by Tessa Teevan
“Do you…masturbate?”
My mouth dropped open in shock at the fact that he had actually been able to get the word out without giggling like a schoolboy like he and Chris used to do when anything remotely sexual came up. Wow. Things really had changed.
“What?!” I gasped even though I had known it was coming. I hadn’t actually thought he’d say the word out loud. As if I’d ever answer that question. Not for him.
“You know…click the mouse. Rub the love button.”
“That’s none of your business!” I shrieked, horrified that he’d turned this around on me.
A slow, satisfied grin settled on his face as a dreamy expression took over. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I crossed the gazebo and shoved his shoulder. “Whatever. That is not what I said.”
He grasped my arm and pulled me in close. His lips hovered just above my ear, his warm breath causing me to shiver. If I turned my head, our lips would brush. Chris wasn’t there to interrupt this time, and it felt like the perfect moment. I was trying to muster up the courage to do just that when his deep voice filled my ear.
“Exactly, Sierra. It’s what you didn’t say. And, now, I have the perfect visual the next time I’m strokin’.”
His voice was sexy, seductive, and it sent a shot of pleasure straight between my legs. For the first time in my life, I was positive I was turned on, and all I wanted to do was touch myself.
I apologize, Divinyls, for all those years I made fun of your song.
Because, from that moment on, whenever I thought about Jeremy Banks, I wanted to touch myself.
My eyes widened as my cheeks flamed. I’d never had masturbatory thoughts before. Despite the cool breeze coming off the water, I was on fire. My palms were sweaty, clammy, and I had the urge to clench my thighs together. At the time, I had no idea what was happening, but I wanted friction down there, and I wanted it immediately.
He apparently missed the way I’d gone silent. He definitely missed the way I was biting my lip and staring at him as if he were the juiciest steak and I was a starving bodybuilder. Instead of reading my body language—and thank goodness for that—he just laughed and grabbed my hand, which I promptly pulled away. I’d never been more thankful that the annoying little Barrister kids down the street had broken the lightbulb in the gazebo or that the homeowners association hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet. The moonlight was doing a great job of masking my first experience with arousal.
Strokin’. God, I’d never be able to hear that word—or that song—again and think of it the same way.
My heart was hammering, and I couldn’t get the damn image of him doing just that out of mind. He had the perfect visual? No way. I was pretty sure I did. Even more than that, I was pretty sure I’d just stepped aboard the Sexual Sierra Sullivan Express and I was ready for that ride. Not with Jeremy—hell no. It was way too soon for that—but with myself. Self-experimentation and all of that good stuff.
Not that he’d ever know that truth, no matter how many times he asked.
Shit. I needed to get away, and I needed to do it quickly. Hello, stage left. There’s my exit. End scene. Let’s start over tomorrow.
“Whatever, Banks. You can watch Dawson’s Creek alone tonight!” With that, I stormed off in the direction of my house.
I wasn’t actually mad—I just didn’t trust myself around him any longer that night.
His laughter seemed to echo all around me. Flashes of him lying on his bed played on repeat, and my legs moved faster, hoping to put enough distance between us.
“Or not at all! I hate that chick show anyway!” he called after me. “I’ll go home and watch Baywatch instead!”
I bristled at the thought. It was silly because he was just egging me on. Ever since Dawson’s Creek started earlier that year, we’d both been hooked. We’d watched every episode together, and even though he complained at times, I knew he secretly loved it.
And that was why I was not surprised in the least when, just two hours later, Jeremy knocked on my window.
See? We were already learning. Not that he’d have interrupted anything. That’s another story for another time. When? How about never? Let’s just say I finally took care of business.
So much for thinking time or distance would help stamp out my desire. As soon as he climbed through the window, my eyes went to his groin. I was disappointed that it was covered up.
Don’t get me wrong though. I wasn’t ready for sex with Jeremy—or anyone. I wasn’t ready for anything physical. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have minded another peek. Look, my curiosity had been piqued, and I wanted a closer glance. Even if it was just anatomical examination… Clinical… For research purposes. Yep, that’s what I told myself, trying not to feel like a perv for wanting to check out my best friend’s package.
I shook my head clear of the thought as he slid his shoes off and settled onto the bed beside me as he usually did. We assumed our positions—him sprawled out with his arm open wide, and me curling up beside him. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through my hair as I cuddled up against his warm chest. It’d always been innocent and friendly.
Until just then.
Nothing about our snuggling felt platonic, even if the whole feelings thing was completely one-sided. Ugh, I felt like I was in an old episode of bad television—the girl with unrequited feelings. Yep, that was me.
If Mom and Dad had any idea of how I was starting to feel about Jeremy, or what had transpired a couple of hours ago, we’d be ordered out of the bedroom, on separate couches, with Lexi between us and Dad glaring at Jeremy the entire time, waiting for him to make an inappropriate move. Don’t worry, Dad. Your little girl was safe. He’d never made a move, and I was pretty sure he never planned on it. I was the only predator in the bed that night, and instead of doing anything I wanted to, I fixated my eyes on the television as Joey and Dawson tried to figure out where to go with their relationship after an amazing—and unexpected—first kiss between best friends.
It was silly, but I was insanely jealous of that kiss. I wanted that kiss. However, I was never going to get that kiss, and boy, did that blow.
Like I said, my life was beginning to feel like a television show. Only I wasn’t Joey, and I wasn’t kissed senseless by the boy of my dreams. Thanks again, Chris. Jerk.
“What were you so excited about telling me earlier?” he asked during a commercial break.
In all the excitement, I’d completely forgotten about the whole reason I’d burst into his room. His own version of bursting had distracted me.
God, I had to stop thinking about it.
It took a moment for me to remember what had even happened earlier that afternoon. When I did, I sat up and beamed at him. He smiled at me, those freaking dimples deepening. I could’ve stared at those dimples all day. More than anything, I wanted to kiss them. Then his lips while my hands held his face, my thumbs pressing into those little indentations as I held his mouth to mine. Maybe if I just did it, with no one there to distract us, then I could blame the show. Just wanting to see what would happen if we did what they had done. I had just started to lean down when his voice stopped me.
“Sierra?” he prompted, pulling me out of my gaze.
Oh crap. That was a close one. I cleared my throat and clapped my hands.
“You’re looking at the newest Raiders cheerleader!” I informed him proudly.
His eyes went wide, lighting up at my words while the corners of his mouth turned up. “Seriously?” He lifted up and rested on his elbows, the excitement emanating from him.
It warmed my heart. Still, I told myself not to read too much into it. We did everything together. It made sense he’d be happy that we’d have this, too.
I nodded. His smile grew wider.
“Seriously,” I confirmed.
“So, you’ll be at all my games?” he asked, awe transforming his face. As if I wouldn’t have gone to them anyway.
“Every. Single. On
e.” I drew the words out for added emphasis.
Not that he’d needed it. He was already sitting up and gesticulating wildly with his hands, doing his own sort of silent cheer.
“You have no idea how happy this makes me, Sullivan. It’s freaking perfect. Me on the field, kicking ass and taking names. And you on the sidelines, cheering me on and wearing my number on your cheek.”
The truth was I did know. Because I felt the same way. But, instead of admitting it, I merely shrugged.
“You know the deal, Banks. Where you go, I go.”
“And don’t you ever forget it.”
I couldn’t if I’d tried.
I just hoped it wouldn’t bite me in the ass later on.
As a rule of thumb, I never got embarrassed. It was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I did some pretty hilarious stuff. A curse because, half the time, I ended up grounded. But I was me, and embarrassment wasn’t in my genetic makeup. I’d tried blaming it on my parents once. You can guess how well that one went over. Here’s a clue: My punishment doubled. But even Dad hadn’t blamed me too harshly for trying. Mom, however, had not been amused.
There wasn’t a dare I wouldn’t accept. Well, aside from that one time Chris had dared me to moon Sierra while our moms were sitting beside her on the beach. I was a jokester, but I wasn’t stupid. But, when he’d bet me that I wouldn’t prank call our fifth-grade teacher looking for Jack Hoff, I’d picked up the landline right away. Fortunately, Mrs. Miller hadn’t had caller ID. Or she at least hadn’t cared enough to call back. I’d figured she was used to it, but that hadn’t stopped us from looking up random numbers in the phone book and telling stupid jokes to whomever answered.
When he told the entire seventh-grade class that I had a crush on Mandy Simpson and she called me a troll she’d never touch, I didn’t care. It didn’t bother me. I wasn’t humiliated in the least bit. In fact, that crush was, well, crushed. Thanks, Chris. I later found out that I’d dodged a bullet with that one.
One time, I even got caught peeing off the side of the pier. Did I care? Nope.
But, when Sierra Sullivan barged into my room right in the middle of a hand job session, I was mortified. For the first time, I knew what embarrassment felt like. It was the worst feeling in the world, and I didn’t know to react. Clearly, Sierra didn’t know how to, either, because she froze, her eyes never leaving my dick.
And then I suddenly knew the meaning of spank bank material. Because Sierra standing in my room, her eyes wide as she watched me, was more of a turn-on than any Baywatch or Buffy episode ever could be. Dressed in cute, little gym shorts and a Navarre Raiders T-shirt, she was a vision of pure innocence and beauty, and she was precisely what I needed to finish what she’d walked in on. I couldn’t even help myself as my release spilled onto my stomach.
It wasn’t until she gasped in horror and ran from the room that I realized what I’d done. I was a mess—and not just literally. I debated not even going after her, but I couldn’t do that. I had to make sure she was okay. That we were okay.
Imagine my shock when she turned it into a joke. I was conflicted. Part of me was glad she was taking it all in stride. Another part had hoped she’d been at least a little affected by it. But I guess I was delusional, because apparently, it was no big deal to her.
That was killer on my confidence, by the way.
While lying there, watching Dawson’s Creek, I started relating to the show. Man, they’re right—whoever they are. Sex messes with you. Not only was I trying to picture Sierra naked, but I was having real, genuine feelings for her. The more I ran my fingers through her hair, the harder I became. Suddenly, cuddling on her bed didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. I needed some space, some distance, before my junk freaked her out for a second time that night. But, when I tried to shift away, she wrapped her arm around my waist and nestled in closer.
Shit.
I started going through the football playbook and picturing huge-ass linemen tackling my ass as I ran down the field. It was enough to soften me up. Just enough.
Until she shared her news and I started picturing her in a cute, little cheerleading outfit.
I thanked the freaking Lord as soon as the credits rolled, because I did the same thing. Twisting off the bed, I pressed my fists down and hovered over her, careful to keep my groin out of her line of sight. Her ocean-sky-blue eyes were sleepy, and I took it as my out. Leaning down, I gave her a kiss on the forehead.
“Night, Tod,” I whispered and turned to climb out the window. I was halfway through when she called to me.
“Hey, Copper?”
My head swiveled as I glanced back at her. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue while I straddled the window sill. That was enough to deflate me just a little bit.
A mischievous smile played on her lips. “Who were you strokin’, too?” she asked. A giggle bubbled out, and I groaned, hanging my head in shame.
And then I had a thought. Screw this. Jeremy Banks doesn’t do shame. Jeremy Banks has no shame. Jeremy Banks is shameless. Why is Jeremy Banks referring to himself in third person?
My eyes slowly rose and raked over her long, bare legs. By the time they reached her face, her laughter had stopped and she was watching me with expectant eyes.
I gave her a wink. “You were right when you chose the fox, Sierra.” I whispered the word fox using my best Jimi Hendrix impression.
Her brow wrinkled. I waited her out for a moment, and as soon as realization crossed her features, I slipped out the window and into the black night.
“Night, Tod! Have fun clickin’,” I called. If strokin’ is my thing, then clickin’ is hers. At least, that’s what I told myself, and I would keep doing so for the next…well…forever.
Even though I was answered with silence, I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my lips as I whistled my whole way home. All twenty feet of it. Just before I stepped onto my porch, I glanced back at her window. Her light had been shut off, but her silhouette watched me.
God, I wanted Sierra to watch me over…and over…and over again. What the hell was wrong with me?
Hormones, was what I told myself. Hormones and fucking Mandy Simpson. After my little party disaster with her, I hadn’t touched a girl. Hell, I was lucky Mandy seemed to have forgotten all about the night she’d walked up to me at a beach party, shoved her hand in my pants, and stroked my dick for a solid fifteen seconds before she said I was taking too long and she moved on.
Uhh, sorry, Mandy. In my defense, you did catch me a bit unprepared.
1.) No girl had ever touched my penis before that night. Hell, the only thing that’d ever touched it was me, and my hands are like my feet and my dick. Big. So her soft, little, drunk hands were…foreign to me. It caught me off guard. That’s all.
2.) If I hadn’t had six beers and hadn’t been suffering from immense shock, I probably would’ve nutted in about five seconds. Don’t judge. I was newly introduced to alcohol. Six beers was a lot at the time.
3.) Did she not see my best friend, Sierra, sitting five feet away from me, chatting with Chris and some other guys from the football team? I couldn’t get off in front of her if I’d tried.
Okay, so maybe that last part was a lie. We’d found that out tonight. But I hadn’t been able to do it with another girl with Sierra sitting right there. So Mandy had walked away, leaving me in a hard situation. I’d spent the next two hours with an ache in my balls that the Internet later told me was blue balls.
Blue Ball Mandy Simpson, I will never forgive you for those two hours of pure agony.
The worst part? I hadn’t even gotten a kiss for it. No making out or anything. Just a drunk chick sticking her hand in my pants for the first time ever. Couldn’t I at least have gotten some tongue action? Or, well, any action? Though, from what the guys said in the locker room, I wasn’t missing much. Blue Ball Mandy Simpson was also apparently Slobbery Mandy Simpson. I’d avoided a nightmare there, and in the weeks after, I’d had no
desire for Mandy or any other girl to finish what she’d started.
So why was I now picturing Sierra’s pretty, pink lips and imagining running my tongue over them, begging for entrance so it could tangle with her own? Why did I want to press my lips to hers to see how they tasted? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about my hands roaming over her skin as we became more than friends? Just like I’d been doing since the first day of school when I’d temporarily lost my mind and almost kissed her before we were so rudely interrupted by Chris.
Yep. My problem was most definitely hormones. I needed to get a grip.
Wait. Wasn’t that what had gotten me into this mess in the first place?
“Dawson’s Creek over?” Dad asked as I walked in the front door.
I nodded and tried to move past him, but he followed me to my room. When he shut the door behind him and took a seat at my desk, I frowned. Something was off, and a sudden bead of sweat broke out on my brow as worry set in.
The corners of his mouth curled down while his round, bulging eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at me. His brows were knit together so tightly, I could practically see the tension it was creating. I had no idea what to expect when he cleared his through. “Okay, son. So…uh. I saw Sierra fly out of here earlier and then you going right after her. Apparently, in your haste…you uh…” His face reddened, and I held my breath, hoping like hell he hadn’t overheard what had happened.
“It’s no big deal, Dad. We’re fine,” I reassured him, wanting to get this over with and get him out of here. “She, um, she just caught me at a bad time.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. In fact, it was pretty much the truth.
He nodded. “Right. Well, uh, the thing is… When you ran after her, you dropped your…um…towel in the hall and apparently didn’t notice it.”
My whole life, I’d never experienced humiliation, and that night, I was getting it in spades. God, could it get any worse? I hung my head and let out a groan before peeking back up at him. Fortunately, this was as embarrassing for him as it was for me.
