She leans over the console and kisses the corner of my mouth, then whispers in my ear, “It’s because you’re so good in bed.”
She quickly sits back in her seat, but I capture her hand first and look over at her. “You know it, baby,” I joke. Her cheeks blaze and I laugh. We were both virgins when we met and have only been with each other, so really there are no comparisons, and I like it that way. “Caution” ends and so does the playful mood in the car when Keane’s “She Has No Time” starts playing. The lyrics of the song cast a wave of sadness over me and I swallow the huge lump in my throat as it plays on. Ivy isn’t one for openly expressing her feelings, but sometimes she tells me things that make me want to snatch her and just run away. And this song triggers that protective instinct I have for her. It reminds me of her life so much that I have to press STOP. I think it’s better for me to listen to this CD when I’m alone.
This is one of our last days together for a while, so I want to keep things light and fun. I always tell her our relationship is so entangled with our messed-up family lives, but really it’s hers that is the sadder. My father might have turned into a drunk, but my family is close—something she doesn’t have. She loves her sisters, but they are so much younger than she is—she’s more like their mother than their sister. And her mother—I don’t even want to think about her.
As the CD ejects, I turn to her and mouth, “Thank you.” Then I tell her, “I’ll listen to it later,” and place the CD in the console.
“Technically, do people really make mix tapes anymore? Or are they called mix CDs?”
Laughing at her attempt to lighten the mood, I say, “I have no fucking idea, but great question.”
She twists sideways to pick up the photo album again and freezes. “Whose pink bag is that?”
I quickly glance back. “Tessa’s I think.”
“Why are Tessa Bloom’s things here?” she asks. Her voice is harsh.
I shrug. “She must have left it in here when I gave her a ride home.”
“Why are you giving her rides home? Doesn’t she have her own car?”
I place my hand on the bare skin of her leg. “Baby, not rides. A ride. And her car was in the shop, so she needed a lift.”
She leans back in her seat and fidgets with the seat belt. She turns away but replies, “I don’t really like her or her friend Amy hanging out with you when I’m not around.”
I squeeze her thigh and inch my fingers under her skirt. “Don’t be jealous. We’re just friends. You know that.”
She pouts. “I can’t help it. I know she likes you, Xander.”
“She doesn’t. But even if she did—I love you.”
She looks at me uncertainly. I reach my hand over and catch the back of her neck, pulling her in my direction. “Do you hear me?”
She nods and I let the silence sweep the car. Again, I want to keep today light, not argue about a girl who doesn’t matter. I finally pull into my grandparents’ driveway, and as I park my car, I see that she’s looking straight ahead, ignoring me. I lean over and kiss her cheek, then nip her ear. “Come on—we don’t have much time. Don’t be mad at me over a stupid ride.” She turns her head and I tug on her lip.
She finally smiles and playfully tries to tug mine back. Then, knuckling me in the side and wrinkling her nose, she says, “No more rides.”
“Okay,” I reply. “No more rides. Now stay put.” I push open my door and head over to her side of the car.
We walk quickly, straight to the pool house. It’s where we’ve spent most of our alone time over the past four years. Lately, I’ve had to share it with my brother, but when I found out my grandparents sold their house, I told him in no uncertain terms that the pool house was mine for the time we had left.
I swing open the unlocked opaque glass door. Ivy walks in first and I follow. The built-in window seat, ceiling fan, light blue walls, and bamboo wooden floor are all that remain. The furniture and pool table are gone, but I don’t think either of us cares. Once I close the door we become two silhouettes in a darkened room. She turns around and stands on her tiptoes. With the blinds closed, there is barely enough light to illuminate anything, but I can see the gleam in her eyes. I bury my face in her neck. “Fuck, I missed you,” I say again.
My hands roam her body, and her fingers skim mine right down to the front of my pants. Her fingertips trace up the length of my zipper and when she finds the tab, she slowly pulls it down.