Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows)

by Judith Arnold

  He was as hard as granite beneath her. He knew she had to feel his arousal, given where she was sitting, but she'd felt it plenty of other nights when they'd been tangled up on the tan leather seat. A few times she'd really felt it, slipping her hand inside his shorts and making him absolutely crazy.

  Tonight her hands were on his shoulders. She lowered herself to kiss him and then lifted her head, then sank onto him again, kissing him again.

  Yeah. He was absolutely crazy, thanks to her.

  "Ted?" she whispered.

  "Mmm." Crazy enough that grunting was about all he could manage.

  "Ted," she said again, straightening her elbows and lifting herself up.

  Hell of a time to want to start a conversation. "What?"

  "I want you."

  "I want you, too." He gave her ass a gentle squeeze, guiding her so she could feel just how much he wanted her. Not that he'd push, not that he'd pressure. He wouldn't, and she knew it. She knew she could drive him to the raw edge, and he'd stagger into his parents' dark, sleeping house and work it all out in the bathroom. If that was what she wanted, that was what he'd do. Even if you didn't love a girl, you couldn't force more on her than she could handle. It just wasn't right.

  And if you did love her, not forcing her was about more than right and wrong. It was about love. About letting her know she was safe with you. About letting her know that no matter what, she could trust you.

  "I mean it," she said, then kissed him again, warm and wet. "Tonight. Now."

  His brain was so fuzzy with lust, it took him a minute to understand what she was actually saying. She wanted him. Tonight. Now.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Do you have a condom?"

  He laughed. He wasn't exactly a boy scout but he believed in being prepared. Damn straight he had a condom.

  She wasn't laughing. She was smiling, though, a mysterious smile that added a shimmer to her eyes. A question. Maybe a hint of doubt.

  "Are you sure?" he asked again, this time dead serious.

  She answered by sitting higher, gripping the bottom edge of her shirt and tugging it up, over her head and off.

  He had seen her breasts before-they'd done a lot of makingout this summer-but their beauty never failed to move him. Her half-Latina blood enabled her to tan easily, but her breasts were pale, the color of the moon and just as round. He reached up to caress them and she closed her eyes and sighed. And gave her hips a little hitch that took his arousal to an entirely new level.

  She lowered herself against him and kissed his neck. He sighed and slid his hands down her back and inside the waistband of her shorts. She shoved at his shirt, trying to push it up. But since she was lying on top of him, her body pressed to him, she couldn't remove it.

  Some rearranging was necessary. He hated easing her off him, but he'd never be able to get naked as long as she had him pinned to the seat.

  Pinned. Oh, God, she had him pinned. No referee necessary. No three-count required. He was lost, and defeat had never felt so good.

  He shifted against the seat, wriggling out from under her and sitting up. He practically tore his shirt pulling it off, but he wanted her touching his chest. He wanted her touching every inch of him.

  She fell back on her knees. In the stillness of the car, he heard her respiration and his own, a little ragged. He resisted the urge to press her back and bury his face in the hollow between her breasts, and instead studied her face, searching one last time for hesitation, for fear.

  What he saw was trust. Passion. Transparent faith.

  Earlier that evening, when she'd been talking about how much she would miss her horse, he'd felt-all right, it was stupid, but he'd felt jealous. He'd been certain, as they'd stood by Five Star's stall, that she really would miss the damned horse more than she missed him. But now, reading the yearning in her face, he knew it was no contest. She loved Five Star, but she loved Ted. Loved him enough to give him all of herself, this incredible gift, this essential proof of her love.

  A strand of her hair was stuck to her cheek and he stroked it away. "Erika," he murmured. It was easier to talk when she wasn't on top of him. Easier to think.

  She nodded.

  "This is-I mean, this is your first time."

  She nodded again.

  "I don't want to hurt you. But it might hurt."

  She grinned. "I'll be fine."

  He smiled, too. This was really happening. She wasn't backing down. She was, if anything, more enthusiastic than he was. Not that she loved him more than he loved her right at that instant. That would be impossible.

  He dug into the pocket of his shorts, pulled out his wallet, and removed the little foil packet he had stashed there. Then he stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and shimmied out of his shorts and boxers. Erika's gaze dropped briefly, then rose to his face again.

  Still no hesitation. No doubt. Still that cute, wicked smile.

  She rose higher on her knees and slid her shorts down, nothing more than to give in to the impatient demands of his body, but he had to close his eyes for a moment, just to regain control. She was so unbearably beautiful, he could lose it just from looking at her.

  Deep breaths. Frantic mental messages to his body to maintain some semblance of control, to last long enough to make this good for her.

  Her clothes heaped on the floor of the Wagoneer, she leaned back, straightened her legs as much as the seat would allow, and welcomed him into her embrace. He lowered himself into her waiting arms, between her waiting thighs. Colors swirled within his head, Erika's colors. The honey-brown of her hair, the honey-gold of her skin except for those creamy places where the sun never touched her. The tawny pink of her lips. Shadows the color of night between her breasts, along the edges of her collarbones, her hip bones. The white of her teeth, the red of her tongue as she opened her mouth to his kisses. The endless, depthless dark of her body as he felt her tense slightly, her eyes squeezing shut and her legs flexing around him.

  He wanted nothing more than to obey the impatient demand of instinct, but he did his best to hold back. He kissed her forehead, twirled his fingers through her hair, struggled to remain still, to keep breathing until he knew she was with him. After a moment, she opened her eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  "I love you, Erika," he whispered. Nothing he'd ever said was as true as that. "I love you."

  She circled her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips. And then he was moving, rocking, burning up. His existence was reduced to heat and a throbbing, lush pain, it was all sensation, it was skin and flesh and breath. And love.

  I know the perfect girl for you ...

  And here she was. Beneath him. Surrounding him. Giving him everything she had and taking everything he could give her.

  In his mind, the night exploded with light. In his heart, the world exploded with love.

  "ARE YOU OKAY?"

  His voice reached Erika as if from a distance, passing through layers of mist. She lay under him, damp with sweat and physically drained.

  And happy. Rapturous. Blissful. "I'm fine," she said, then mustered what little energy she had to raise her head and kiss him.

  She loved the way he looked, both sated and worried. She'd had no idea what she was doing, let alone whether she was doing it right. But he seemed pretty pleased, all in all. And if they did this again-when they did it again-he could tell her what to do, how to make it better for him.

  She definitely wanted to do it again. Not tonight, though. It hadn't exactly hurt, but she was feeling a little sore.

  She loved the feel of him cuddled up against her. They kissed some more, sleepy, easy kisses. She didn't have the strength for anything more fervent than that, and apparently neither did he. Sweat had turned his hair into a mess of curls, making him look boyish and innocent.

  He had a gorgeous body. Not that Erika had seen so many naked guys in her life that she had any basis for comparison, but she'd seen artwork. Sculptures. She'd seen those
professional wrestlers on TV in their skimpy animal-print Speedos. Ted was less muscle-bound than rippling Greek statues and buffoonish professional wrestlers. He was lankier, bonier, more natural. And absolutely gorgeous.

  Too gorgeous to sound so dismal about her own ending to what they had just done. "You didn't...."

  "Ted." She brushed her fingertips over his lips, as if she could rearrange them into a smile.

  He shifted slightly, managing to squeeze himself against the back of the seat without pushing her onto the floor. He wedged one arm under and around her, holding her close. "Would it be okay if I just ... I mean, I don't want to hurt you."

  She knew instinctively that he could never hurt her. "Would what be okay?" she asked.

  He glided his free hand down her body. Down. "Tell me if this hurts."

  "It doesn't hurt." Far from that, she felt renewed heat rising inside her, heat and spiraling tension. Her hips twitched, her abdomen clenched. "Ted," she gasped as her body seized, released in a luscious cascade of sensation. She gasped and wrapped her fingers around his hand, which had made her feel so good.

  He went still, just holding her, resting his palm against her and waiting for the pulses to subside. She turned her face against his shoulder. She wanted to crawl inside his skin, become a part of him.

  He had said he loved her. She knew she loved him.

  She couldn't bring herself to speak the words. If she said them, everything would change. She would have to rethink the entire path of her life. If she loved him, how could she leave him? How could she go to Colorado without him? How could she attend college and explore the world and do everything she wanted to do?

  If she didn't say the words, if she didn't acknowledge the emotion, maybe it would go away. She could continue to view Ted as her wonderful, funny, handsome boyfriend until it was time to leave. And then she would leave.

  They were only eighteen. Too young to be in love.

  If she told herself that enough times, maybe she could convince herself it was true.

  They made love almost every night after that. Ted would work at the gas station, Erika would spend her day at the stable or packing more boxes and suitcases for college or visiting with Laura and Allyson and her other friends, and in the evening she and Ted would be together. Whatever they did-eat, go to the movies, watch TV, drive down to the shore for an afternoonthey ended their time together in the backseat of the Wagoneer, naked, breathless, learning each other's bodies, bringing each other pleasure.

  Each time was better than the previous time. Each time she and Ted made love, she learned how to read and react to his moves, how to adjust, how to take chances and trust that he wouldn't let her fall. How to soar and how to land safely, cradled in his arms.

  Each time, she lay beside him afterward, her feet caught on the door handle and her head cushioned by his arm, and thought, How will I leave him? How can I?

  She never gave voice to that question, and he never raised it himself-until one night in mid-August, when her departure date was within sight. She was snuggled up to him, her eyes closed and her heartbeat gradually slowing as their bodies cooled, when he said, "Marry me."

  She flinched, her eyes popping open. "What are you, crazy?"

  He didn't look crazy. He looked earnest and pensive. "I love you, Erika. I want us to stay together. You don't have to go to Colorado. You could stay here and go to Rutgers, or Princetonor, I don't know, there are so many colleges in the area. We could get married and you could still-"

  "I can't," she cut him off. Of course she could go to Rutgers or Princeton ... but that wasn't part of her plan. Marriage wasn't part of her plan. "We're just kids, Ted. We're too young to get married."

  "I will never love anyone the way I love you," he said, sounding even more earnest. His certainty scared her a little.

  "We're too young," she repeated. "I can't even think about marriage right now. You shouldn't be thinking about it, either." He looked so hurt, she added, "If it's meant to be, we'll wind up together."

  "I know it's meant to be," he said.

  "Then my going to Colorado isn't going to ruin anything. We'll stay in touch and see each other on school breaks, and we'll grow up a little." She cupped her hand over his cheek, trying to coax a smile out of him. "Come on, Ted. You know we're too young to be talking about marriage."

  He didn't look persuaded, but at least he didn't argue anymore.

  She should have been relieved. She was relieved. But as soon as he stopped talking about marriage, she found herself worrying the idea like a bruise she couldn't stop touching. Of course marrying him was a preposterous idea, but ... what if? What if she could sleep in his arms every night and wake up to his laughter every morning? What if they could cook dinners side by side in a cozy little kitchen and sit side by side on the sofa while they watched Law & Order or MTV, and then retire to their bedroom and make love in a real bed, not in the backseat of a car?

  It wasn't what she wanted. It wouldn't work. They were too young.

  But still ... she couldn't escape a tug of wistfulness when she thought about it. It was such a lovely idea. And Ted ...

  Don't say it, she warned herself. Don't say you love him. If you don't acknowledge it, maybe it won't really be true.

  "Marriage?" Laura squealed. "Oh, God, that's so romantic!"

  This was not what Erika needed to hear from her friend. They were seated on the floor of her bedroom, which looked decimated, so much stuff packed away, a few boxes already shipped out west. Ted had gotten a couple of days off at the gas station and traveled up to Maine with his parents, who were apparently serious about moving to East Machias. He'd shown her where it was on a map-a speck of a town, not far from the ocean and not far from the Canadian border. Housing was less expensive there-a hell of a lot cheaper than housing in northern New Jersey, which wasn't saying much. Ninety-five percent of the country probably had housing cheaper than in northern New Jersey.

  She was glad Ted was gone for a couple of days. She needed a chance to clear her head, to think about his proposal. To talk to Laura.

  Laura was hogging the bowl of pretzels, and Erika reached out and grabbed a handful, then settled against her bed, which she was using as a backrest. "I know you think he's perfect for me," she said between bites of pretzel. "But we're only eighteen."

  "So say yes and set the date for four years from now. Can I be your maid of honor?"

  "He's serious, Laura," Erika scolded. Laura seemed much too tickled by the idea. "He wants to marry me so I won't go to Colorado."

  Laura munched thoughtfully and shifted her butt against the carpet. Erika's desk couldn't be as comfortable to lean against as the bed, but if they sat side by side they wouldn't be able to see each other. And Laura wouldn't be able to hog the pretzels as effectively. Finally, she asked, "Do you want to go to Colorado?"

  "Of course I do."

  "More than you want to be with Ted?"

  That question had no of course answer. "The timing sucks," she said. "If I'd just graduated from college instead of high school, this would be a no-brainer."

  "Would it?"

  Erika toyed with the last pretzel in her hand. She slid one finger through the salted loop, then realized it was her ring finger she'd slid through. She knew for a certainty that she wasn't ready to place a wedding band on that finger. But in four years ...

  In four years she would be a college graduate, and Ted wouldn't. In four years she'd be eager to travel, to explore, to move on to even greater challenges. In four years she would be someone else. So would Ted.

  In four years, she might meet someone else. So might he.

  Nothing about this was a no-brainer.

  "You can keep the relationship going while you're away, if you want," Laura reminded her. "You can write letters, call each other. I mean, just because you're moving away doesn't mean you have to break up."

  "Right." Erika wished she felt as certain as Laura sounded.

  "You're going to stay in touch with
me, right? You can stay in touch with him, too."

  Erika snorted. Sure, she could stay in touch with Laura, and Allyson, and all her other friends. But she wasn't sleeping with any of them. She wasn't dreaming about any of them. None of them had ever held her in their arms and peered into her face with eyes so beautiful they made her heart ache and said, "I love you.

  "I don't want to hurt him," she said.

  Laura regarded her thoughtfully. "Sounds as if you've already made up your mind on how this is going to go."

  "I'm going to leave him?" Erika guessed. "I'm going to break up with him?"

  "Sounds like."

  A few tears escaped Erika's eyes, skittering down her cheeks and getting caught in her lip, adding their salt to the salt of the pretzels she'd been nibbling. "What if no one else ever loves me as much as he does?"

  "What if you never love anyone else as much as you love him?" Laura shot back.

  I don't love him, Erika wanted to say, but she couldn't lie to Laura. She did love Ted. And she was going to leave him.

  That's it. She's gone.

  You play everything over and over in your mind, a continuous loop of torture. You play that last time, just before she left, and she said, "We're going to be two thousand miles apart, Ted, so really, we should both be free to see other people." You told her you didn't want to see other people and she kissed your cheek and said, "We'll always befriends."

  You play that moment over and over, that awful scene, that fatal cut. You play it over and over until your brain wants to burst out of your skull.

  You play the mix tape she gave you just before she left. Phish, Spin Doctors, Helen Reddy, a sweet, soulful Fleetwood Mac love song. Songs you listened to with her all summer, songs you sang in your choir-trained voice. Songs you made out to. Songs you made love to. You play the tape over and over, you play the summer over and over. You torture yourself with the sounds, the memories, the loneliness of everything you lost when she left.

  You lie on the old blue sofa in the living room. The room is gloomy; the trees outside the windows block the late summer sunlight, and that's fine with you. You don't want light. You want the quiet dark of a movie theater so you can play the film of you and Erika over and over in your mind.