I held him to me, loving that new side to him; vulnerable, spent... mine.
I didn’t know what the hell we were doing, and, at that moment, probably shouldn’t have cared less. I didn’t know if we were legitimately a couple or what. Were we just screwing around? Was it just a friends with benefits thing? Throughout high school, I’d never even so much as gone to second with a guy who wasn’t formally my boyfriend, and yet there I was, wrapped in the arms of a clothesless Trip Wilmington, the evidence of what we’d just done together glistening right there on my hand.
I mean, that was the first real live penis I’d ever seen, much less touched, much less prompted to explode, and Trip and I weren’t even really going out! I don’t know what it was about him that managed to turn me into such a sex-crazed lunatic, but I didn’t spend too much time beating myself up about it. After four years of catholic school, I figured I ought to have felt guilty for what we’d just done. But the only thing I regretted at that moment was that we missed out on the chance to go even further.
Feeling him slumped against me, out of breath, naked and elated and holding me as tight as his wasted arms would allow, was nothing short of awe-inspiring. How could I ever feel guilty about something that felt so good?
“I’m in love with you,” I whispered, the words leaving my lips before my coagulating brain was able to stop them. Oh dear God, did I just say that out loud?
My body froze instantly, stunned that I had actually let that thought slip out of my head and escape from my mouth. I could have just died right then and there.
Trip just gave a quick chuckle and pecked me on the lips, then bent down to retrieve his shorts.
Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod. What did I just do?!!?
Trip bypassed any commentary on my proclamation, buttoning up and washing his hands at the sink, where I joined him, completely mortified, before I slipped out of the bathroom silently in order to let him take his damned shower.
I holed up in my room, locked the door and ditched the tainted towel in the dirty clothes bag. I got as far as dressing into a bra and panties before sinking onto the bed and completely losing my mind.
What the hell was I thinking? How could I have actually told Trip that I loved him? And oh God! He didn’t even try to say anything about it! He didn’t say, “I love you, too”, which, let’s face it, would have been awesome, but completely ludicrous and way too much to hope for. But he could have at least tossed me that time-honored, unrequited response of, “Thank you”. He could have said something to let me off the hook for being a completely ridiculous freak with a broken brain filter. After just servicing him with a mind-blowing handjob, the least he could have done was that!
I threw the pillow over my face, hoping for an accidental suffocation. Then I wouldn’t have to go downstairs and spend an entire evening in the same room with Trip, who, if he had any doubts about it before, had now been made entirely aware of the fact that I was in love with him.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Layla. I know I just jerked off some guy who is not even my boyfriend in the bathroom of this crappy, brown house. But if you could find a way to kill me quickly and painlessly within the next ten seconds, I promise never to touch another penis again. Well, I’ll be dead, so, I guess I promise not to whore it up in heaven. Which, of course is where you’ll be sending me, right? I mean, I’d hate to think you’d deny me an eternity behind your pearly gates just because of one impetuous handjob. Thank you. Sincerely, Layla Warren. Amen.
Chapter 31
THE PRINCE OF TIDES
I must have passed out shortly after my unanswered prayer the night before, maybe even as early as ten o’clock, so when I woke up, it was still completely dark outside. I figured it had to be the middle of the night, so I tried to close my eyes and get back to sleep. But the extra shuteye, combined with my humiliation over what I’d said, kept me wide awake, tossing and turning for the next hour. When I saw a hint of grey seeping through the window blinds, I figured morning wasn’t too far off, and decided to get out of bed.
My hair was an absolute rat’s nest because I’d never gotten around to blow-drying it the night before, so I gathered the whole mass into a ponytail. I threw on a pair of black biker shorts and a chartreuse green tank top before tip-toeing out of my room.
I had to pass by Trip’s door, so I did so as quietly as possible. But at the first creak on the top step, I heard him whisper, “Layla?”
I stopped dead in my tracks, hoping that he’d go back to sleep and leave me to go on my merry, mortified way, but of course I was having no such luck.
“Layla. What are you doing?”