She stops again.
“What happened then?” I prompt.
“I had my first kiss.”
“Was it good?”
“Are any first kisses?”
“I didn’t think mine was too bad.”
“Then it was bad.”
I laugh and tell her to keep going. She continues outlining her path then abruptly stops again.
“And this?” I ask.
“It’s where I got bored.”
“What?”
She drops her hand. “With life, my friends, my schoolwork, books, movies. Everything. I’m bored. I need adventure. I need new. I need something that’s going to rock me, keep me guessing. Someone like…”
She doesn’t finish the thought, but we both know what she was going to say.
Me. Someone like me.
Is that what I am to her? A distraction? Something shiny and new and impulsive? I’m not sure that’s who I want to be. I don’t know if I want to be someone’s distraction, someone’s discarded thing when they’re done with me. Someone to—
Shit. I feel like a hypocrite.
She’s been a distraction from my anger, my sadness…everything…and I plan to discard her. She can’t get any closer than she already has. I must keep her at a distance to protect her. I have darkness in me she can’t even begin to fathom.
We’re using each other, and it’s bound to end badly.
Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead, accept the moments of happiness I’ve had with her as what they are—moments—and move on.
That’s what I need to do.
“How come Nate and Blake looked spooked when you told them about the fight with Jase?”
My jaw locks up; I knew this was coming. “After my mom died, I grew angry. Yelling at anyone who looked at me strange. Drinking too much. Getting into arguments because I felt like it. It wasn’t pretty. One night the guys took me to a party to try to get me out of the house. This guy mouthed off and I sort of…”
I trail off, not sure I want to tell her this.
“Sort of…” she encourages.
“I sort of threw him out a window.”
“Oh. Has anything happened since then?”
I nod in affirmation. “A few small things. Nothing as major. I work fucking hard to keep it all under control. That’s why… Yeah.”
I tense, worried about how she’ll react or what she’ll ask next.
She doesn’t.
“What happened that night?” she asks on a whisper.
I know exactly what night she’s referring to. Boston. The night everything changed. The catalyst for everything in my life since. For my rage issues, for my perpetual sadness. The reason she’s too fucking good for me. The reason I’ll break her.
This is why she’s bad for me, bad to be around, because she makes me want to tell her things I have no desire to discuss. She makes me hopeful, makes me feel normal, and I’m neither of those things.
But with Elliott, I feel like she needs to know, feel like Ma would have wanted me to talk to her.
“It’s written in the stars, Carsen. All of it. Everything happens for a reason. Remember to appreciate the small moments. Sometimes those mean more than the big ones.”
If only she knew how wrong she was. The big ones hurt like a bitch.
I close my eyes against the pain that ricochets in my chest. As much as I don’t want to talk about it, she deserves to know what happened, and not just what she’s read in articles online that no doubt paint me as a maniac.
“My mom was in Boston waiting for…waiting for a dinner function to end. Once it did my…”
I choke on the word. I can’t say it out loud. Hell, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve said it in my head.
“Sorry.” My voice sounds like I’ve been drinking sand. “It’s hard to…”
“You don’t have to.”
“No. I should. You should know.”
“Okay.”
She waits for me to talk. And then she waits some more. And more.
She has the patience of a saint at this point.
“He came home and wasn’t happy that my mother hadn’t attended the event with him as planned. Apparently, the fact that I didn’t bother to show up either is what really set him off. Ma called me in hysterics. I dropped everything and drove straight there because I was done with the asshole at that point, tired of having to hear my mom cry. When I arrived, she was locked in a bathroom and he was banging on the door. I could hear them from the elevator on the ride up.”
I lick my lips and take a deep breath, preparing myself for what comes next. Elliott slides her hand over until it’s resting over my heart and she presses down, like she’s trying to calm the erratic beats.
It works.
“I walked in. He turned on me, screaming. I did my best to ignore him and headed to where she was, wanting to get her out of there as fast as possible. I get Ma out of the bathroom. She’s clutching me, promising she’s leaving for good. She goes into the bedroom to gather her things. He stands there staring at me, and I can remember my palms growing itchy and my back tingling with unease. He looked so…dark. Then he bolted and locked himself in the room with my mom before I could even process it.”
Elliott grips my chest tighter, and I can almost feel her pulling my pain from me.
“Want to know the last thing she said?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and then says, “I’m scared.”
“I was too,” I admit as a tear streaks down my cheek.
“Tell me.”
“She said, ‘Please, William, don’t.’ I don’t know exactly what happened next, but she shouted ‘I love you’.”
“And then?”
“Silence.”
***
We wake the next morning after the best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages, a tangle of limbs and sheets.
Elliott sobbed last night for the longest time after I recounted Boston. I can’t blame her; I cried too. I haven’t been able to get the full story out since I spoke to the cops that night. They held me for twenty-four hours and every hour on the hour, they made me repeat my story. I was tapped after that, completely drained after having to relive it all over and over and over again.
I haven’t told anyone what happened since. Not even in court. Not even during the first grief counseling session I was forced into. Not even Blake and Nate know the details.
I’ve kept mum.
Until now.
Until Elliott.
Maybe she isn’t so bad for me. Maybe there could be something—
No. Stop. You can’t go there. You’re too fucked up for her.
“You up?” Her voice is groggy and sleep-filled.
As much as I hate to admit it, because I hate being that guy, the sound goes straight to my dick.
“I’m up.” I cringe at the double entendre. I shuffle around, making sure to hide my morning excitement, and face her. “How’d you sleep?”
“A solid 9.5 on our little scale.”
“Our scale, huh?
She grins. “Ours.”
Before I can stop myself, I lean in and kiss her. She doesn’t protest, yet for some reason I expect her to because this feels too intimate. Once you add in the fact that we slept wrapped together last night…yeah. I’m certain we’ve overstepped the invisible boundary we had going on, not to mention that I just told myself I was going to keep her at a distance. If that’s the case, why am I pulling her so close right now?
The kiss starts gentle and unhurried, and then she’s lying on top of me, grinding down on my hard dick. I press up into her and she moans into my mouth. I move my hands to her hair, drawing her closer. She rests her forehead against mine and wrenches her lips away. Her arctic blue eyes meet my gray ones. Then, she gives me a seductive smile before grinding down on me again.
I moan, and she grins smugly.
“You’re evil,” I gasp out.
“Point?”
“
There is none.”
I capture her lips again. We move together in sync, fully clothed, kissing until our lips are completely numb.
I snake a hand up her shirt, palming her breasts and playing my thumbs against her nipples, but don’t go any further.
To my surprise, Elliott takes the initiative by plunging her hand down my shorts.
“You lied.” She bats her lashes innocently before saying, “It’s at least five inches.”
I laugh and cover her mouth with mine again. She circles my length and lazily strokes me. Every time she moves her hand, I will myself to not explode. I haven’t done anything like this in two years, and even then, I was still extremely new to all of it.
Gaining courage, I continue to stroke her nipple while moving my hand down past where she’s working me over, straight to her center, which has been riding my thigh for the past several minutes. She gasps when I connect with her sweet spot through her thin black leggings.
Thank you, leggings.
“Elliott, this is gonna get messy,” I warn as her strokes get faster.
“I don’t care. It’s not my bed.”
I try to laugh at her joke but it comes out a moan. I teeter on the edge of bliss, and if her breathing is any indication, she’s right there with me as I continue to move my fingers in circles over the spot making her moan.
Stroke, rub. Stroke, rub.
“Holy shit,” she whimpers.
“I know. Tighten your hand just the slightest.”
She does and I know I’m done for.
Stroke, rub. Stroke, rub.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Breakfast is done!”
“I’M NOT!” Elliott calls back.
It takes a second, and then I hear hysterical laughter float through the door.
“Carry on then!” Nate hollers.
We resume our ministrations like the interruption never happened. It takes no more than three strokes before we’re both straining and sighing in relief.
“That was…”
“Yeah,” I supply.
“I think I need to go wash my hand.”
“I can feel your wetness through your leggings.”
“How can something that sounds so gross feel so good?”
“Magic?”
She shakes her head and lies down on top of me, her ear resting over my heart. I wrap my arms around her, not caring about the mess settling between us right now.
Finally, she says, “Magic.”
She rolls off me and heads to my adjoining bathroom. She takes her time in there doing whatever it is she’s doing while I grab an old t-shirt and a new pair of shorts. Then we swap places so I can change and clean myself up.
I find her jumping on my bed when I come back out. She’s laughing and smiling like a little kid, and her ability to be so carefree almost makes me jealous.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Am not,” she says, nearly out of breath.
“Are too. Get down. I’m starving.”
She holds her hands out. “Jump with me.”
“No.”
“Don’t be cranky. I just got you off. You can’t be cranky. There’s a rule about that or something.”
“There is not.”
“There should be.” She sticks her tongue out. “Pleeeeease.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “Fine. Move over.”
I climb up on the bed and lightly jump around.
“You’re doing it wrong,” she yells.
“How can you jump the wrong way?”
“You’re doing it too lightly. Do it hard.”
I snicker. “That’s what she said.”
“Jump harder!”
I listen, jumping up and down as hard as I can. Before I know it, I’m laughing and smiling along with her. There’s this feeling of giddiness that spreads through me, taking me back to when I was younger and didn’t have a care in the world. I miss that.
“See? It’s fun!” she shouts.
There’s another loud knock on the door and I hear Nate yell, “Are you two having sex again? Breakfast is getting cold. Wrap it up.”
“We’re jumping!” she hollers back.
“Yes, I know you’re humping, but hurry up!”
We laugh harder.
And for a little bit, I feel normal. I feel carefree.
I feel happy.
10
Elliott
If you asked me right this second what the hell is going on between Carsen and me, I’d tell you this:
I.
Have.
No.
Fucking.
Clue.
It’s been nearly a month since I stayed over at his house.
At work, we’re strangers. At night, we’re not. We talk until the sun rises. We spend time at his place or at the graveyard with Faith. We have dinner with the boyfriends. I stay over at his house at least three times a week. We’re near inseparable.
But at Down the Lane, we communicate via text, grunts, or hand signals. It’s so stilted and awkward that even Bryan’s asked if there’s an issue between us.
No, Uncle Bryan, not at all. In fact, your number one worker over here had his hand down my pants just last night. Nothing wrong at all.
I can’t even begin to label what it is we’re doing. We talk, kiss, give one another pleasure, and then we pretend to be strangers.
“You busy tonight?”
Carsen’s words cause me to jump and I nearly drop the phone that was carefully balancing in my hand. He grins and raises a brow, waiting for my answer.
I stare back blankly. “You’re talking to me.”
He tilts his head, confused. “So?”
“In public. At work.”
“Repeat my last question back to yourself.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Carsen, you’ve ignored me at work from almost day one and have talked/kissed/whatever-ed with me at night whenever you pleased for at least the last month. Why is that changing right now?”
He peers around the bowling alley and I follow his gaze.
We’re alone.
Bryan’s gone, Cal isn’t here, and there are no customers.
That’s it.
We’re alone.
“Are you embarrassed of me?”
His face burns a bright red, and I’m not certain if it’s out of anger or humiliation.
He doesn’t answer.
I press on. “Are you? Is that what this is? You only talk to me when we’re alone or with the boyfriends, never anywhere else. Hell, whenever we walk to your house at night, you walk at least two feet in front of me. Am I that horrible to be around?”
He finally opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.
“You know, it’s kind of funny how you criticized Jase for the way he treated me when you’re doing the same thing. What gives, Carsen?”
I raise a brow when he doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, I can talk now?”
I wave a hand his way. “Please do.”
“I’m doing it to protect you.”
Apparently someone just pulled out a wand and hit my ass with a stupefy spell from Harry Potter because what. The. Fuck. “What does that even mean?”
“It means my reputation is shit. I don’t want you tainted by it.”
“Carsen…”
“I don’t understand what we’re doing here, Elliott. I don’t know what I want this to be, to mean. I only know I like spending time with you. You treat me like a person. I haven’t had that in so long and it feels good. Damn good. But I…” He licks his lips. “I don’t know if I can give you much more than what we’re currently doing. I want to keep you at arm’s length because I’m scared of what I’m capable of.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Hell, I don’t even know if you want more. Tell me, what do you want?”
I don’t know.
Do I want something else? More? Do I want this to stop altogether? No. I l
ike Carsen. He’s different, treats me differently than anyone else ever has. I like spending time with him, and I don’t mind being seen with him.
I don’t like his anger or his sudden mood swings, and I’m assuming that’s what his “what I’m capable of” comment is about. It scares me too, but the more time we spend together, the more his sourpuss mood goes away.
So, I don’t know how to answer him. A part of me does want more, but I’m scared to go there.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t either.”
“What does that mean?”
He lifts his hand, cupping it around the back of his neck. His bicep swells as he squeezes his neck. “It means we keep on keepin’ on?”
I shrug. “That sounds fine to me, but, Carsen?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to not talk to me in public or keep your distance from me. I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you. I like you—a lot, if I’m being honest. I don’t give two shits what everyone thinks of you or of me, and I for damn sure don’t care about what they think of us together. So stop pretending to not know me, you jackass. Deal?”
He chuckles and steps in close, cups my face and lays a gentle kiss to my lips. I feel his thumb stroke across my cheek as he pulls back and stares at me.
“Deal.”
“Well, well. What do we have here?”
Bryan startles us apart. I nearly choke on air and Carsen turns white as a sheet. Our boss stands there gazing at us both, his hands on his hips, a slight smirk on his face. “Well?” he pushes.
“N-N-Nothing.” Carsen barely gets the word out. He looks like he’s about to shit his pants.
“That didn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”
“It w-w-was…”
A quick laugh escapes at Carsen’s second attempt to get words out. I point toward the bumbling idiot. “He kissed me. I kissed him back. We good?”
Bryan’s smirk grows. “We’re good if you two don’t kiss on the clock again—and no going into the storeroom together anymore. I don’t want it to get all sexed up in there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And no calling me sir either. It’s weird, Carsen. Don’t be weird.”
“Roger that.”
Bryan nods, and with a grin still firmly in place, heads toward his office.
We Are the Stars Page 11
