by Claire Adams
“Yeah,” I shout, “that was my cue to leave because you were acting like a world-class asshole!”
“Wow, now it actually starts coming out,” he says. “Your entire personality is based on you not wanting to really engage with anyone, not in a real way, not in a vulnerable way. You hardly ever swear because you’re afraid of offending somebody and offending people draws attention. You kept acting like you wanted something to happen with us until it started to, then you just cut and run. Yeah, Mia, we’re not together right now because of something that I did. It was fucked up, I was fucked up and I am truly, very sorry that I did that, and I have no excuse. All I’m saying is that you don’t have a good excuse for how you’re acting, either.”
“You know what your problem is?” I ask.
“Oh, this should be good.”
“Your problem is that you try to wrap every little experience up in a tiny little bow, but things are more complicated than that,” I tell him.
“You’re twenty,” he says.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I yell.
“Well,” he says in an irritatingly calm voice, “I get that life is complicated, but I mean, it’s not like you have a job or anything to worry about. Your dad takes care of all of that, so you can carry on, floating through life, avoiding anything that might just get a little too real. I don’t think it’s all that complicated.”
“Really?” I ask. “You’re going to open the dad door?”
“Hey, I freely admit that my dad’s an asshole,” he says. “Anyway, that’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“The point,” he starts. “The point is…”
“Really not a strong moment for your argument, is it?” I ask.
“The point is…” he tries again, but gives up. Instead, he’s trying Abby’s move, kissing me when that’s about the last thing I expect.
I pull back and my hand is already cocked back, ready to slap him in the face.
“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I shouldn’t have—”
My hand goes, but it’s not a slap across his face, but my arms around his shoulders as I kiss him back.
He’s surprised a moment, but his arms are around me and whatever this is, it’s leaving me short of breath already.
I’m so mad at him, so completely frustrated with his point of view. I don’t even know if he’s right or not or if that even matters right now.
We slowly pull away from each other, and I can see his Adam’s apple dip and return as he swallows.
“What was—” he starts, but I’m sick of trying to pick this apart.
He’s kissing my neck, and the cars are still going by, dropping most of their occupants off at the front.
I pull away, and I’m telling him, “Not here.”
I’m ready to give an explanation, but he just nods and we’re walking now.
“Where?” I ask as I hit the lock button on my dad’s door after taking the keys out of the ignition.
“Do you have anything?” he asks.
“I always keep a couple in my purse if that’s what you’re asking,” I tell him.
“What changed your—” he starts.
“Oh, you’d probably better shut up before I start thinking this through,” I warn and he’s smart enough not to finish the question.
“I think I know a place, but I have no idea whether we can get in or not,” he says, and he takes my hand, leading me around to the side of the building. “We need to find a way in,” he says.
I, rather cleverly, decide to just walk up to the first side door we come to and pull. To be honest, though, I wasn’t really expecting it to actually give way.
We’re through the door and we try to stay behind things as much as possible, as there are a number of people doing various work around the inside of the skate park.
I stopped him before he finished his question, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an answer.
What changed my mind is that I figured out what he was trying to say when he was stammering about what he thought the point of his argument was.
Figuring that out may or may not change things in the long run, but for now at least, I’m just walking behind him as he leads me by the hand along the inside perimeter of the building.
We pass a couple of people as we’re going, but they’re far too rushed to either notice or care that we’re in there when we shouldn’t be.
“It’s back here,” Ian says quietly as we come to the rear of the building.
When we reach the back wall, we take a right and Ian lets go of my hand a moment to try the door to a janitor’s closet, opening it easily and gesturing for me to go in.
I take a quick look around. There are plenty of people in eyeshot if any of them were looking over here.
None of them are.
I quickly make my way into the janitor’s closet and Ian comes in after me, closing the door and leaving us in near-total darkness.
“You sure?” he asks. “I know you told me not to ask questions, but—”
“I’m sure,” I tell him and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel his lips on mine.
He may not understand why I changed my mind so quickly, but he’s not taking anything for granted. I can’t see him, but I can feel him as his hands move over my body while mine are much more direct.
I feel for the top of his pants and unbutton them while Ian’s mouth moves from my mouth, over my cheek and jaw to the curve where my shoulder meets my neck, and I think I finally understand the thrill of knowing we could get caught at any time.
Ian’s pulling up my shirt and kissing my breasts as I pull his pants halfway down, then his boxers and now I’m stroking him, feeling him flex at my touch.
I’m starting to wonder how much foreplay Ian really thinks we have time for when his hands finally settle over the top of my pants, and he undresses me from the waist down.
The cool air on my bare skin is titillating as its quickly contrasted by the warmth of his lips on my knees, my upper thigh. When his mouth and tongue reach my pussy, I have to feel around for something to hang onto so I don’t lose my balance.
“Oh my god,” I say, just above a whisper.
His mouth leaves my skin, but his fingers take over as he asks, “Where’s your purse?”
“Shit,” I mutter. “It’s in the car.”
For a second, his hand stops and although I can hear him breathing, when he removes his touch, I start feeling the vertigo of near-darkness.
“What should we do?” he asks.
“I’m not going back out there right now,” I tell him. “Just don’t come inside me.”
I feel two hands, one on the back of each of my legs, and they’re moving upward. His touch is warm, comforting and a little disorienting until he stands up, keeping his hands right where they ended up, and he’s whispering, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
One of his hands moves up my body, settling between my shoulder blades while the other moves down the back of my left leg. As the hand moves closer toward the back of my knee, I get the idea and I lift the leg for him to cradle, and I reach forward to find just where his body begins.
My hand falls on his chest and I move it down, telling him to keep me steady; telling him I’d rather not end up slipping, cracking my head and ending up being carted out of here on a stretcher, naked from the waist down in front of hundreds of spectators. He’s holding me firmly, but I know how my knees go weak with Ian.
My hand finally comes to his skin once more, and I take him in my hand a moment, feeling his pulse under my fingers, and then I bring his tip to my entrance and let my knee bend just enough to feel him as he parts my folds, entering me.
Now inside, Ian takes over, slowly pushing into me before pulling back out most of the way, going just a little deeper each time, and I’m just glad he’s holding me up.
Given our height difference and the lack of avail
able light in the room, finding his lips is difficult when they’re not kissing me or running over my body, but my hands are free enough that I finally just pull his head toward me and move my mouth where it feels like he’s going to be.
My lips make contact with him, but it’s not his mouth they find.
He’s stifling laughter, saying, “Kind of got my eye, there.”
I smile, not that he’s going to see it, and we’re able to find each other’s mouths before much longer.
Ian only seems to grow harder inside me as I reach for his hand that’s holding up my leg, and I give it a slight tug, trying to let him know I want him to let go for a second, and he does. Free now, I wrap my leg the rest of the way around his body, using it as leverage to pull him toward me, to pull more of him into me.
The feeling of his skin is a bit more intense than I’d anticipated, but every time I feel my standing knee start to weaken or like I’m beginning to lose my balance, I just clutch Ian a little tighter and he pulls me a bit closer, making sure I’m steady, secure.
“You’re so wet,” he utters.
I kiss for his lips again, though from the feel of it, I end up somewhere along his jawline, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the feel of him on my lips, against my body, inside my body.
His breath starts to quicken, and I’m beginning to feel that building heat right until the moment a knock lands on the door. I should be startled, but no, that’s just the final piece of the puzzle before I’m coming, holding Ian so tight.
I know I need to be quiet, so I try to bury my face in Ian’s chest, but it doesn’t seem to be working as whoever’s standing on the other side of the door knocks again, only louder this time.
Ian’s arms are firm around me, and I’m grateful. Otherwise, there’s no way I would have managed to stay on my feet this long.
I’m sweating and this room suddenly feels so small, confining, but it’s okay because Ian and I are still holding each other.
“We should probably get out there,” Ian whispers.
“Not yet,” I respond.
“Why?” he asks. “Everything all right?”
“Do you remember how you were telling me about your pre-competition ritual?” I ask. “If I’m not mistaken, you went as far as to say that getting blue balls ruins your ability to skate. I’m not done until you’re done.”
“Just a second then,” he says, and I have no idea what he’s doing when he eases his grip on me, but doesn’t pull out of me as he cracks the door open. “Yeah,” Ian says, “any way you could just give us a couple more minutes?”
“Oh god,” I groan.
The man on the other side of the barely-cracked door just laughs and says, “Sure thing, buddy. Just remember: You’re in a janitor’s closet. There’s no reason to not clean up after yourselves.”
With that, Ian closes the door again and this time, I hear him fumbling with the doorknob before a second latching sound comes.
“I think we’ve got about two minutes before that guy brings all of his buddies over here to stand outside the door and listen in on us,” he says.
“Think we’ve got the time?” I ask.
“We’ll see,” he says.
The feeling of him inside of me is so comfortable, so natural, that I almost don’t even realize he’s still inside of me until he starts slowly pulling back before easing in again. With the first millimeter of motion, I feel every bit of him that’s in between my legs and inside of me, and I’ve all but forgotten about the guy that knocked on the door.
“That’s not going to do it,” I whisper to Ian, and I’m rocking my hips and gripping him tight with my kegel muscles.
“Fu-uck,” he mutters, and he’s holding my hips now, using the leverage to enter me so fast, so hard.
“Come for me,” I whisper to him, and his grip on me tightens.
He’s breathing heavily, his erection so slick with the wet in me and one of his hands comes up to pull my upper body tight against his.
Ian’s breath is jagged, and as I glance down toward the tiny space under the door, the gap through which all light in this little room enters, and see two foot-width shadows just on the other side, and suddenly my body’s quivering and I’m clutching Ian again, just hoping he can keep his balance when he comes.
Wait.
With my hand closest to the door, I feel against the wall until I find a light switch, and I tell Ian to close his eyes just before I flip the switch.
Now, with my first real look at the room, I find it’s not nearly as cramped as I’d thought, but that couldn’t matter less right now.
The diversion pulled me back from the brink, but Ian’s eyelids are squeezed shut and I can tell that he’s trying to quiet the sound of his own breathing as his moment draws near.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Where—”
I lift myself off of him and put both legs on the ground before lowering myself between his knees and taking him into my mouth.
I’m looking up at him and his eyes are wide open as he matches my gaze for what feels like almost no time at all before his eyes close and, with a stifled grunt, his salty warmth spreads throughout my mouth.
I swallow as he comes, and his body shudders as the orgasm begins to recede.
A few seconds later, and we’re embracing each other, breathing heavily.
“Tell me,” he says, kissing my forehead.
“Tell you what?” I whisper back, blindly wrapping my arms around the back of his neck.
“What changed your mind?” he asks.
“I got the point,” I tell him. “When I asked you earlier what your point was, what you were trying to prove by arguing with me,” I breathe, “I know what you were trying to say.”
“You do?” he asks.
“I think so,” I tell him. “Otherwise, I may have just made a huge mistake.”
He’s quiet for a moment.
Maybe I misread what he was saying. Maybe he wasn’t trying to say anything at all. Maybe he was just stalling while he tried to think of something clever to say.
I should have known.
That’s what I’m thinking right until he says it. “The point is,” he tells me, “that I think I’m in love with you.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Street
Ian
I’m leaning against a wall in the janitor’s closet, just trying to catch my breath.
There’s a lot more that I want to say, but Mia hasn’t responded to the bomb I just dropped. She said she knew what I meant, but the silence is suggesting otherwise.
The silence doesn’t last, though, as outside the door to this room that smells like bleach and now, sex, comes the heavy thud of music over the sound system.
I look down at Mia. She looks up at me.
“You should go,” she says. “It sounds like they’re letting people in.”
“Yeah,” I answer, but I hesitate. “Should we…?”
“Just go,” she says. “We suck at talking.”
I wheeze a bit of nervous laughter and ask, “When exactly did I lose my shirt?”
“I couldn’t even tell you,” she answers, wiping a forearm across the sweat on her brow.
I find the shirt dangling from the handle of a mop and I grab it, sticking my head through the neck hole and pulling up my pants.
“Are you coming?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll be out in a minute. I’m going to try to freshen up a little so maybe I can look a touch less I just made it with a guy in a janitor’s closet.”
“You know,” I start again, “you never responded to what I—”
“I love you too, dummy,” she says, patting me on the cheek. “Now go before I change my mind again. You know how fickle I can be.”
I’m smiling, although I’m not a hundred percent sure she’s joking, and I leave the janitor’s closet, still adjusting my shirt as I close the door behind me.
I can’t really say I come out of the room unnoticed,
but the people who spot me either don’t seem to know what just happened in there or they just don’t care. There’s no way to tell, and I’m sure as hell not going to bother asking.
People are still filing in through the front doors, but the place is already pretty packed.
A few people are starting to skate around the street course, but they don’t seem to be competitors.
I should be rather pleased with myself at the moment, and I would be if it weren’t for the fact that I have no idea where the hell my board ended up.
I ditched it after what happened with Abby, when I was trying to catch up to Mia. From there, who knows?
It’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything. Even if I can’t find my board, I’m sure I could borrow one from Rob—he’s always got one in the trunk—it’d just be nice to have my own.
As I make my way toward the first bright pink shirt I see in the distance, I take a quick look back in the direction of the janitor’s closet. The door’s closed. I can’t see whether there’s light coming from under the door or not—there are too many people between me and there—but I guess I’ll see her when this thing gets started.
I track down Nick, but he hasn’t seen my board. I ask him where Rob and Marci are, but he just shrugs, saying, “How the hell should I know?”
“Hey shit brick, forget something?” Rob’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn around to find him standing on my board.
“Do me a favor?” I ask and Rob rolls his eyes as he steps off of my skateboard and kicks it in my direction.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“I think you’ve got about an hour,” Nate says. “If you’re going to get some practice time in, though, you’d better do it. I think the break between street and vert is only like ten minutes.”
“Can’t even drop a deuce in ten minutes,” Rob says, pretending like someone would actually care to hear it.
“All right, I’ll see you guys in a bit?” I ask.
I get affirmative responses across the board and I stomp the tail of my board, catching the nose in my hand when it comes up, and I walk through the crowds toward the vert ramp.
There are a few people up top and one guy’s doing a practice run, but as I start to get closer, I’m gripped by cold fear. This is too real. It’s just too real.
