by Mary Morano
“Damn, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. But we need to stop before we go any further tonight. Good night, Nic. Sweet Dreams.” He says, stepping back and making no effort to hide himself rearranging the obvious hard-on in his shorts, before he winks at me and walks into his room closing the door behind him.
I am still leaning against the wall in the hallway blinking. What the hell just happened? Did he just kiss the bejesus out of me and then walk away? What did he mean he wanted to do that for a long time? Did he just walk away? WHAT. THE. HELL. JUST. HAPPENED. Not wanting to stand in the hallway any longer, in case he’s watching out of his peephole, I used my keycard to open my door. Slamming the door shut behind me, I throw myself on the bed, preparing for an exceptionally long sleepless night full of overthinking and self-pleasure.
My eyes blink open the next morning and I am blinded by light. Closing them quickly, I lean back into the comfortable bed. I stretch my arm out, and attempt to open my eyes again when I feel a cold piece of metal in the bed. Rolling over, I open my eyes and see my bullet sleeping next to me. Looks like I was more tired than I thought if I didn’t even get up to clean it and put it away. Memories of not only the kiss in the hallway but also the way my mind filled in the gaps of what could have happened if it progressed further flooded my mind. I felt my center start to warm as I imagine his hands on me, caressing my skin like his eyes had last night. My clit starts to throb, and I reach out for the bullet. Turning it on I slowly trail it down my body until I reach my core, allowing the vibrations to bring me to climax once more.
After coming down from another intense release, my mind clicks back on and I realize how deep I’m in. Not only am I falling in lust with Brayden, but I also think I’m actually starting to like him. I think about how happy I was when he held my hand yesterday; the comfort and safety I felt when we were at the motel the night before knowing he was by my side; the way we were able to laugh and joke with each other during the long car ride; the sexual tension between us that seems to be growing with every second; how his arms around me make me feel like I’m home, and his scent relaxes me; and that kiss. Words can’t even describe that kiss. Yep, definitely strongly in like with him. Now what do I do about it?
I contemplate the question, not coming up with a single answer while I shower and get ready. I take a few extra minutes to dig out the t-shirt that says, ‘I’m a handful, that’s why you have two,’ and has two handprints over my boobs. I even take the time to add some lip gloss and mascara. Not because I am trying to look good for him. No, I just feel like not looking frumpy. Yeah, that's it. The little voice in the back of my mind calls me a liar, but I tell her to shut up, she’s becoming a little too opinionated anyway.
Grabbing the handle of my suitcase, I take one last look around in case I forgot anything before dragging it out into the hallway. Of course, he is already there waiting. He’s in what I’ve now termed ‘Brayden Position’ in my head. His back is leaning up against the wall, with his hands propped in his pocket, looking absolutely edible. I’m really glad I had the foresight to spend some time with my bullet this morning or I probably would’ve already been ready to combust at the sight of him.
We walk downstairs and decide to take the time to sit down in the café to have breakfast before we head for our first stop of the day. While we’re drinking coffee, he nervously sits across from me twisting his napkin. I wonder if he is nervous because we kissed or for another reason? If it’s because we kissed, I’m not in the headspace yet to have a conversation about that, so instead I decide to ignore his obvious discomfort. All the while pretending my own nerves aren’t eating at my stomach.
“So, I was thinking…” He starts out, looking into his almost empty coffee cup. He drinks it black, which is so gross to me. Mine usually has so much creamer and sugar it’s practically white. “What if we cancel the second hotel room for tonight?”
My head tilts and a frown forms on my face, while I stare at him, unsure of what he’s really asking. Does he think we are going to have sex tonight? While the thought thrills the thirsty girl inside me, I know we can’t go there. Not after my revelation this morning regarding my feelings.
“Umm… why?” The confusion is clear in my voice. His eyes pop up from his coffee to look between mine and the fidgeting with his hands increases. He bites into his bottom lip for a second, and my mind falls back into the gutter.
“I was thinking that if we cancel the second room, then combine that savings with the savings from the second room in New York, we can get a cheap room outside of Orlando tomorrow night.”
“Uh, why would we do that? We only live a little over an hour from there.” I know my head is focusing on the wrong thing right now, but what he’s saying isn’t making any sense. He sighs, obviously frustrated that I’m not getting his point, but clearly, he’s not doing a particularly good job of making it, because why would we do that?
“I thought that, maybe, we could go to Universal Studios when we get there tomorrow. If we stick to our schedule we’ll arrive in the late afternoon. We can do that witch thing you like when we get there and then get a room that night. On Friday morning we can head back and do some more of the park before we have to head home.” He looks away from me like he’s embarrassed meanwhile my heart and any anger left melts away.
“The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.” I whisper and he nods.
“I know how much you love that place, and you always get so excited to go there, but no one ever wants to go with you. I thought that maybe you wouldn’t mind me going with you, and we could, you know, do all the things you want to do?” His eyes are fixed on his empty coffee mug as red creeps up his neck into his cheeks. Tears form in my eyes as I realize what he is really offering me. He spent years making fun of my Harry Potter obsession, but here he is now offering to go with me because he knows I would enjoy it. Just like he changed his plans from going to see that weird cabinet and brain tourist thing earlier in the trip, in favor of doing something he knew I would enjoy.
Without even having to think, I push my chair out, round the table, and plant myself on his lap before I kiss him. His eyes fly to mine in surprise before his arms wrap around me and he pulls me closer, closing his eyes as I close mine. He takes control of the kiss and I let him. After a few minutes, he pulls away and stares at me. His eyes are saying everything he hasn’t. He’s happy, he wants me, he’s hopeful but scared. I’m pretty sure my eyes are telling him the same thing. He holds me close for another minute before kissing my temple and helping me stand. With our breakfast now finished; we walked out to the car hand in hand. We have plans to adjust and places to see.
We drive the short distance to our first stop with our hands still linked and resting on his thigh. I’m convinced that either the rush of hormones that are circulating through my body have decreased my sense of smell, or his hockey equipment has aired out some. It doesn’t seem quite as potent today, which is a very good thing. We pull into the parking lot a short time later and the small yellow seashell shaped building comes into view. This is the Last Shell Oil Clam Station in existence, and is right here in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. While it is no longer a working gas station, it is still a piece of American history. I even remember my grandfather telling me about these growing up. Back then I thought he was making it up, apparently, he wasn’t.
It’s oddly interesting to walk inside the small building, which is now a historical site. The walls are lined with photos of the station in its glory days, and shelves hold old Shell memorabilia. There are even some gas cans from the 1950s, again weird but interesting. Outside, we stop a passerby and ask them to take our photo in front of the station, smiling at the camera comfortably wrapping our arms around each other. It seems our bodies have easily adjusted to the idea that we are something beyond what we started this journey as. Though I’m not sure what we are just yet, it is definitely more.
We only stay at the Shell Station for twenty minutes in total because we also want to
make it to the Old Salem Coffee Pot, which is in the same area, before we continue our drive south. This giant seven-foot-tall coffee pot was originally built by two brothers to promote their coffee shop and is said to have been operational at one point. Apparently, it could brew somewhere around 11,840 cups of coffee. I find myself wishing I had one in my dorm room during finals week. We walk around the giant pot holding hands, laughing and joking about which of us needs coffee the most during the year. He claims it’s him because he has schoolwork and hockey. I think it’s me because I am double majoring in writing and marketing. Finally, we agree to disagree, and once we find someone to take our photo, we’re back in the car and on our way to Hamer, South Carolina.
It’s almost unbelievable how much has shifted between us overnight. If I weren’t living it, I would never believe it, but the change is more than evident in our interactions during the four-and-a-half-hour car ride. Our hands stay connected the whole time, as if severing them would sever the connection we are building. A connection that seems to be growing by the minute. Instead of just laughing about old stories, the conversation takes a deeper turn. We are talking about our hopes and dreams for the future. He tells me again how he’s worried he doesn’t have what it takes to go pro, and that his plan B is to create a hockey training program and camp that would reserve a certain number of spots for kids who can’t afford expensive coaching. I tell him about the novels that are sitting in my cloud, and the fact that I have taken on everyone else’s doubts about whether I can make it as a writer. We discuss how hard it was moving across the country and leaving the only life we had ever known but let the subject of how much easier it would have been together stay unspoken. We aren’t ready to go there just yet. Our connection, while it’s growing stronger by the minute is still built on shaky ground. That seems like something we’ll need to address at some point.
It’s a little after one in the afternoon, when we pull into South of the Border, a roadside attraction in Hamer, South Carolina, which boasts the tallest man wearing a sombrero. There were also kids rides, a tower you could go up, which allows you to see for miles in either direction, and a reptile lagoon, which was basically a zoo for reptiles. During the drive here, we had discussed possibly skipping this and driving further to save time tomorrow, but ultimately, we decided since it was past lunch we would stop and eat at the Sombrero Restaurant. Plus walking around and stretching our legs would be good for both of us.
He leads me into the restaurant with his hand on my lower back, and my knees turn to rubber as he holds out the chair for me to sit. I love a man with manners. I look around, noticing that the ceiling is covered in tons of colorful sombreros. We are both looking up at them when the waitress, Cindy, walks over and explains to us that for every sombrero up there, they donate money to a children’s foundation. That’s a pretty cool thing to do and makes for some interesting decoration.
We order sodas and both decide on barbeque chicken with mashed potatoes and a salad. The food is incredible, and the company is even better. Our conversation is light and fun as we eat, and soon enough we were done and walking around. We spend about an hour stretching our legs while we take in the place. I talk him into riding the carousel with me and we act like it’s a race. Mine wins, obviously, but I let him believe it’s a tie. We take pictures with the Sombrero man and a mini crocodile from the Reptile Lagoon. It turns out to be a lot more fun than I would ever think you could have at a roadside attraction. Though that may have a lot more to do with the handsome man who held my hand the whole time.
The next stop in our trip is in Elbert County, Georgia. It’s about four hours away from the South of the Border, but the time passes quickly. On the way there Brayden tells me that we’re going to see something called the Guidestones, though I have no idea what they are. The hotel we are staying at is only a few minutes from there and I already called ahead to cancel our second room for the night, so there will be no surprises when we get there. The plan is to walk around at the Guidestones for about an hour then stop at a drive-thru for food on the way to the hotel. We figure we can watch some TV while eating dinner before going to sleep early tonight. Since we are still a little over seven hours from Universal Studios, we want to get up extra early to get as much time at the park as possible. With no delays, we should be there around two tomorrow afternoon. Which gives us plenty of time to spend in the Harry Potter section, then we can use Friday to go on rides in the rest of the park. I am so excited about this trip that I can barely wait, my excitement bubbles over as I pull up websites on my phone and tell him all about the different things I want to do and see while we’re there. He just listens and nods telling me he’s down for whatever. Silly boy. He has no idea what he’s agreeing to.
It’s around seven that evening when we walk up to the Guidestones, which turns out to be a monument made of granite slabs. There are five in total, one in the center and four arranged around it, then one smaller square one on top of them, holding them together. On each face of the four outside ones are the same ten statements in different languages. We walk around looking at the words and symbols inscribed in them, his hand tightens in mine when we find the one in English. I read them out loud for both of us.
“Maintain humanity under five hundred million in perpetual balance with nature. Guide reproduction wisely- improving fitness and diversity. Unite humanity with a living new language. Rule passion, faith, tradition, and all things with tempered reason. Protect people and nations with fair laws and just courts. Let all nations rule internally resolving external disputes in a world court. Avoid petty laws and useless officials. Balance personal rights with social duties. Prize truth, beauty, love, seeking harmony with the infinite. Be not a cancer on the Earth, leave room for nature, leave room for nature.” I whisper the end for no other reason than it feels appropriate.
Neither of us speaks for a while, we just stand there, our hands clasped in silent support as we process the words I just read, reading them over in our own heads and letting them settle. He tugs on my hand after a few minutes, leading me out of the way so the other people around us can take their time to admire the monument.
“That felt kind of monumental, but also, kind of controversial, don’t you think?” His voice is low to not disturb the moment. I just nod, not really sure what to say about what we just read. He pulls us toward another stone that is level with the ground, an explanatory tablet, that only causes us to further furrow our brows. We stand there in silence while staring back at the monument. He has positioned me in front of him, his arms wrapped around my shoulders, my back resting against his chest, and we silently take it all in. I know the monument was only erected in the 1980s, but something about it makes you contemplate your life, your existence, your role in the world, almost like a theology course on crack would.
Comforted by his body surrounding me, I allow my mind to wander and wonder about my place in life, my future and what I want it to look like. No matter how I try to adjust different variables, it always ends with him at my side, and I’m not sure what to do about that.
Finally, he releases his hold on me, sliding his hand back into mine. It fits like it always belonged there, like our hands are two halves of a whole. It’s weird to think that we had spent so long at odds with each other, and now in such a short time, here we are. As much as I am enjoying it, there’s a voice in the back of my head telling me to be careful. I am slightly concerned about what will happen when we get home and I know that is something I need to address sooner rather than later. Definitely before I let us be any more physical than we already have been. Yes, we have shared quite a few kisses today, some hotter and heavier than others. We also had a make out session that almost went too far at a rest stop earlier. Yet nothing we have done really crossed a big line yet. We might have stepped all over it, but we didn’t cross it. Once that happens there is no going back. Before that happens, I need to know where we stand. Tonight, we need to talk.
On the way back to the hotel we gr
ab some McD’s for dinner, then rush through check-in with both our stomachs growling. Within minutes we are walking up the hall toward our room. My suitcase is trailing behind me when I hear him snickering from behind. Stopping, I turn to him with my hands on my hips.
“Why are you laughing at me this time?”
“Not at you, at your suitcase.” He tells me, which draws my attention to the bright yellow rolling suitcase at my feet. I look back at him, raising an eyebrow in question. He laughs again. “I’m just trying to figure out why you would buy the only suitcase that looks like it was painted with yellow highlighter ink and is so bright it can be seen from outer space.”
“Oh, the airline tells you to make sure you can identify your suitcase easily, so you don’t grab the wrong one.” I tell him like it’s obvious. He continues to stare at me like he has no idea what one has to do with the other, so I break it down for him. “This was the brightest, and most distinct one I could find online, so I figured it was perfect. No one would think it was theirs and I could recognize it from a distance.”
I look at him with a proud smile on my face which turns into a frown when he starts laughing… again. He walks up to me and slips his arms around me, pulling me close before whispering in my ear.
“I’m not making fun of you. I love that you follow the rules. I love that you like to stand out. And I love that no matter how much shit you get, you never sway from who you really are.” His breath tickles my cheek as he speaks. My mouth drops open, but I’m unable to form a response, not that it matters, because he keeps talking. “I may have been a jerk for years, but that was because I didn’t know how to be as strong as you. I didn’t understand that it was okay not to follow the crowd. I didn’t know how to be myself. You always did and you never apologized for it.”
