by Hunter Rose
“Most of that doesn’t matter,” Talon says. “That’s what I wanted to come tell you. What does matter we will find out. But not because we sit around and ask each other a thousand questions and answer them. Anyone can ask questions. Anyone can have long conversations and fill their brains with lists of facts about another person. That doesn’t mean they know each other. Not in the way I want to know you. I don’t want to just know you by the details you can give me about yourself. I want to know you by the feeling of your breath on the side of my neck and by the look in your eyes when you’re sad. I want to know you by the sound of your voice when you’re angry and the way your hands tremble. I want to know you first thing in the morning before you’re all the way awake and late at night before you fall asleep. I want to know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, and what in this world is left for you to discover. I want to know you because I learn you.”
I reach out for him and wrap my arms around him. The feeling of his heart beating against mine tells me so much more than I ever would have thought. His mouth brushes on the side of my neck and comes to mine. He kisses me softly, his lips gently drawing mine into his mouth to run his tongue across them. Something has changed. I can’t describe it. I can’t explain it. But I’m learning it.
Three days later, I’m walking through an art gallery on campus, trying to keep myself interested as I listen to my professor drone on and on about the pieces recently installed. From the corner of my eye, I see Talon walk across the doorway to another room. He walks past the other way and glances at me. He walks by again, and I muffle a laugh. A few seconds later, he crosses the room to me, taking me by my wrist and swiftly pulling me around the wall. He presses me up against it, putting his hand over my mouth to stop my protests. When he takes his hand down, I giggle, and he draws the sound into its mouth with a deep kiss.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I’m in class.”
“I know,” he says. “But you look miserable.”
“I am. But I’m still in class. My professor thinks I’m in there with the rest of them.”
Talon glances around the corner, then comes back to look at me, shaking his head.
“He is so wrapped up in how smart he thinks he sounds he probably wouldn’t be able to tell if the entire class walked out right now. In fact, everybody else could leave the gallery and I could go stand behind him, and he wouldn’t know the difference. Come on. Come with me.”
He gently tugs on my wrist, but I shake my head.
“I’m in class,” I repeat. “Something you never seem to do.”
“I do,” he shrugs. “But I’m not in class right now, and I want to go on a ride with you. Come on.”
He steps up to me, and he eases me up to his body, giving me a softer, more intimate kiss. I’m breathless when he steps away, and he’s able to easily guide me through the room. The door to the gallery is beyond the room where my professor stands with the rest of my bored class. Talon, and I run through and burst out into the cold sunlight.
His motorcycle is at the curb. He opens the secure box on the back and shoves my school books inside, then hands me an extra helmet. I put it on and climb onto the back of the bike with him. My arms wrap around him, and my head rests on his back. I sigh, remembering the first time I rode this way with him. I tighten my legs around him as he revs the engine, and the bike roars onto the street.
The bike speeds along, turning and dipping along the roads as we leave the city and head away from campus. The longer we ride, the more aware of him my body becomes. The rumble of the engine below me and pressure of his body between my thighs fills me with heat. I run my hands along his chest and down onto his belly. Talon lets out a low groan and takes one hand off his handlebars to press against my hands.
My hips rock toward Talon. I’m following an instinct, letting the feelings inside me control my actions. I wish I could kiss him. I want the touch of his skin on my lips and the taste on my tongue. Twenty minutes outside of the city, he pulls off the main road, and we head down a dirt path. We soar along it until we reach a thicket of trees.
He stops the motorcycle and takes off his helmet. I follow his lead and climb off. Instead of him getting off the back of the bike, Talon slides back in the seat and reaches for me. He pulls me up onto his lap and settles me into place across his hips. I dive into a kiss, arching my back to press myself against him as much as possible. His hands slide down to find my hips and pull me into his.
Finally, Talon guides me down off the bike and follows me, bringing me over to stretch out on the soft grass beneath a tree. He lies down beside me and traces his fingers down the center of my chest, then onto my stomach. They slip beneath the hem of my shirt and brush over my bare skin. Moving slowly and carefully, he brings his touch down to the waistband of my pants. I gasp as he releases the button and releases the zipper.
“Should I stop?” he murmurs.
I shake my head. This is so new to me, but he’s stopped so many times before, respecting my boundaries and not ever wanting to rush me. I don’t want him to stop anymore. I need to know what I’m aching for, what I crave so intensely. He dips his hand into my pants and brushes along the front of my panties. My body trembles, and I let out a breath. His fingertips slip into the elastic of my panties, and I finally feel his touch.
The pleasure rushes through me. I’ve never felt anything like that. I can barely process it. He continues to touch me with one hand and eases my pants all the way down with the other. I timidly let my legs open slightly and am rewarded with a more powerful rush of sensation.
His kiss comforts and reassures me, guiding me as his fingers trace and delve into me. I cling to him, whimpering into his mouth and burying my face in the curve of his neck. Pressure builds through me, and I tighten, unsure of what’s happening.
“Relax,” Talon whispers. “Just relax.”
I do. Almost instantly, the pressure releases, and I cry out. His fingers dip into me, and I clench around them. I’m left trembling in his arms, kissing him frantically, then slower as incredible relaxation washes over me. He lowers me to the grass again, lies down, and curls me up against him. I listen to his heart, feel the cold air cooling the heat from my cheeks, and let the time pass by.
He knows me now like no one ever has. And now I know myself more, too.
40
Talon
Two weeks later, I pick Wren up at her apartment and open the door of the car for her as she gets in. I can tell she is buzzing with excitement about the mystery adventure I have planned for us, but she is trying not to get too worked up. She has come such a long way from the girl I met whose life was mapped out for her at all times, and the idea of a spontaneous adventure was foreign and scary. She didn’t even hesitate when I said I wanted to take her somewhere new today.
“Okay, so I had an idea for something a little different,” I begin as I start the car. Wren looks over at me with her expectant look of excitement crawling across her face. Her eyes are bright and open, and her lips, benefiting from red lipstick, draw me in. I would be perfectly happy to spend the entire day in this car, kissing those lips.
“Is that why you told me to wear a t-shirt and jeans?”
“Yes, and I believe I specifically said ones you don’t mind ruining.”
“I don’t mind ruining these old ratty clothes,” she says. I take in her outfit somewhat doubtfully. She looks exquisite in a perfectly casual way. Her jeans are tight around her legs and ass, and the school band t-shirt she is wearing looks faded from wear. Regardless of how she thinks about what she is wearing, I think she looks as sexy as ever. It puts every other girl in a slinky dress to shame.
“Alright then, let’s go,” I nod, pulling the car out onto the road. As we head onto the highway and pass out of town, she turns to me curiously.
“Where are we going?”
“Hopewell,” I say.
“Just the town of Hopewell in general? Are we going to go rob a bank?” she teases.
&n
bsp; “No, there’s just something there I want to do with you, and it’s something I can guarantee you have never done before.”
Her face suddenly belays a sense of both horror, panic, and apprehension.
“Skydiving?”
“Do you want to skydive?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then why was it your first guess?”
“If I was right, I would need to prepare myself.”
“No, it’s not skydiving.”
“Thank god.”
“That’s next week,” I tell her.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, playfully slapping my arm.
I laugh and flip on the radio, punching the streaming music app on the display. The station is a new one, created so we both can curate it. So far, she hasn’t turned down a song yet. The choice in styles is rather eclectic, but it keeps us entertained on the half-hour drive. When we arrive at the building of our destination, she is still confused but excited. I love seeing the look on her face when she is preparing for a new experience. I want to give her as many new experiences as I can just to keep seeing it.
“Paintball?” she asks finally. “We’re going to do a paintball course?”
“An indoor, glow in the dark paintball course,” I clarify. “Have you ever done lazer tag?”
“When I was a kid for my cousin’s birthday party. He was nine.”
“Well, it’s like a grown-up version. It’ll be fun, come on.”
The smile never fades from her lips, but I can tell she is a little apprehensive. When we go inside, the clerk at the front outfits us with protective gear and offers a wide variety of helmets.
“I don’t see why you are debating this,” I tease. “You know you are going to use the pink one.”
“Not necessarily. I am quite partial to this white one with the flower on it.”
“That’s not a flower,” says the clerk passively. “That’s a splatter from a paintball. Made it myself.”
“Oh?” I say. “Looks like a flower.”
The clerk shrugs. Finally, Wren grabs the pink helmet anyway, and we get ready for the game. There are several other people waiting for a round, and we wait for the all-clear while the clerk goes over the directions and instructions in a monotone voice.
“Are we going to stick together?” Wren asks as the clerk explains the different flags and the point total for each flag returned.
“Nope. You’re on your own. I’m hunting you down.”
Before she can protest, the buzzer goes off, and I go running into the darkness. I can hear her giggling behind me as she tries to keep up. I dart around some mazes and fire a few rounds at the other players. Mostly, I am trying to circle back around to Wren, but she is staying close enough to me that I can’t shake her long enough to get around her. She is also shooting at me and missing wildly. I laugh and duck into a boarded area, and she runs past me.
I come out behind her and start to follow her, but she suddenly stops in her tracks. Turning around, she lifts her visor to peer out. Our eyes make contact. The area we are in is empty and dark, only lit by the neon glow of the tape and paint to guide the way. The rattling fire of other people’s paintballs is far off and distant. It is just us, with the chaos of the game happening around us. Her face is blue in the backlight, giving her an ethereal, almost alien look, somehow only accentuating how gorgeous she is. Her lips are full and pouty and just barely parted as she stares back at me. The adrenaline and the attraction to her collide inside of me, and I drop my gun.
I am stalking up to her now, and she drops her gun too. I pull my helmet off and toss it aside, and she pulls off hers as I reach her. Before it even hits the ground, I crush my lips into hers, and we mold into each other. Our tongues dance across each other as I revel in the taste of her and pull her body into mine. I am hungry for her, and my hands find the back of her head and the small of her back to pull her into me. Time seems to slow as her hands clench me to her as much as I pull her in to me.
Suddenly, I feel a stinging pop on my back. Another hits my leg, and then there are several. A series of rapid-fire shots begin to pelt the both of us. We don’t break our embrace, but our lips slowly fall apart as we collapse into hysterics. She ducks her head into my chest as the other paintballers begin tagging us with multiple rounds.
The laughter continues until the rounds slowly fade, and she ducks down to grab her helmet. She walks with me back to get mine, our hands clenched around each other as we head for the exit. When we finally leave the paintball course area and start taking our gear off, she turns to me again.
“So, did you drive me all the way out here so you could make out with me in a glow in the dark paintball course?”
“I didn’t not do that,” I reply slyly. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I bring her in for another long, deep kiss. When our embrace separates, I notice she isn’t removing the gear, and instead has put her helmet back on.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Well, the last round was fun, but this time, I want to kick your ass.”
“Oh, is this another ‘suddenly great at pool’ situation?”
Without warning, she fires a shot directly into my chest. I look back at her incredulously, and she begins giggling and running away. I slam the helmet back on my head, and we go around to the entrance again for one more round.
41
Wren
“I think he should have to start submitting permission slips,” Christina says.
I look up from the bag I’m packing and laugh. “I’ll make sure to mention that to him.”
Looking around the room, I try to figure out if there’s anything else I might need but have forgotten to pack. I sift through everything I’ve already stacked in my bag, going over every possibility in my mind.
“You’re going camping, Wren. For the weekend. He’s not taking you on a trek up the Himalayas,” my roommate teases.
“Well, clearly. That’s why my snowsuit and snowshoes are still in the closet rather than in my bag,” I tell her with a grin.
“You laugh, but I don’t put it past you to actually have those things. You are the single most prepared person I’ve ever met. You could single-handedly survive the zombie apocalypse and probably organize a cooperative summit and zombie election while it was still happening.”
“All the SPAM,” I comment, folding another t-shirt and tucking it into the corner of the bag.
“What?” she asks.
“All the SPAM. That’s the first step in my zombie apocalypse survival plan. It’s high in protein, calorie-dense, and can be eaten without any type of preparation, but is also delightful in a wide range of recipes, and mass-produced and super cheap. It’s the perfect food for lasting out a famine or being trapped in the building for indeterminate stretches because we’re surrounded by zombies. But also fantastic for giving us the energy we need to power us through a battle with said zombies. So, at the first alert of any potential end of the world happenings involving the walking dead, I’m heading straight for the SPAM.”
She looks around. “You don’t have a stash of cans sitting around in here somewhere, do you?”
“Haven’t heard any warnings about impending zombie hordes,” I say.
“But as soon as you do…”
“We’re covered.”
“I like that you include me in your plans. It makes me feel better to know your first step isn’t just wiping me out so you can have all the supplies,” she smiles.
“I think I walked in on the wrong part of the conversation,” Talon says from the door.
Grinning at him, I add a few more things to my bag and zip it closed.
“We’re just reviewing our zombie apocalypse plan. You know. College girl stuff. Safety in numbers. Don’t leave your drink unattended. Call for an escort. Stockpile canned, processed meat to fuel against death by a roving corpse mob,” I offer.
He crosses the room and sweeps me into his arms, kissing me.
“G
orgeous and resourceful. How did I get so lucky?” he teases.
“Alright. You two are gross. I’m going to need you to leave,” Christina says.
I give her a hug. “I’ll see you Monday. Be good while I’m gone.”
“You know I won’t. Don’t set me up for failure.”
Talon picks up my bag and takes my hand. I’m excited as he leads me out to a red pickup truck I’ve never seen.
“How many cars do you have, exactly?” I ask as he opens the door for me, and I climb into the passenger seat.
“This one is a loaner. I figured it’s more appropriate for driving out into the woods than my sports car,” he says.
“Or your bike,” I point out.
“Yes.”
We pull away from the building and head out of the city. I’m buzzing with excitement.
“I can’t believe you’re bringing me camping,” I say.
“Why not?” he asks, glancing at me before turning back to the road
“You just don’t really strike me as someone who has done a lot of camping,” I admit.
“Took all this time, but now you’re the one who’s making assumptions about me,” he says. He smiles. “Bree brought me when I was younger. My father used to like to impress people by having lavish holiday events. Labor Day barbecues. Fourth of July. Christmas parties. He’d have business contacts and other important people over for a long weekend and make a huge fuss, so he looked good. I wasn’t welcome. When his guests came, he didn’t want me bothering them or even being seen. He would have been perfectly happy if I just took a cooler and a thermos and stayed upstairs in my bedroom without making a sound for the entire weekend. The guest rooms were in a separate wing of the house, so it wouldn’t have interfered. Fortunately, Bree didn’t see that as a viable option. When one of those events came along, she would just come and pick me up, and we’d spend the weekend camping together. If it was too cold, we’d go to a hotel and set up little pop-up dome tents. I always thought that was much better than having to deal with the stuffy people. And hot dogs cooked over the fire beat any of the pretentious food my father had catered.”
