"Sweet dreams are made of this …
everybody's looking for something."
Sweet Dreams ~ Eurythmics
Hand in hand, Edward leads me to his bedroom at the end of the hall. His bedroom isn't a boyish mess. His bed is made, and the air smells clean. He fumbles with his phone, searching for just the right music before placing it on a dock near his bed. I smile at the action, and at his nervousness. I've never met a boy so nervous who looks so good. He's beautiful really. All lean muscle and sweaty palms. A boy ready to kill a man for disrespecting a stranger, yet lacking enough confidence to do what any other guy woulda done by now.
I wander around his room as some dumb music fills the air. It's all moody and sad. Whining voices. Stuff I listen to when I'm down.
"You like this music?"
"You don't?" He picks up his phone and taps the screen. It's cute, how he's worried about the soundtrack to our fucking.
"I like eighties music."
Edward gives me a bewildered look. "Why?"
Smiling, I give him a half-shrug. "I dunno … maybe because my mom loves blasting eighties music while she cleans our house? Guess it rubbed off on me over the years."
Edward nods and I take his phone. I scroll down the music app he's got open until I find the perfect song. I tap it and hand it back to him, my smile turning into a full grin as he frowns.
I nod. "Really."
He wrinkles his face in thought. "Is she saying sweet dreams are made of cheese?"
I snort. Full-on snort. I don't think I've snorted since the sixth grade. "Sweet dreams are made of this."
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I touch my lips to his. The leanness of his body melds into mine, and when his tongue touches my own, I hear nothing. No music in the background, not the constant ringing in my ears. No thoughts. Just wetness and warmth.
I break away and give him a promising smile. His eyes follow me as I check out the rest of his room.
Tacked to a large corkboard hanging above his desk are photographs of what I assume are his parents. Photographs of him on a large boat, holding some weird fish like a trophy. There's photographs of his sister, photographs of his brother, photographs of all them together. But mostly, there's photographs of a girl. A beautiful girl, one of those girls you just know lives an easy, expensive life. The type of girl who knows how to work her body, work her smile, work her magic. The kind of girl who can snap her fingers and life happens the way she wants it. The kind of girl a guy like Edward would date.
I pluck one of the photos from the board, tilting it so that the light from his open window no longer glares on the glossy paper. Alice's laughter flows through the window, and I smile at the sound. And my smile grows the longer I stare at the photo, because this is perfect. This is so perfect.
"This your girlfriend?" I don't look up, don't turn when I ask him the question.
"I'm not even sure anymore." He sighs, and it's a struggle. I get that he's the kind of guy forever with an internal struggle.
He touches the photo. Takes it from my hand and tosses it face-down on his desk. And then he surprises me. His fingers grasp each side of my waist, finding my flesh under the flimsy shirt I'd thrown on this morning. Twelve hours. Maybe more. That's how long I've been wearing this shirt. It smells like my perfume and summer sweat and the bag of Twizzlers I worked on during the drive down here. My heart is racing and I've never felt more alive, like I could fly right out the roof of his house.
Edward's movements slow, and fear wallows in my heart. "Maybe we shouldn't."
His right hand sort of slips away from my waist, but I grasp it, pop open the button of my jeans with my free hand, and press his palm against my belly. No longer relenting, his fingers inch their way down, no longer needing my help. I suck in a satisfied breath when his fingers on one hand find my clit, and his fingers on the other finds my breasts. He rubs the little nub. Rubs it until my knees become weak and my breast becomes sore from his palming. We both stumble to the bed, laughing as we fall atop the covers in a tangle of limbs. And I like that he's taken. Lessens the complications of remembering him other than a one time thing. A summer crush. A boy I'll think about in twenty years when someone mentions Spring Break. And I'll smile, because it was a perfect Spring Break. Perfect because of him.
Straddling him, I work open his fly and reach inside. His abs tighten and a whimper fills the air. For a second he looks at me like I'm something. Something more. Something I'm not. And it's nice, feeling more than nothing for once.
I think about shimmying out of my shorts and riding him, but I don't. I've barely got my fingers wrapped around him when he flips me onto my back. I stare up at him, wide-eyed. Rare is it when I let a man take control, but he's looking like a guy possessed: hair askew, his green eyes almost black. I don't move as he pushes my shirt above my breasts and tucks one cup of my bra back to reveal a nipple. His lips touch the rosy peak, and my eyes meet the back of my head. His tongue circles and flicks, and his fingers find that warm, wet spot between my legs. I've never gotten off from a boy's touch. Not until now.
"You're so beautiful."
His breath is a heated whisper trailing down my body, and then his mouth is there, kissing me in a place I've never been kissed. My knees tremble, and my inner thighs touch his ears. For a second I worry I'm smothering him, but he groans into my pussy, and all worries are cast aside. The vibrations of his moan travel up my body. I feel his fingers slowly enter. Agonizingly slow. Tortuously slow. My toes curl. His fingers find my spot, and I come again, my hips an erratic jerk until I'm squealing in sensitivity from the lash of his tongue. He's good. Experienced. Taught by a beautiful blonde with bigger tits than mine. He crawls up my body, leaving a Bella scented kiss on my lips, but still I think of her, his girlfriend. A weird sense of jealousy squirms around inside, but he drives it out with the thrust of his body into mine.
We don't talk once we're done. He looks at me and I look at him. I fake a yawn and he pulls the covers over our legs. He stares at me a while. I feel it. Don't see it because my eyes are closed and my breaths have evened out. I've got lots of experience faking sleep.
Once his own breathing evens, I open my eyes and watch him sleep.
He's one of those easy sleepers, the kind of guy who falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He smiles with the rise and fall of his chest. Smiles in a whole new way, a way I haven't seen since I met him earlier tonight. I memorize the shape of his nose, the jut of his jaw. I touch the scruff running along his cheeks. Run my hand over his naked abdomen. Press my naked breasts against his flesh, and curl my legs around his. Still he doesn't move.
He's a bird trapped in a cage. That was my first thought when I saw him. In all his anger: clenched fists, reddened face, ready eyes as he prepared to stand up for my friend, he was still trapped. And sad. A caged bird whose wings had been clipped from birth.
I touch his chest, following the defined lines of his muscles. He's hard where I'm soft, physically, but I feel we're two different people on the inside. Not completely different. We're both lost. Both looking at each other when we're both awake like there's … something. And I don't want there to be anything, because it's not. It's sex.
He'd wrapped his arm around me before he fell asleep. And still it remains. Warm and embracing. Steady. Suffocating. Closing my eyes, I pretend he's my boyfriend and this is the place where I live, so far away from the crisp air of the mountains. I imagine slowing my old Chevy down to let an alligator cross the road, not a bear. I imagine complaining about tourists dirtying the beaches, not the parks. I imagine complaining about more condos and not cabins. I imagine anything far, far away from the reality of reality.
Then I open my eyes.
I kiss him before I grab my clothes, but he's fast asleep. He doesn't stir. Doesn't open his eyes and beg me to stay. He doesn't ask me anything about my family, or how long I'm in town. Doesn't ask where I'm staying or how he can hook up with me again before I head home. He sleeps, and it's for the best. I pull on my clothes, lingering at his door a little longer than I should. Before I leave I snap his photo with my phone. When I turn around, his sister is standing in the hallway staring at me with a look that tells me she understands. It's an odd thing, feeling connected to strangers, but that's how I feel tonight.
Maybe it's the booze.
"You want a drink?"
I nod at his sister, follow her down the hallway, and watch her mix the booze. She's a lesbian, I can tell. Not that they look a certain way, but her eyes linger on me the same manner a man's would. And it doesn't bother me. If anything it's flattering.
She pushes the drink across the bar, watches me drink it before she makes herself one. There's laughter outside, and we both glance out the patio doors. Alice sits next to Jasper, her face bathed in humor, his scrunched in confusion. He's different, I can tell. Different, but nice. Innocent. The kind of innocent Alice likes, but more childlike. She loves teaching them. Doesn't hurt that he's sexy as hell.
"What's so special about you?"
I look at his sister. Kate, was it? Her question wasn't said in an insulting way. Curious, but not insulting. I set the glass on the bar and look at her.
"What do you mean?"
"Edward doesn't do hookups. Hell, Rose is the only girlfriend he's ever had and they're still technically together. So I gotta ask, what makes you so special?"
The girl's blunt, and has that kid-sister annoyance an only child like me has always longed for.
"I'm not special. I'm just ..." I grapple for the right words. How I feel about him. How I'm sure he feels about me. "Something different."
"Nah, I'm not buying it." She downs her drink, wrinkling her face and shaking her head once it's swallowed. "Lots of girl have hit on my brother. He always brushes them off. Then you walk into a bar …"
I shrug and pick up an almost empty bottle of tequila. Unscrew the cap and take a swig. She watches, her glittery eyeshadow sparkling under the dim lights. There's glitter between her tits too. The glint catches my attention. She glistens like a naughty angel. I meet her eyes and she looks away.
"He's not like most guys his age," she says, twirling her drink between her hands.
I finish off what's left in the bottle, and stare at my friend through the glass. She's still sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet splashing the water. Jasper's at her side. She's leaning into him. Kissing him. And he's kissing her back.
"Inconsequential things mean something to him.," Kate says. "He'll try to find you."
I lick the tequila off my lips, finally ready to leave. "Good.
Preread by Jonesn.
Let's pretend a condom was involved. I hate writing condoms for some reason.