He never thought consternation could look so beautiful. There she sat trapped in sexual frustration, smeared with muck, her breath coming in short, hard pants. For the first time in his life, he wielded the power. So this is what it felt like for her—to possess ultimate control. It swelled his heart, his chest, his muscles. He could feel himself growing, stretching, transforming into The Hulk. He could make her do anything with that power. So why did he have the sudden urge to kneel before her instead?
“Make me come! Yeah, that’s right! I said it! Make me come!”
“No.”
“But you don’t even have to do anything! Just lean against me!”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because we’ve only just kissed.”
“So what?”
“I wanna take it slow.”
“Bullshit. No guy wants to take it slow. You just want to make me beg for it.”
He chuckled. “I really don’t.” Eh, partial truth.
“Yes, you do!”
“Regan, I swear, I couldn’t handle all that right now, anyway. You’ve gotta trust me. Do you know how hard it was for me to muster the courage to kiss you? If I make you come, too, I’ll probably die. Is that what you want?”
She grinned and shook her head.
“Do you understand what’s happening to my insides right now? You think I imagined for a second that I’d ever kiss you? I’m Jeremy. You’re . . . you. I’m having a hard time making sense of this. Am I dreaming?”
She shook her head again.
“Do you even like me?”
She reared back. “How could you ask me that?”
“Well, maybe you just wanted to make out.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Um, do you think that’s a thing I do—just make out with whatever guy happens to be around at the time?”
“No,” he replied, embarrassed. “I just meant that I know you’re hurting right now, and maybe all you really wanted was comfort.” He paused. “Or something.”
“Listen up, buddy. I’m not hurting over Brandon, if that’s what you’re implying. I don’t miss him at all. And yeah, I am hurting over Casey. That’s just gonna take some time. But I sure as hell didn’t come over here with the intention of using you to make myself feel better. If I wanted to get off, I’d just go home and do it myself.”
Well, and there you had it.
Silence. Long, uncomfortable bout of silence.
“Soooo, you like me?” Jeremy asked finally.
Regan burst out laughing. “I freaking like you a lot! I’ve liked you ever since sixth grade! I even liked you in seventh grade when I hated you! I liked you in eighth grade. I liked you in ninth and tenth and last year and—”
He cut her off with his lips. He kissed her hard, clacking his teeth with hers, hoping he hurt her just the littlest bit. It was punishment for all those years she held the secret. All those wasted years they could have been together—experienced a different, better reality. All those years he longed for an unattainable girl. And here she was, on his counter, giving him her lips and her words and her heart and, just possibly, her future.
He longed to say it. His throat jammed with the words, inflating like voluminous Valentine’s Day balloons: I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!! What would she say? Do? It was much too soon. Just like his desire to see her naked and touch all the secret parts of her body. Too soon! But the words threatened to choke him, so he thrust his tongue in her mouth with urgency, hoping the sentiment would tumble out and slip soundlessly down her throat.
She twisted her fingers in his hair, damp with sweat, then moved them down the back of his head to his neck. She held him trapped to her face, matching his urgent kisses, knowing there would be plenty of time for the soft, sweet ones.
He pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. She knew he was thinking, and while she ached to know his thoughts, she respected his privacy. But not his body. He’d kissed her, so he belonged to her now. She lifted her index finger and traced his scar. Up and down and up again. Slow. Careful.
“How did this happen?” she asked softly.
Jeremy almost uttered the lie. It was habit after so many years. But he decided not to lie to her because he trusted her.
“My dad,” he whispered.
Regan cupped his face and forced him to look at her. “What?”
“My dad hit me.” He studied her frown, her concern. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”
“I can feel whatever I want,” she replied.
He smiled.
“Did he hit you just the one time?” she asked, knowing the answer.
He shook his head. “He’s an angry man.”
Regan said nothing.
“Took me a while to get out of that house, but I’m out.”
“Oh?”
He pointed to the ceiling. She looked up.
“I live in the apartment upstairs. Roy’s renting it to me.”
“Wow, I wish I had my own place,” Regan replied.
“No, you don’t.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to be out of my dad’s house, but it’s lonely sometimes. And I don’t really know how to cook all that well. Kind of feel like a kid forced to grow up real fast.”
“But you are a kid forced to grow up really fast,” Regan pointed out.
Jeremy bristled. “I’m nineteen.”
“Big deal,” Regan replied, and he laughed. She eyed him curiously. “You wanna learn how to cook?”
“Maybe.”
“You want me to teach you?” she asked.
“Up there?”
She nodded. “Mom says I can’t cook to save my life, but I know how to make the essentials.”
“Like?”
“Brownies. Cupcakes. Mac ‘n cheese. Cereal.”
He laughed. “I have the mac ‘n cheese and cereal under control.”
“Well, what about the baked goods? All right, so I can’t cook, but I sure as hell can bake. Would you like to bake together?” she asked.
“Well, I’m not allowed to have girls in the apartment,” he said, then rolled his eyes. So so stupid.
“But you’re a man,” she argued. “You’re nineteen.”
Jeremy snorted. “Yeah, well, Roy doesn’t see it that way. I guess he doesn’t want me having too much fun.”
Regan chuckled.
“You can come visit me there anyway,” he said after a moment. “We’re not teenagers if we’re not doing something wrong.”
Her giggles turned to full-on laughter. She glimpsed the large clock above the garage doors and sighed, hopping off the counter.
“Man, I gotta go.”
Jeremy nodded.