by S. Walden
I sidled over to Ryan’s desk Friday.
“Why haven’t you said ‘hello’ all week?” I asked, pouting.
He grinned. “I thought I’d play hard to get.”
“So all those secret smiles and flirty winks were just a game?” I asked.
“I gave you flirty winks?”
“A ton,” I replied.
He licked his lips. “It wasn’t a game. And I was going to cave today anyway. You beat me to the punch, though.”
“Well, lucky for you I didn’t lose interest,” I teased.
“Hmm. I’m not too worried about that. I have a Playstation and you don’t. Sooner or later, you’d be crawling over to my house begging to play.”
I burst out laughing. “You are soooo cocky.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not cocky. I just know you, Brooke. And you know me, too. It’s inevitable.”
“What’s inevitable?” I asked, blushing.
He answered with a smile.
“That’s all I get?” I asked.
Ryan sighed. “I wish we didn’t have assigned seats.”
“You’re impossible,” I huffed, and walked to my desk.
I glanced at Cal, who stared at me. I guess he watched the entire exchange. He looked confused and rejected. It was almost comical, like he simply couldn’t understand how a girl would choose another guy over him. I was playing a dangerous game, and I prayed I’d come out the winner.
I smiled at Cal then took my seat. I heard a rustling behind me, and before I knew it, Cal was at my desk.
“You busy tonight?” he asked.
“I’m working,” I replied.
“What about tomorrow night?”
“Um . . .”
“I thought I could take you bowling,” Cal said.
“Bowling?”
“What? Not fun? We could do something else,” he offered.
I glanced at Ryan. He was busy pulling books out of his bag.
“Why are you talking to him?” Cal whispered. “I thought I told you to stay away from him.”
Whoa. Alarm bells. Increased heart rate. Mild panic.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Cal said quickly. “It’s just, that guy’s no good, Brooke. I know you’re friendly and everything. You’re a sweet girl, but that can also make you naïve.”
Fuck you.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Cal said, shaking his head. He was frustrated, knowing he was saying all the wrong things. “I meant that I would feel awful if anything happened to you.”
Would you?
“I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life. You can be friends with whoever you want, but I’m just saying. Some people will only drag you down.”
Lucy sat in the desk beside me, listening to Cal’s words, and I wondered what she was thinking. I thought about her words: “Stay away from him.” What would she think of me if I agreed to go on a date with him? Would that be the last straw? She’d either stop being friendly altogether or confess to me what he’d done to her as a warning. I took a chance developing pringles.
“I guess we could go bowling,” I said.
Cal looked surprised. “Really?”
I nodded. I was afraid Ryan might hear, but the classroom was pretty rowdy, so I doubted it.
“Pick you up tomorrow night at seven?” he asked.
I nodded again. He started towards his desk, and I grabbed his arm.
“I didn’t tell you where I live,” I said.
“Oh, I know where you live,” he replied.
I didn’t like that one bit, but I refrained from asking him how.
After Cal walked away, Lucy turned to me, a look of betrayal on her face.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“What do you mean?” I asked, playing dumb.
“I said to stay away from him.”
“Why?”
Lucy shifted in her seat. She was irate.
“Why, Lucy?”
She ignored me when the teacher walked in.
“Why?” I persisted.
She covered her ears with her hands. Seriously?
I was going to make her tell me. If I had to go bowling, and go out to eat, and go to the movies, and make out with the son-of-a-bitch right in front of her, I was going to make her tell me.
***
Tara proved much more difficult to find than Melissa. For a full week I didn’t see her anywhere and feared she no longer went to Charity Run. I actually attended another football game, thinking I’d spot her tumbling down the field in a cheerleading uniform. After all, she was a cheerleader last year according to the picture I saw in the yearbook. But no such luck. I didn’t see her on the field and promptly left before the end of the first quarter.
I did spot her late Friday afternoon strolling the junior hall dressed in black, sporting black hair, black lips, and black Dr. Martens. Suddenly it was 1994 and I didn’t get the memo. What the hell? Last year, this girl had strawberry-blond hair, wore a cheerleading uniform, and sported glossy pink lips. I immediately feared the worst. No one changes personas so drastically unless something awful happened to them. It took me a minute to remember she was on Tim’s team.
How on earth would I be able to talk to her? I didn’t come across as the type of girl she’d be friends with, let alone speak to. It would have to be another accident like Melissa’s, but I knew I couldn’t go running my mouth about a boyfriend who’s pressuring me to have sex. It just wouldn’t work with her. I’d probably have to spy on her, but how? I was no detective. I wouldn’t know where to start, and I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for.
I surreptitiously watched her at her locker. She was alone changing out her books, and suddenly I had an idea.
I walked up to her and introduced myself.
“Hi, I’m Brooke,” I said, extending my hand.
She looked at my face and then my hand and then my face again.
“I’m on the school paper, and I wanted to know if I could interview you about the cafeteria food.” So incredibly lame.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked.
“I know. It’s totally stupid, but I’m new here, so I get assigned the stupid stories,” I said, chuckling.
“Just don’t do it,” she offered.
“Oh,” I replied. “I guess I never thought about that. But then my grade would be affected.”
“Who cares?”
Okay. This one wouldn’t be easy at all.
“Well, I do,” I said. “I want to make good grades.”
She looked me up and down. “Yeah, you look like one of those.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a goody-goody.” She started walking down the hall, and I followed after.
“I am?” I asked.
For a second I forgot about my mission. I was intrigued. Was I a goody-goody? Tara thought so, and she didn’t know me from Adam’s housecat. I couldn’t help but feel a little proud. After all, I’d been working my ass off for months trying to come across that way. Maybe that’s why I was given a “Good Girl” ranking by the Fantasy Slut League. They didn’t have to spy on me. It was blatantly obvious my sexual status. Virginal. Sweet. Naïve.
I swelled like a damn peacock.
“Yeah,” she snorted. “Just don’t let the wrong people know how good you are.”
Cryptic. Snarky. This girl was a bitch.
“What do you mean?” I asked, but I already knew.
She stopped cold and whirled around to face me. I nearly ran into her.
“People take advantage of good people. That’s what I mean. So don’t be a sucker.”
“Did someone take advantage of you?” I blurted.
“Fuck you,” she spat, and headed down the hall once more.
Well, that was settled. Someone did a number on her. But I couldn’t move Tim into the “Rapists” pile just yet. I’d have to do more digging.
Thirteen
I needed a Ryan fix before my d
ate with Cal. I felt so guilty about going, and I had a lot of nerve thinking Ryan wouldn’t find out, but Cal didn’t strike me as the type of guy who went around bragging about his dates. At least not in a loud, obnoxious way. Maybe he told his close friends, but I suspected that was only if he got a sexual perk out of the girls. Plus, Ryan and I hadn’t established anything yet. We weren’t technically dating, so I could always say that I wasn’t sure what was going on between us.
Dad was working late Friday night. He called me to let me know, and as soon as I got off the phone with him, I called Ryan to invite him over. He was at my door in fifteen minutes.
“Would have been here sooner, but you caught me in the middle of homework,” he said.
I grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him into the house.
“You and homework,” I said, planting my lips on his. “Such a nerd,” I said against his mouth.
He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me harder. And then he pushed me against the door we’d just closed, trailing his mouth down my cheek to my neck. I cried out when I felt his teeth on my skin.
“Too much?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Wanna see my bedroom?”
“Yes,” Ryan said into my neck, and when he pulled away, I took a long, satisfying gulp of air. I had to remember to breathe around him.
I took his hand and led him up the stairs. I had no intention of having sex. I was sure he’d tell me we weren’t ready, and I was surprisingly content with that. I forgot how satisfying kissing could be, though I must admit that when he touched me the other day, it ignited a dangerous desire for sex. Rough sex. I wondered what Gretchen and psychologists would say about that.
I opened the door to my room.
“Oh my God,” Ryan said, walking in dazed. He scanned the entire space from floor to ceiling, then turned in my direction.
I smirked. “Like it?”
“Are you eighteen?” he asked. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those child geniuses who skipped a bunch of grades, and you only look older than you actually are.”
I sauntered over to him and snaked my arms around his waist.
“I’m twelve,” I said, then kissed his neck. “Is that okay?”
“Not funny, Brooke. Disturbing more like. What the hell kind of room is this?”
I laughed and walked to the bed. “My dad, okay? He decorated my room for me before I moved in. I didn’t have the heart to change it. Plus, it’s kind of growing on me now.”
Ryan sighed relief then furrowed his brows. “He doesn’t know you’re eighteen?”
I shook my head and smiled. “He’s my dad. He doesn’t know what 18-year-old girls like. The last time I lived with him, my room did look like this. He’s stuck in the past, I guess.”
Ryan sat down beside me on the bed.
“This purple cheetah print comforter sure does make a statement,” he said, running his hand over the bed.
“My favorites are the matching throw pillows,” I replied.
“Oh, yes. Matching throw pillows,” he observed.
We looked at each other for a moment.
“Oh, just throw me into the throw pillows already!” I cried, and Ryan laughed, pushing me onto the bed and kissing me roughly.
“I wanna make out so hard,” I said into his mouth. As usual, I didn’t think before I spoke. I never did around Ryan and thought that was okay. He seemed to enjoy it, and I couldn’t help myself anyway. He buried his face into my neck, laughing.
“What?” I asked. “Kiss me again.”
“Oh, Brooke,” Ryan said. “I plan on kissing you all afternoon.”
I liked the sound of that and didn’t protest when I felt his hand slip up the front of my shirt to cup my breast. And then my shirt was off altogether along with my bra. There was nothing practiced about it, and I liked it. Ryan stared at my nakedness as though studying me. I thought he was burning the image into his brain.
“I plan on kissing you here,” he said, and kissed me lightly on my lips. “And here.” He planted a soft kiss on my cheek. “And here.” He nibbled my earlobe. “And here.” He kissed my neck. “And here.” He kissed me in between my breasts. “And here.” He kissed the curve of my breast.
“And here.”
He fastened on to my nipple, and I moaned. Actually, I had been moaning the whole time, but it came out deeper and fuller when he drew my nipple into his mouth. I arched my body up to his lips inviting him to kiss me and suck me harder. He wouldn’t, though. He kept up his gentle assault until I was begging him to make love to me.
“No, Brooklyn,” he said. “We’re not ready.”
“The hell we aren’t!” I cried, and pushed him off of me on to his back. I sat on top of him, straddling his hips. He drew in his breath, eyes glued to my breasts.
“What are you trying to do to me?” he asked.
“I’m trying to get you to have sex with me,” I replied. “And it’s clear you want to,” I said, moving my hips from side to side on him.
He grunted. “You were more than happy to wait before.”
“Yeah. That’s before you took my top off and played with my breasts!”
Ryan laughed.
“I want to . . .” But I couldn’t say it out loud. I felt my face blush a deep crimson.
“You want to what?”
“It’s just that you’ve done things to me,” I said. “And I thought maybe I should—”
“What? You think everything’s supposed to be even?” Ryan asked.
I shook my head. “No, I just mean that I want to do stuff to you. Not because I think I’m supposed to but because I want to.”
He studied my pink face, like he was making up his mind about something. Then he shook his head.
“You’re not ready, Brooklyn,” he said.
“What?”
“I said you’re not ready.”
I huffed. “I’m not a virgin, you know. I mean, I’m no expert in that area, but I’ve done it before.”
Ryan smiled wearily. “I didn’t say it had anything to do with being an expert.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem. You’re just not ready yet.”
Before I could argue, he rolled me over again, pinning me to the bed.
“Now, there are some things you’re ready for,” he said, sliding his hand up my stomach and to my breast. He rolled his thumb over my nipple eliciting breathy cries. “Like this.” He watched me squirm, arching my back, pushing my breast into his hand.
He moved his hand down the front of my body, slipping it underneath my yoga pants until his fingers were between my legs. I drew in my breath sharply. “And this.”
He rubbed me gently, watching my face as his fingers explored my sensitive flesh. I twisted my body, pumping my hips, asking him silently to slide his finger inside me. He seemed to know it, and refrained, playing a game with me I wasn’t sure I liked. I turned my face to the side, determined not to beg him.
“Look at me, Brooklyn,” Ryan said. His fingers continued to tease me mercilessly. I ached and wanted to scream for it.
“No.”
“Why not?”
I squirmed, fighting for or against his hand. I wasn’t sure, but the sexual frustration was starting to turn me bitchy. I needed him to stop toying with me and get on with the program!
“Please?” Ryan asked softly.
“No.”
He chuckled at my petulance, slipping his finger inside of me as I moaned relief for finally getting what I wanted. I turned my face to him once more, and he kissed me deeply, muffling my cries, swirling his tongue with mine while his finger did something quite similar down below. I bucked.
“Lie still,” he ordered.
He was asking the impossible from me. I shook my head.
“I can’t,” I argued.
“I want you to lie still, Brooklyn,” he said, staying his hand until I obeyed. “And when I make you come, I want you to keep still.”<
br />
“I can’t!”
“Try,” he said, and kissed my lips once more, touching me, rubbing me tenderly until I felt the inevitable build, a pregnant ball of electricity, one in each of my ankles, shooting sporadic sparks up my legs.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” I cried, trying desperately to hold still as the sparks kept coming. More of them and faster.
“You can,” Ryan said, watching me intently as he continued his incessant touching.
I was ripped in two. Paralyzed. I couldn’t move if I tried. I opened my mouth to make a sound, but even my vocal chords were paralyzed. At least for the first explosion. The second had me screaming until my throat went raw. The third had me begging him to stop. The explosions soon petered out until I was left lying numb in a state of semi-consciousness, dazed and stupid.
“What was that?” I asked. My throat hurt, and the words came out scratchy like sandpaper.
“That was you having an orgasm,” Ryan replied. It was so matter-of-fact that it made me laugh.
“How did you do that to me? What? Are you some kind of expert or something?” I asked. I needed water.
“Hardly.”
“Hardly” my ass. I think the whole neighborhood heard me.
“I think it’s just you,” he said, and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Is that cheesy?”
No. Not cheesy. Too hot for words.
I smiled and shook my head.
“Do you need some water or something?” Ryan asked. “You were screaming like a banshee.”
I smacked his arm. And then I nodded.
Ryan moved to stand up, but I caught his arm.
“Ryan, why are you doing all these incredible things to me, but you won’t let me do things to you? And don’t say I’m not ready yet.”
