"Fuck it, right, buddy? I should just go over there?"
He lifts his nose and lets out three shrill, rolling barks.
Translation: Damn straight, dude. Why are you still here with me?
My dog is a genius.
I give his belly a rub and kiss his head. Then I grab my keys.
It's pouring rain outside and colder than a polar bear's cock, but that doesn't stop me from hopping in my Jeep and driving to Callie's parents'. The house is dark except for the front porch light that illuminates the evergreen wreath on the door. I wonder if Callie put it there with her pretty hands, and the thought makes me smile. I park at the curb, a little ways down the street so I don't wake her parents, and jog through the rain, across the lawn. I hop the chain-link fence into the backyard and slide up to Callie's bedroom window in the back. It's a route my feet remember well.
The pink-shaded lamp on her nightstand is on and she's turned away from the window, bent over, putting laundry away in her bottom dresser drawer.
And even though it's frigging freezing, the gorgeous view of her creamy, curvy ass peeking out of those tiny sleeping shorts is more than enough to warm me--from the crotch up. I tap the window with my knuckle, softly, so I don't scare her. But Callie still jumps, yanks a medal she got in tenth grade off the wall, and spins around, holding it over her head like a sling shot. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is round in a tight, surprised O.
Yep--makes me want to jam my cock in there--just to feel her gasp and hum around it.
When she realizes it's me her face collapses with relief, and she grabs at her chest. Her blond hair swings across her shoulders as she marches that tight little ass over to the window, slamming it open.
"You just took five years off my life! Are you nuts? What the hell are you doing here?"
I shrug. "I wanted to see you."
Callie's cheeks are flushed and her eyes are that bright, sparkling green--it's like she gets fucking prettier every time I see her.
"You would've seen me tomorrow morning."
"Nope, couldn't wait that long."
She moves back as I lift myself through her window--and shuts it behind me. Then I stand up, dripping on her cream carpet.
Callie pulls at my shirt. "Take this off. Your lips are turning blue."
Together, we lift it over my head and Callie gasps when she touches my icy chest. The sound goes straight to my dick.
"Garrett, you're freezing!"
I step closer, putting my arms around her, feeling all her sweet, soft warmth, nuzzling my nose with hers, wanting her so damn much.
"Warm me up, then, baby."
Her hands slide through my hair, down my neck, and across my shoulders, rubbing heat into my skin.
Her voice is husky. "My parents are in their room. We have to be quiet."
How many times has she said those words to me, in this room? A dozen times, maybe a hundred.
"I can be quiet," I remind her. "You're the screamer in the group."
I slide my hands up her rib cage, taking her pajama shirt with me, baring her pale, perfect breasts. If I went blind at this moment and those beauties were the last sight my eyes would ever see? I'd be good with that.
I walk us back until Callie's pressed up beside her door--wedged between the wall and my hard place.
I kiss her mouth, her neck, down between her tits, sinking to my knees in front of her. She plays with my wet hair as I pull those tiny shorts down her legs, revealing even teenier white bikini panties underneath. Fuck me, cotton on Callie is just as sexy as leather or lace--possibly sexier. I brush my nose against her cunt, over her panties, feeling her heat, getting dizzy--high--off the scent of her.
Then I slide those panties down her legs too--leaving her bare except for that neat, blond patch between her legs.
Callie looks down, watching me, her lids heavy and her chest panting.
I lift her leg and put it over my shoulder--opening her up for me. And then I lean in and lick her slow and firm and deliberate, just like I was thinking about . . . dreaming about all night. I stroke her with my tongue, up and down, unhurried, taking my time. I fucking love the taste of her. I love the smooth, soft, wet feel of her against my tongue. I love all her sounds, her breaths, every move she makes--especially when she's like this--hot and begging and squirming for my touch.
I go in for another lick--deeper this time, sliding between her plump, juicy lips. Fucking delicious. Callie's head lolls back against the wall, eyes rolling closed, moaning too loud above me.
I tsk at her, teasing, because I can be a real bastard sometimes.
"You have to be quiet, sweetheart." I flick Callie's clit with the tip of my tongue. "I'll have to stop if you're not quiet. Do you want me to have to stop?"
She whimpers, shaking her head.
I thrust my tongue inside her, fucking her with it, in and out, slow. Her hips lift in time with my tongue and she pants out hard, harsh, moany breaths.
"I can make you come like this, Callie," I tell her quietly, never taking my mouth from her perfect flesh. "Do you want me to make you come, baby?"
A high-pitched purr comes from the back of her throat.
I open my mouth and suck at her lips, dragging my tongue inside, licking every fucking inch of her like I own this pussy--like I own her. And some dark, possessive part of me wants to hear her say I do.
"Tell me you're mine."
I slip two fingers inside her, pumping and groaning at how hot and wet and perfectly snug she is.
"I'm yours, Garrett," She moans softly. "Oh God . . . I'm yours."
I lift Callie's leg higher, adding a third pumping finger and grazing her swollen, rigid little clit with my teeth.
"Always?" My voice is demanding, harsh.
Slowly, Callie opens her eyes and gazes down at me.
"Always," she whispers, touching my cheek, my jaw. "I've always been yours."
And I smile against her skin. "Good answer."
Then I give her what she needs, what we both want--I suck and feast on her, fucking her with my fingers and rubbing firm, constant circles on her clit with my tongue. She comes so hard, clamping down around me, her head against the wall, back arching, her mouth open, gasping silently.
When it's over, I kiss her thigh, her hip and stomach, reverently. I stand up and kiss her pouty mouth. She laughs against my lips, sounding a little silly, a lot satisfied.
The kiss deepens and she makes that purring sound in the back of her throat that drives me crazy. We turn together, like we're dancing, and fall on the mattress, nipping at each other, laughing because it feels so good.
Callie rises up on her knees, tugging my sweatpants down my legs. My cock springs up, thick and so ready.
"Your turn." She wiggles her eyebrows.
She crawls over me, ass in the air--so I smack it. Callie giggles, dips her head and licks her way up my dick like it's her favorite flavor Popsicle. She sucks at the head and pumps me with her hand--making my vision go fucking white behind my eyelids. She takes me in her mouth, nudging the back of her throat, and bobs her pretty head up and down--sloppy and sucking and so god damn good.
Nope . . . nope . . . too good.
I pull her up, under her arms, bringing her face up to mine.
"I don't want to come in your mouth tonight." I kiss her harshly. "I want to fuck you, baby." I kiss her again, lashing with my tongue. "Can I fuck you, Callie?" I want to pound into her, ride her pussy until she forgets her name and only knows mine. "Will you let me fuck you, baby?"
She moans, breathing hard.
And then she smiles.
"Well . . . since you asked so nicely."
I roll her under me. Her legs are spread and her sweet lips glisten with how much she wants me. And my cock is right there at her opening, ready to push and slide into all that slick tightness.
But I stop. Because my dick is bare . . . and we really need a condom. And because I wasn't exactly thinking with the brain above my shoulders, I le
ft my wallet in the Jeep.
"God damn it," I growl. "Do you have condoms?"
She shakes her head.
Going outside half-naked in the icy rain is going to be hard on my hard-on. But, in the end . . . worth it.
"I left my wallet in the Jeep." I press my lips to her forehead. "I'll be right back."
I go to move, but Callie holds my wrist.
"Or . . . or we could not use anything."
I freeze. Because this is a big deal for us. We were here before, a thousand years ago, when we were young and stupid and invincible. It didn't end well.
"Callie?"
"I'm on the pill, Garrett." Her eyes are big and vulnerable. It makes me shake with the need to protect her, from everything and for always. "And I trust you."
And suddenly, what was playful and dirty . . . becomes something different. Something more and meaningful, and loaded with more emotions than I can name.
Everything I feel for her is right there on my face. How much I want this, how I would die before I ever did anything to hurt her, how I need to know that she means it.
"Are you sure, Cal?"
"I want to . . ." she whispers, taking my hand and bringing it to her breast. "I want to be close to you like that again. Feel you . . . just you and me."
"It's only ever been you."
She smiles softly, understanding. "Me too."
Callie tugs on my arm and I cover her with my body. The slide of our skin is like the strike of a match, reigniting all that heat--making us burn even hotter. But there's gentleness now too.
I need her to know how much she means to me, want her to feel it with every move I make.
I cup her face in my hands, then I kiss her soft and I kiss her long. Callie's hips rise, gyrating, sliding her slick pussy all along my hard shaft--calling to me. I shift back, then drag the head of my cock to her opening. I watch her face as I nudge my hips forward, sinking all the way in, in one full push, until I'm buried to the hilt. Callie's mouth opens, gasping for air, and she clamps down all around me, clasping me inside her.
And the feel of her . . . Jesus . . . she's so snug around me, so wet and hot. I feel everything--every breath and beat of her heart. I flex my hips, shallow at first, then longer strokes, pulling almost all the way out, just so I can slide back in.
And it's so fucking good.
It's like I lose the ability to form sentences--there are only words, grunts, and gasps. Deeper, yes, harder and more . . . always more. There's only her gripping heat, my pounding hips, and our moaning, kissing lips.
I thrust faster, harsher, our bodies slapping--and Callie takes it all, clinging to my shoulders until she's going tight all around me. Squeezing and contracting--she comes whimpering my name against the shell of my ear. And that's all it takes to push me over. I stroke one last time and then I'm filling her, coming in thick, hot pulses, deep inside her.
We're silent for a few moments, just holding on to each other, quaking with the aftershocks.
Slowly, I lift my head, finding her eyes, reaching for the words so I can give them to her. "Callie, I . . . I--"
"I love you too, Garrett." Shiny tears rise in her eyes, making them glisten. "I never stopped. I think I'm going to love you forever."
I'm already nodding, kissing her. And my voice is thick with all that I feel for her. "I love you, Callie--I always have. Always."
Later, we lie quiet and content--I've set the alarm on my phone, so I can take off in a few hours, before morning. I'm just about to drift off when Callie scrapes her teeth along my shoulder. "Hey, you know what I was just thinking?"
I don't open my eyes. "How happy you are that I couldn't wait until tomorrow to see you?
"Yes, that's true." There's a lovely smile in her voice. "And you know what else?"
"What?"
"We should've gotten me a new bed years ago. So much more comfortable than the floor."
I chuckle. "God bless beds with springs that don't squeak."
Callie settles in against me, warm and languid, brushing a good-night kiss against my chest.
"Amen."
Chapter Seventeen
Callie
In December, the days seem to speed up--rolling, blurring, blending--into each other, a wonderful swirl of school, my parents, and Garrett.
Garrett.
We're going strong and steady--embedding ourselves into each other's lives with every passing day. It's exhilarating--fantastic--I love him, want him, think about him all the time. Some nights I dream of him--sultry, gliding dreams--where I swear I can feel the drag of his lips, the touch of his hand and the hot press of his body. And when I wake up, I get to see him--act out every decadent moment of those dreams.
I know we have to talk about what happens at the end of the year, but we don't--not yet. Right now we're just enjoying each other--reveling in this beautiful limbo of the now, with no regrets.
The kids really throw themselves into the show. And with my parents more mobile and on the mend, I have a little more time than I did at the start of the school year. I play music for the kids while we work on painting the sets--the soundtrack to Mamma Mia and another one of my forever favorites, Grease 2. I hear them talk to each other, but more, they talk to me--open up about their home lives, their friends, their dreams, their fears.
Layla's parents are having money problems and she's worried their furniture store will go out of business and they'll have to move. She couldn't handle being a new girl at a new school, where she doesn't know anyone. David's grandmother kicked him out of the house--he didn't have a real room there anyway, just the couch, he tells me, trying to play it off like it doesn't bother him, like it doesn't hurt. But his eyes tell a different story. He swears he's lucky--he has good friends who let him crash at their places--friends who treat him more like family than his own family ever did.
After the homecoming queen nomination prank, it was a rough few days for Simone--she shut down, withdrew, stopped participating. I took her aside one day in class and told her I was devastated for her, livid on her behalf. I told her I would give anything to body swap with a random seventeen-year-old girl--Freaky Friday style--so I could get back at every one of the little shit-bastard-assholes who was trying to make a joke out of her. And I think that conversation helped, because Simone told me she knew what she was going to do, that she was going to homecoming. I drove her to the Consignment Closet, in Hammitsburg, where we found a black lace and tulle dress that was beautiful and badass . . . just like her. Toby "Merman" Gessler escorted her onto the field the night of the homecoming game--and every one of my students was there with me, shouting and clapping and cheering her on. Simone didn't win the crown that night, but she won the respect of every student in Lakeside--even the ones who tried to break her.
These days, Simone is taking cosmetology classes at night, at the local Vo-tech, and she plans to take business classes there over the summer. She doesn't want to go to college, but hopes to work at and eventually own her own salon here in town when she graduates high school. Michael's older brother had to drop out of college to go to rehab--his second stint. His love-hate of heroin started right here in high school, because, at least according to my students, there's no drug they can't get within five minutes in this building. You just have to know who to ask, and apparently, the entire student body seems to know who those people are.
It's fascinating to me, how there's this whole other teenage universe that operates in the shadows of adult awareness. It's a school, but it's also its own society, with its own rules and rituals--a condensed, mirror reflection of the outside world.
~
One night, while I'm sleeping at Garrett's, we're awakened by the sound of screaming fire trucks and police cars. It's across town, but Lakeside is small enough that the commotion feels close--just a few miles away. Snoopy spins in circles and barks in panicked warning at the door. I call my parents, and Garrett calls his. It turns out there's a fire--at Baygrove Park--a big one. The park, the
swings, and the surrounding trees are reduced to ash. It doesn't spread to the nearby houses, but it's a close call.
By morning, everyone's heard the news . . . the fire wasn't an accident. It was set on purpose--someone in Lakeside is an arsonist.
Two days after the fire, I'm in the main office with Mrs. Cockaburrow, who is helping me make extra copies of the Little Shop of Horrors script for my class. The kids have school issued iPads, and the district has a Go Green policy, but for blocking and notes--only a hard copy script will really do.
"Thanks, Mrs. Cockaburrow," I say.
She smiles and shuffles back behind her desk, eyeing Miss McCarthy's closed office door the way researchers watch a volcano that's overdue for an eruption.
I walk back to the auditorium, just as the school police officer, John Tearney, is approaching the door. I remember John from high school--not fondly.
"John? What's going on?"
He pauses at the door, eyes raking over me, making me think of the medical shows my mother watches--the ones where patients always end up with some exotic worm crawling under their skins.
"Is David Burke in this class?"
I step in front of him, putting myself between him and the door.
"Yes. Why?"
"Gotta bring him in for questioning, about the fire."
My stomach turns to a lead ball in my abdomen.
"Are you arresting him?"
"Not yet. For now, I just want to question him."
I delve deep into my legal knowledge--most of which comes from watching Law & Order through the years.
"He's a minor . . . do you have his grandmother's permission to question him? She's his guardian."
Tearney's jaw twitches with annoyance. "What are you, his lawyer?"
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. "No. I'm his teacher. And David's in class right now, so you can't have him."
"This is a police investigation, Callie. Don't tell me who I can and can't have. Move out of the fucking way."
I don't move. I lean in.
"I know you. I remember you. I remember when you were a senior trying to slip roofies into freshman drinks at after-parties." I get right in his face, hissing like a momma cobra snake. "I know you."
His mouth twists and he leers down at me. "Wow. I guess you can take the girl out of Jersey, but you can't take the bitch out of the girl, huh."