze was a welcome relief against my skin. He took the long way, so
by the time we reached the park, the sun was beginning its descent. Tru parked and found a place on the grass, where he spread a beat up old blanket. He tossed some peanut M&M's and a couple of sodas off to the side before stretching on his back and closing his eyes with a sigh, his head resting on his palms.
I stood on the grass next to him, frozen, while I tried to absorb the sight at my feet. Truman, lying down, his bulky body presented to me as if he were up for auction. It wasn't hard to picture him naked—I'd had plenty of time and practice thinking about Truman Miller throughout most of high school. Even so, seeing the real thing splayed in front of me caused a few million synapses to explode inside my brain.
He was just so damn pretty. I wanted to sink to my knees, crawl up the blanket, and tug at his belt with the confidence of a girlfriend. God, what would it be like to untuck his shirt, exposing the skin there, letting the hair of his happy trail brush against my knuckles as I cinched his belt tighter before releasing the prong? The clang of metal, the scent of leather, the sight of his firm belly in front of me would give me a rush better than any drug.
My gaze wandered to the hint of hair on his thigh underneath the hole in his jeans. I wanted to see the whole leg so badly, from the V of his hips to his calves. And I wanted to be just as naked, guiding my body over his as I made my way up, up, up...kissing what would surely be a cock as thick as he was. Proportional, and just long enough. Based on the generous bulge between his legs, I wasn't too far off in my assumptions. I licked my lips, thirsty for a taste. The way his firm stomach dipped, just a little, showing the waistband of his boxers...I could've died right then and been happy with that one final vision. What would he have sounded like if I'd put my mouth on him in all the ways I'd wanted to? I could almost hear him moan, the sound reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest, something like need and, later, one of satisfaction...
"You can sit down if you want." He had one eye open, squinting at me, mouth half turned up in a crooked smile.
I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love. Page 3
