Little Things

by Donya Lynne

  “When you’ve found the person you’re meant to be with.”

  Is he talking about now or forever? Did Gunner just tell me he thinks we’re meant to be together for the rest of our lives?

  I had no idea he felt this way about me.

  I brush my hand over his shoulder. “Maybe I should get a tattoo.”

  One side of his mouth lifts. “Maybe you should.”

  “Where?”

  He lifts on his arms and drinks me in with his eyes, studying my body. “That all depends.”

  “On what?”

  “The tattoo you want to get.”

  “I don’t know.” I’ve never thought about it. “What do you think? A dragon? A butterfly?”

  He seems to consider this for a moment then smirks and shakes his head. “A trumpet.”

  His levity shatters the serious mood, and I laugh. “A trumpet?”

  He laughs with me. “Sure, why not? I’ve got the notes. You can have the trumpet. And together, we can make beautiful music.” He lowers himself on top of me again and seals his lips over mine for a simmering kiss to prove his point about exactly what type of beautiful music he wants to make with me.

  When he breaks away, I wind my hands around the back of his neck. “You didn’t play trumpet.”

  A quizzical expression crosses his face. “So?”

  “I just wanted to point that out since you made such a big deal about telling me that trumpet players make good kissers.”

  He grins, because he can tell there’s more to it than that. “Oh? And why is that?”

  I dig my fingers into his hair. “Because you’re a good kisser, too.”

  “And your point is?”

  “I don’t think playing the trumpet has anything to do with it.”

  He smirks. “Is that your way of telling me to kiss you again?”

  I nod. “Yes, please.”

  “That could be dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I start kissing you, I’m going to want to make love to you again.”

  “Then definitely kiss me.”

  He laughs. It’s an aroused, I’m-about-to-do-bad-things laugh. “You’re already going to be sore tomorrow, Cami.”

  “Then you might as well make it worthwhile.”

  He searches my eyes as the grin melts out of his expression, leaving only sincerity and desire. His erection presses against my leg.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He grabs the other condom off the nightstand.

  Chapter 9

  Gunner was right. I am sore.

  During my morning shower, I hiss at the burn of soap as it finds my bruised flesh. My thighs are sore, too. Like I used muscles I’ve never used before.

  Gunner might have gotten a little rough the second time we had sex last night. I’m not complaining. This is just what it feels like to officially be a woman. Not just in age but in sexuality, too.

  I loved everything we did last night. He had to use his mouth on me again to get me off the second time, and it took longer, but by the time I fell asleep, I had a smile the size of California on my face.

  I’m still smiling, despite the discomfort between my legs.

  After drying my hair and getting dressed, I make my way downstairs, aware of the satisfying ache in my thighs and deep inside my core.

  Gunner is already sitting at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of cereal. Our eyes meet, and my face instantly heats. He bites back a smile and turns his gaze back to his breakfast.

  My mom is making coffee and looks exhausted.

  “Did you just get home?” I ask her as I fish milk and eggs from the fridge.

  “About twenty minutes ago,” she says, staring at the coffee maker like it needs to give her coffee before she loses her patience and smashes the thing into nothing more than a paper weight.

  I grab a mixing bowl and a loaf of sourdough bread from the pantry, along with cinnamon. “You look awful.”

  She sneers at me. “Thanks.” She turns back to the coffee maker. “Remind me again why I never drink.”

  I start slicing the bread on a cutting board. “Because you have no tolerance and hate the taste.”

  She snaps her fingers. “Oh yeah, that’s right.”

  “The burning question of the hour, Mom, is if you don’t like alcohol, why did you get drunk?”

  “Because they had these fancy drinks that tasted like fruit punch instead of alcohol, and by the time I realized what they were, I’d had six of them.”

  Gunner and I exchange glances and start laughing. “You what?”

  My mom holds up her hand. “Can you please not laugh right now? Or breathe? Or make any noise at all?”

  The coffee maker finally sputters out the last of the coffee. I don’t know why she doesn’t just break down and buy a Keurig. She’d get her coffee a lot faster, but she says those K-cup thingies fill up landfills. My mom tries to be very conscious about the environment. We have recycling bins for everything from plastic to aluminum to food scraps she uses for composting.

  “What are you doing?” she asks after taking a gingerly sip of her coffee. She just realized I’m making french toast.

  “I’m making breakfast,” I say proudly. “Hungry?”

  She grimaces and her face turns a little green. “Maybe later.”

  She parks herself on the barstool at the end of the breakfast bar and watches me whisk eggs and milk together then sprinkle in cinnamon. I soak thick pieces of sourdough in the mixture while the griddle pan heats.

  Gunner finishes his cereal and pushes the empty bowl aside. He doesn’t appear any more eager than my mom to leave.

  A few minutes later, as I drop the first slices of bread on the griddle, sending up a sizzle from the hot metal, my mom says, “What’s gotten into you this morning?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You never make breakfast.”

  I glance at Gunner and feel my blush response fire up again. Having sex with him made me feel like a true grown-up for the first time in my life. And grown-up women cook breakfast, especially for the men they love.

  I shrug, fishing a spatula out of the drawer beside the stove, keeping my back to my mom so she doesn’t see the evidence of what he and I did last night on my face.

  “I just wanted to make us breakfast this morning, Mom. That’s all.” I glance at Gunner. “Do you want some.”

  His gaze dances delightfully as he nods and pushes aside the cereal box. “I’d love some. Thanks.”

  I nibble my bottom lip as I turn back to the stove and flip the slices of French toast. Gunner is definitely going to get some. He got some last night, and if I have my way, he’ll get some again tonight.

  * * *

  I don’t get my way. Gunner comes to me, but instead of having sex, we hold hands, make out like crazy, and more or less watch a movie. Actually, less. We spend more time kissing and groping than actually paying attention to what’s happening on TV. But he says he doesn’t want to have sex because he doesn’t want to hurt me. I am sore, so I see his point. But I’m still disappointed.

  However, the next night, we do have sex again. As well as the following night. I think both of us look forward to bedtime more than we ever have in our lives.

  This is how the days pass. During the day, we maintain our distance, but at night, he comes to me and we have sex. He still has to finish me with his mouth, though. As excited as he gets me during sex, I haven’t been able to come with him inside me. I don’t really mind, because it all feels incredible, but it is frustrating. Why can he get me so worked up I’m practically shivering out of my skin, but I just can’t quite reach orgasm?

  On Christmas Eve, he comes to me later than usual. Joining me on the bed, he pulls a small, gift-wrapped box from the pocket of his hoodie.

  “Merry Christmas,” he says.

  A gift? He bought me a Christmas gift?

  “What’s this?” I take the box from him. It’s wrapped in shiny red paper decora
ted with tiny silver Christmas bulbs. A silver ribbon is tied in slightly flattened curlicues on top.

  “Open it.”

  We keep our voices down in case my parents are still awake. No parties took them away from home tonight.

  Nibbling the inside of my lip, I sit forward, crossing my legs, and eagerly snap the ribbon and tear the paper along the bottom seam.

  “But I didn’t get you anything.” I crumple the paper and set it beside me.

  “Yes you did.”

  I lift my gaze to his. “No, I—”

  His crooked grin and the suggestive twinkle in his eyes halts my words.

  It dawns on me what he’s saying. My gift to him was my virginity. “Oh.” My face heats as I drop my gaze. “I see.”

  He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Best gift anyone has ever given me, by the way.”

  Warmth pours into my cheeks. “I’m glad you liked it. It’s a one of a kind.”

  He slowly bends forward and presses a tender kiss to my cheek. “I’m honored you gave it to me,” he says softly.

  My fingers play with the edge of the small white box in my hand. I don’t care what’s inside. It could be a plastic decoder ring from a gumball machine for all I care. The important thing is that it came from him.

  “Go ahead.” He bobs his chin at the box. “Open it.”

  As butterflies take flight in my stomach, I lift the lid. Inside the box, resting on a bed of cotton, is a black leather Pandora charm bracelet.

  I gasp.

  “Gunner! This is too much.” These bracelets and their charms aren’t cheap. I know his family has money. So does mine. But he’s a college student. He doesn’t need to spend hundreds of dollars on a bracelet for me.

  “Do you like it?” He sounds genuinely proud as I slowly lift it from the box.

  “I love it, but—”

  “Then it’s not too much.” He takes it from me. “Hold out your wrist.”

  Tucking my hair behind my ear with one hand, I extend the other in front of me.

  I heard once that a man doesn’t buy a woman jewelry unless he really loves her. I guess this settles any lingering doubts I might have had about how Gunner feels about me.

  He secures the bracelet then starts explaining the charms. “There’s a basketball”—he points out the silver basketball charm—“because of that time I saw you playing basketball and the effect it had on me.” He slides a cupcake charm along the leather bangle. It’s decorated with pale-pink enamel. “And this one is because I know how much you love cupcakes. It reminded me of that birthday party when you told your mom you didn’t want a cake but a cupcake tower instead.”

  I giggle that he remembered that. It was my fourteenth birthday.

  He points to a round charm with starfish and pale-blue stones on it. “This one reminded me of all the seashells you brought back from your vacation to the beach the summer before your freshman year. I missed you so much for the week you were gone,” he says quietly. “And these”—he indicates a pair of silver charms that are side by side—“are for you and me. This one is for Scorpio, and this one is for Capricorn.”

  “Scorpio and Capricorn?” I never thought he was into astrology.

  He grins. “You and me, baby. Don’t think I never noticed all those astrology books you read when we were kids. You were always reading your horoscope.”

  I laugh. “I never thought you noticed.”

  “Cami, I noticed everything about you.”

  He goes back to pointing out the last four charms.

  “There’s one here for music”—he gestures toward his tattoo as he glances at my trumpet, indicating that’s why he got that charm—“and the one shaped like a Christmas gift to remind you of the Christmas break we just spent together. Then there’s a flower, so you’ll have flowers from me every day. And last is a heart.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “That charm is to remind you every time you look at it that my heart belongs to you.”

  I never took Gunner to be such a romantic. He’s always been so quiet and mysterious. In a lot of ways, he still is, but bit by bit, his layers are peeling back, and he’s revealing himself to me.

  Every minute I spend with him makes clearer just how long he’s liked me. His Christmas gift is proof of that. Each charm was selected for a specific memory, some representing incidents I’d almost forgotten but remained clear enough in his own mind to inspire his gift.

  I’m touched, moved, and speechless.

  I stare at the bracelet, examining each charm, hearing his voice in my head as he tells me what each one means. When I get back to the heart, I lift my gaze to his.

  “Thank you. I love it.”

  He kisses me. “I’m glad.” His lips meet mine again, this time for longer. “And there’s plenty of room left for more charms. As we make more memories, I’ll add to your collection.”

  I lean into him, my heart full of joy. He wants to make more memories with me. He’s not thinking this is just a passing fling. Gunner sees us together beyond Christmas break. He hasn’t said anything to make me think he only wanted our fling to last for the few short weeks he was home, but this bracelet says more than words ever could that he wants to be with me. As in, be with me. With no end date in mind.

  “You know I can’t wear this around my parents,” I say, lifting my wrist to indicate the bracelet. “They’ll ask questions, and I’ll have to tell them about you.”

  They still don’t know what’s going on between Gunner and me. No one does. I told Julie a little more when I talked to her a couple of days ago, but even she doesn’t know how far we’ve gone.

  Gunner lies back with me on my bed and wraps his arms around me from behind, spooning me.

  “I need to man up and tell Nick first.”

  “Do you really think he’ll be mad?”

  “I have no idea. But this other guy I know got the shit kicked out of him by the brother of the girl he was dating. And another guy warned his friends not to even try to get with his sister or he’d kick their asses. So I’m not feeling very good about how he’ll react.”

  Who knew big brothers could be so protective of their little sisters? I’ve never gotten much of that vibe from Nick, but maybe Gunner has, which is why he’s so wary about telling him about us.

  The movie we’re watching ends a few minutes later, and he sneaks back into his room, leaving me to gaze at the bracelet while hoping we’ll be able to work this out before he returns to Ohio State.

  I don’t want to keep him a secret anymore.

  * * *

  The day after Christmas, I lie and tell my parents I’m spending the day at Julie’s house, but the truth is I’m going to a movie with Gunner. The theater is packed. We sit in the back row, holding hands and stealing occasional kisses.

  It feels like we’re doing something bad by going out together. In a way, we are, because we’re sneaking around, and I had to lie. I don’t like lying to my parents.

  After the movie, we tempt fate and stop for something to eat before going to his house, where we spend an hour in his childhood bedroom before returning to my house.

  This is how the days pass, with us sneaking around, and before I know it, it’s New Year’s Eve. My midnight rendezvous with Gunner are almost over. He leaves in two days.

  My parents are going to another party tonight. What can I say? They’re popular people. But all those parties have been great, because they allowed me more time with Gunner.

  Missy’s family got back from her grandparents’ house the day after Christmas, so Nick has been spending as much time with her as possible, and tonight is no exception. He’s taking her to a party and probably won’t be home until morning.

  He invited Gunner to go with him, but Gunner begged off, saying he had other plans. What he didn’t reveal was that those plans were with me.

  To keep up appearances, Gunner left the house thirty minutes ago, pretending to be heading off to a party.

  “Are you going to be all right here by yo
urself?” my mom asks as Dad helps her into her coat.

  “Absolutely.” I’m curled up on the couch with a blanket over my legs, watching a movie. Okay, so I’m only pretending to be watching a movie, since I’ve got a one-track mind that’s totally focused on Gunner.

  “You sure you don’t want to ask Julie over?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” I’ll be even better once she, Dad, and Nick leave. “I’m not a party animal like you and Dad.”

  She sighs wistfully as she starts toward the door leading to the garage. “Your dad isn’t a party animal, either. I think he’s ready to be done with the holidays.” She stops and smiles back at me. “But you might be onto something there. I’m about partied out, too.” She blows me a kiss. “Order a pizza or something if you get hungry.”

  “Maybe.” I wave. “Have fun.”

  “You, too, honey.”

  Dad kisses my cheek. “Happy New Year, Cam.”

  “You, too.”

  He follows Mom to the garage, and a couple of minutes later, Dad’s Mercedes backs out of the driveway.

  A few minutes later, Nick darts out the door.

  I’m finally alone. The house is all mine for the rest of the night. Mine and Gunner’s.

  I pull out my phone and send Gunner a text.

  Everyone’s gone.

  I hurry upstairs, change into my favorite pair of jeans, a light-blue blouse, and then nervously check my hair in the bathroom mirror. Once I’m satisfied with how I look, I spritz my wrists with perfume then put on my bracelet.

  By the time I make my way back downstairs, Gunner’s car is pulling into the driveway. He parks behind the house.

  I open the back door, and he scoops me into a hug, kissing me. It’s the first kiss we’ve shared in my house that wasn’t in my bedroom, and it feels like we’re breaking the rules. Like we’re doing something taboo.

  Which ramps up the arousal stirring low in my belly.

  “Hey,” he says, breaking away, his eyes twinkling.

  “Hey.” I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and shyly lower my gaze.

  “It’s too late for that,” he says.