I'll Be the One

by Hazel James

  “So I’ll take that as a yes, then?” I giggle, when we come up for air. He gathers me back into his arms and presses his lips to my forehead.

  “That’s definitely a yes. With two conditions.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Not on prom night and not in a backseat. That’s so cliché, and you’re so much better than that.”

  “No backseats and not prom night,” I echo, my face once again nestled in my favorite spot between his chest and neck. “I was thinking more… tonight. In my room,” I whisper. His entire body tenses for a moment before he pulls away and takes my face in his hands.

  “How? Aren’t your parents home?”

  “Nope. Dad got called out this morning to do another overnight trip. His partner has food poisoning or something like that. Mom always goes with him and I stay at Avery’s.”

  “And I take it you’re not staying at Avery’s?” he asks in a hushed voice.

  “I may have forgotten to ask if I could sleep over,” I say with an innocent smile.

  “Are you sure?” His eyes dart back and forth between mine, searching for any sign of doubt.

  “I’ve never been surer. More sure. Whatever,” I quietly laugh. James kisses my cheek and winks at me, and all the nervousness I felt a few minutes ago vanishes.

  “Come on, let’s get the rest of the photo shoot finished first.”

  Photo shoot? Oh yeah. That’s the second time tonight I’ve forgotten where we are. I put the blame squarely on James. We turn toward Amy and Reshma, only to see them staring at us with their mouths hanging open.

  “So what’s next?” James asks loudly.

  “Um. Uh... barn. The barn,” Amy sputters, shaking her head like she’s trying to clear the fog. “Sorry, I’m just over here trying to process the last ten minutes. Y’all are… that was… intense.”

  Tell me about it. And she didn’t even hear what we were saying.

  I hope.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “go ahead and change into your last outfits and we’ll walk back to the barn. How do y’all feel about sparklers?”

  I admit, I wasn’t exactly sure how Amy was going to work sparklers into our photos, but the test shots she showed me look really cool. James and I burned up a few sticks practicing how to write backwards. I think we finally have the hang of it.

  “All right. For these shots, you’re each going to write one word describing the other person. James, you go first. Rachel, come stand by me and face that way.” She points in the opposite direction of James. “You won’t see the word until you get your prints back.” Excitement dances in her eyes, and it’s easy to tell that she’s having as much fun with this as we are.

  “Hey Amy, can I get another sparkler? I’m not gonna be able to write ‘pain in my ass’ with just one.” James flashes a grin at me before taking his spot in front of the white garden lights that Amy strung across barn. I playfully give him the middle finger and turn away, using the time to think of what word I’ll write. How am I supposed to summarize him in one word? He’s ridiculously good looking, stubborn, sweet, and incredibly talented. He’s an old soul with a huge heart who makes me feel like I won the boyfriend lottery. He’s… everything.

  Amy lowers her camera and jerks her chin toward the barn. “Your turn!”

  “Better make it good, babe,” James says as we pass each other. “If you need any suggestions, I’m happy to help. Let’s see. Gorgeous, charming, body of a god. Take your pick.” He tosses the lighter to me and winks.

  “Maybe I’ll just draw a picture of your big, fat head.” I stick my tongue out at him and take my place. James attempts to peek but Amy playfully whacks him in the shoulder. Yup, I really like her.

  “Okay, Rachel, ready when you are!” Amy hollers.

  I take a deep breath and ignite the long stick, creating a shower of sparks in front of me. When I was little, I was afraid of sparklers. I always thought they’d catch my hand on fire. Thankfully, I got over that. I position my flaming wand at shoulder height and look over at Amy, who gives me a thumbs up. With a beaming smile on my face, I start writing words: Funny. Sweet. Hot. Mine. It. Like I said—finding one word was impossible.

  Sue me.

  My sparkler still has some life left to it, so I twirl around in a circle, raising my arm up higher as I go. Traces of light cocoon me for a fraction of a second until they fade in the warm night air. Then I toss my spent stick in a bucket of water off to the side and walk back to James and Amy.

  “Where’s your camera bag?” James asks Amy. The two share a brief knowing look.

  “It’s on the trunk of my car,” she answers with a smile. He jogs over to it and reaches inside. I hear something crinkling, but he quickly hides what he pulled out.

  “Ray, can I borrow you for a second?”

  I approach with trepidation, not knowing what to expect.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, holding out a reassuring hand. I take it without hesitation and he pulls me to the same spot we took our sparkler pictures in. He turns to stand toe-to-toe with me and grabs my other hand, interlacing our fingers together. “It’s time for a corny speech,” he takes a deep breath. “The last two months have been the best in my life. That’s all thanks to you. I know I’m getting ready to leave, but I have no doubt that we’re gonna be just fine. And no, that’s not something I know because I’m psychic. I just know.” He touches his forehead to mine. Our lips are millimeters apart, but he doesn’t close the space. We stay this way for several seconds. Long enough for our breath to blend together and my stomach to grab ahold of my heart in preparation for whatever is coming next. I can see his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, and then he gets down on one knee.

  One.

  Freaking.

  Knee.

  Holyshitholyshitholyshit! My insides do a series of flips worthy of an Olympic gold medal. Thankfully, my knees cooperate and keep me upright.

  “Rachel Lynn Wheaton, I knew from the moment I saw you that my life would never be the same. I’ve never been a fan of Economics, but it’s been really fun planning our pretend future together. One day, will you do me the honor of being my real wife?”

  He lets go of my right hand, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out a ring.

  Make that a Ring Pop.

  A red one, if we’re getting specific.

  I look back and forth between his face and my cherry-flavored symbol of love, and then I burst into a fit of laughter. He stands up and wraps me in his arms, laughing right along with me.

  “Oh, God. My side. It hurts so bad,” I wheeze, overtaken with another fit of giggles. I step back and wipe the tears that are streaming down my face.

  “So I’ll take that as a yes, then?” he asks.

  “That’s a yes,” I reply with a smile. He slides the Ring Pop on my finger and kisses the side of my head.

  “I love you, Mrs. Tennyson,” he says as his arms encircle me again.

  “I love you, too.” I position my head between his neck and shoulder and take a deep breath. This boy… this moment… it’s perfect. I do my best to take in all the details so we can share this crazy story with our kids one day.

  Our kids.

  The thought makes me smile. I wonder how many we’ll have. Will they get my blond hair or his brown hair? Will they have his musical talents or my love of running? The sound of him clearing his throat snaps me back to the present.

  “I think we’re probably done here. Wanna… uh… head to your house?”

  Done here?

  Oh yeah. The photo shoot. I forgot again.

  Surprisingly, the drive home wasn’t awkward. James kept me mildly distracted with kisses to my neck and the spot below my ear, so that may be why.

  “Do you need to let your mom know you won’t be home for a while?” I ask, setting my purse and keys on my dresser. I hadn’t really thought about the logistics of it all, but I don’t want her freaking out because he’s not home. James pulls up iTunes on my laptop and sits on my bed with h
is knees bent over the edge.

  “I already texted her and told her I was spending the night with you.”

  “You what?” I squeak. While I’m not at all worried about regretting my decision, it’s not something I want to broadcast to everyone else, too.

  “Relax, babe,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Mom’s a hippie at heart. Since I turned thirteen, she’s told me she didn’t care what I did in my relationships as long as I didn’t make her a grandma.”

  “Oh, God. She’s gonna know,” I cringe, covering my face with my hands.

  “Come here.” I walk three steps from my dresser to the open space between his legs. He skims his hands over the backs of my thighs before resting them on my hips. “The only thing Mom wanted to know was if I needed a ride home in the morning. I promise you, she doesn’t care and she won’t tell anyone.”

  “You don’t need a ride. I’ll take you home tomorrow. My parents won’t be back until the afternoon, anyway.” His thumbs find the edge of my shirt and trace circles on the sensitive skin above the hem. My back arches toward him in an automatic response.

  “So this means I get to have a sleepover with you?” he asks in an innocent voice that contradicts the gleam in his eyes.

  “Something like that,” I say, leaning down to claim his lips. Within a span of about ten seconds, our soft, tender kisses turn deeper, faster, stronger, until we are no more than a pair of frenzied mouths desperate to taste and devour. His fingers tighten their grip on my sides, and a soft groan escapes from his throat. We separate long enough for me to lift my shirt over my head. He wastes no time caressing my exposed flesh with his lips, whispering words of adoration between kisses. His hands trail up my spine, pausing when they reach the clasp of the white satin bra that I bought just for this occasion.

  “May I?” he asks, looking up through hooded eyes. His voice is deeper, raspier, and the sound travels straight to my core, pooling in my panties. I nod, not trusting myself to actually be able to form words. His fingers make quick work of the clasp and he lowers the straps over my shoulders and down my arms.

  “Christ,” he hisses on an exhale. “You’re perfect. Absolutely. Fucking. Perfect.” He pulls me onto his lap, then stands and turns to lay me down on the bed. He spends the next several minutes—maybe hours, I don’t know—worshiping the upper half of my body with his mouth and hands. My hips grind into his thigh, desperate for friction to ease the storm building between my legs.

  “A little impatient, are we?” he softly laughs. I can only whimper in response. He sits back on his heels and pulls his shirt off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. I can’t help but smile knowing I’m the cause of the bulge in his pants, which is now clearly on display. Without saying anything, I reach up and undo his button and zipper. He rises so I can tug his jeans down, then kneels back on the bed wearing only his boxer briefs. His eyes skim my breasts and stomach before settling on the top of my pink pants. He grabs the button and flicks his gaze back up, seeking approval before unfastening it.

  “Please and thank you,” I say sweetly, as I lift my hips.

  “Cherries?” he asks, pointing to the picture on my matching white thong. “Why cherries?”

  “I thought it was appropriate, given the situation,” I say with an innocent shrug.

  “Well played.” Laughter rumbles from his chest as he high-fives me.

  “Thank you,” I reply, smiling brightly. I know sex is supposed to be, well, sexy. But it’s also supposed to be fun, and his reaction is exactly what I hoped for.

  He hooks his fingers on the straps of my thong and removes it with ease, throwing it off the bed to the sea of discarded clothes below. His eyes scan my entire body with a look of reverence and desire. I’ve never felt more beautiful in my life.

  “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you right now. It’s…” He shakes his head back and forth trying to come up with words. “You. This night. It’s a gift, and it’s not one I take for granted.” He strips off his boxer briefs and lowers himself over me, rubbing his length over my sex before straddling my left thigh and working his magic mouth over my neck, shoulder and breast. The tongue swirl thing he’s doing to my nipple is amazing. I run my fingers through his hair, one, because I love the way it feels, and two, because I need to keep his head right there. He should always do that. All the time. Forever.

  His free hand trails down my stomach until he reaches the apex of my thighs. His fingers brush over the small patch of hair, and he releases my breast with a gentle bite.

  “May I?” he asks, with another swipe of his fingers.

  “You have incredible manners, Mr. Tennyson,” I giggle softly.

  “Just making sure you’re okay with this, every step of the way,” he says against my neck. “You can change your mind at any time.”

  “I’m not changing my mind. I want this. I want you.” On that word, his fingers slip into my slick folds. My hips buck in response, and a cry escapes my lips. I won’t lie. I’ve double-clicked my mouse on occasion, but it never felt this good. Not even close.

  “James,” I sigh, pulling at his torso. The need to feel him on me and in me is overwhelming. “Please.”

  He reaches back to the foot of the bed and pulls his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He tears open the foil packet and rolls the condom on without ever looking away from me.

  Sweet Jesus, that was hot.

  He places his hands on either side of my shoulders and hovers over me, the tip of his length lightly caressing my sex. His eyes dart back and forth between mine. I lift my hips, urging him to continue, and the corners of his mouth turn upward as he slowly slides into me. He lowers his body to mine and props himself on one elbow, giving me time to adjust to his size. The pain, which I’d heard ranged from a slight ache to a sharp sting, never comes.

  “You okay?” he asks. He strings kisses from my lips to my jaw, then down my neck and back up.

  “Never been better.” And really, I haven’t. No amount of health class or reading Cosmo magazine could have prepared me for this. Not just for the moment I lost my virginity, but for all the feelings and emotions that go with it.

  His hips start a slow rhythm, testing, teasing, giving, and taking. He leans his head back down to my breasts and alternates his attention between each peak. It’s quite amazing, honestly. I can’t even chew gum and walk at the same time.

  “Oh my God, this feels amazing,” I moan on a breath.

  “Glad to hear I’m making it worth your while,” he says, laughing once against my chest.

  “Are we supposed to talk during sex?”

  “It’s our party, we can talk if we want to. Or lick. Or bite.” He demonstrates the last two words on my right nipple, causing me to gasp with a surge of pleasure.

  “Well in that case, I want you to flip over, Mr. Tennyson.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  He gives me another kiss, then slips out of me and takes my place on the bed. I settle over him and watch his eyes darken with desire as I lower myself onto him. We sigh in unison. He grips my hips with his hands and rocks me into him once, placing the perfect amount of pressure where I need it most.

  “OH!” I cry, not able to help myself. He does it again, and again, his smile growing bigger each time I voice my pleasure.

  “That is officially the sexiest sound I’ll ever hear in my life,” he rasps.

  I anchor my palms on his chest, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his muscles constricting beneath me. His hands travel up my sides and cup my breasts as I increase my speed. My breath comes in short bursts through my parted lips, and I can’t help but smile.

  “Fuck, Ray,” he groans. “You can’t look at me like that. I won’t last much longer.” He brings his hands around my back and pulls down on the tops of my shoulders. The movement creates a storm of friction where we’re joined, and my hips accelerate as if I’m rounding the final turn of the 1600 meter. Tingles of euphoria spark to life. They shoot through my body, grabbing a hold o
f each other as they go, getting bigger, faster, stronger. In the fury of motion, my eyes find his and I let go.

  “JAMES!” I yelp, bursting into pieces above him. He answers with three thrusts and a loud grunt of his own.

  We stay that way, connected physically and emotionally, for several minutes while our heartbeats return to a normal rhythm. As the rush of blood quiets down in my ears, I hear music from my laptop. I forgot he’d turned it on when we came into my room. I lay beside him with my head in my favorite spot between his (slightly sweaty) chest and neck as Meghan Trainor and John Legend sing to us. He runs his hand up and down my spine and together we soak up their words of advice like it’s the gospel truth.

  We survived the first month apart. Technically it was thirty-two days, but who’s counting? All I have to say is thank God for Spring Break.

  “I think this one’s my favorite.” I point to the picture of Rachel at mile 20 of the marathon she ran last weekend with her dad. She’s covered in sweat and giving the camera two middle fingers.

  “Thankfully Mom didn’t give me too much shit for that one,” she laughs. “I wish you could have been here.”

  “Me too. But I’m here for about a hundred and seventy more hours.” I flip through the rest of the photos on her phone and pass it back as the waiter brings our check. I take out enough money to cover our dinner and the tip, then shove the last bite of chicken and waffles in my mouth.

  “You said you were stuffed three bites ago. You’d better not hurl during our date.”

  “And waste this culinary masterpiece?” I ask, gesturing toward my empty plate. “No way.” I wink at her and lead the way out of the restaurant. “You’re still not gonna tell me where we’re going?”

  “Nope. And please don’t tell me you already know. This psychic boyfriend thing is a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

  “I promise I don’t know. But I recommend staying off of I-40 because there’s gonna be a bad accident soon.”

  She stops in the middle of the sidewalk and glances back at me. “You are so weird,” she chuckles. “Anyway, we’re not driving. We’re walking.”