I piled the clothes into my arms and headed to the room.
Kaidan was watching TV on his bed. He didn’t look at me. I set his clothes on the dresser and packed mine back into my bag. I saw the red T-shirt in the bottom of my bag, the one he’d loaned me at his house. I went and placed it on his pile. I thought about what to do next. My book bag sat on the floor with all my summer reading for AP English that Patti had insisted I bring. I picked it up and lugged it to my bed.
“What are you getting into?” he asked.
I guessed he was going to act like nothing happened. Well, two could play that.
“English,” I said, tossing a book of American poetry and my notebook on the bed in front of me. Kaidan turned off the TV and came over, laying his long self across my bed, taking the book, and opening it.
The nerve.
And then it dawned on me painfully. Maybe he wasn’t pretending it was no big deal. Maybe it really wasn’t a big deal to him at all. And why would it be? Many girls, far more enticing than me, had no doubt asked him to commit, and he’d rejected each one. Why did I think I was any different? Because we shared a secret about our parents and some freaky senses?
I’ve heard the saying that you can’t miss what you never had. Only I did. The disappointment hurt.
I found an unoccupied corner at the top of my bed and sat with my legs crossed. My head was killing me. I pulled the braid over my shoulder and tugged off the rubber band. I untwined the strands of hair and ran my nails along my sore scalp. I combed my fingers through the deep waves made by the braid to get out any tangles. Kaidan made a strange guttural sound and then coughed. When I looked over he was staring hard at the book. His eyes moved over me and went back to the book again. What was his problem?
I felt pouty, and I was glad I knew how to hide my colors now. I opened my notebook with a dramatic whoosh and yanked out the top worksheet. The first question made me grumble.
“What’s the matter?” Kaidan asked.
“I can’t stand these kinds of questions. ‘What is the author’s opinion of death, as seen in lines eighteen to twenty-one?’ It’s a poem, for crying out loud! The beauty of poetry is that it can mean different things to different people at different times. But you know they’re expecting one specific, so-called correct answer, and any other thoughtful response will be counted off. It’s wrong to dissect poetry like this!”
I threw down the paper in heated passion and felt his hand cup my cheek. I hadn’t even noticed him sitting up during my tirade. My heart was already pumping hard when I turned my face to him. Kaidan’s eyes were on fire, and his sweet, earthy scent slammed my senses.
“Seriously,” I whispered, unable to look away. “You’re doing that bedroom-eyes thing again.”
We met halfway. His lips were as hot as his eyes, sending a shock wave through me. His tender mouth opened mine and I could sense the red of passion, like silk, circling us, pulling us closer. I was aware of a halfhearted battle within me, but I clambered nearer, pushing the notebook and papers to the floor.
His lips broke away from mine and moved greedily down my neck. A moan escaped me at the feel of his hot breath on my skin, and it was all the encouragement he needed. He was on top of me, and I was gripped by an unfamiliar hunger. I hushed the urgent whisper of my heart by grabbing his shirt and tugging it up until it was over his head, and his smooth brown skin was everywhere, emanating heat. He unbuttoned my shirt and I wiggled out of it. It was off, tossed to the floor with the notebook, and my tank top was over my head, in his hand, then soaring across the room. His lips were on mine again, our bare skin crushed together, but we still needed to be closer. He pulled his lips just far enough away to speak.
“What time will Patti be calling?”
I managed a glimpse at the clock, feeling his mouth on my collarbone.
“Not for an hour,” I whispered.
“That simply is not going to be enough time.”
In one smooth motion he flipped us so we were both sitting up, me across his lap with my legs wrapped around him. My hair brushed my skin, soft in contrast to the hardness of his hands. His perfect lips moved over my shoulders, pushing my bra straps down and nipping with just enough pressure. My head lolled back into his waiting hand. I pressed my hips against his and was rewarded when he groaned, flipping us again, so fluidly.
His mouth was on the small swell of skin peeking out from the top of my bra. My hands were in his thick hair. He kissed down my upper body to my belly button, keeping his hands under my back, concentrating on my skin. I was gasping for short breaths now, unable to control myself as his lips burned a trail down to the edge of my shorts. He flicked open the button and licked the sensitive skin there. I gasped, and he made a masculine growling sound at me before he spoke.