Intermission (17 page)

When I reach her private corner, I squat next to her and slap the jewel case against my palm. “Here, play this.”

Her head snaps to meet mine and the deep saturation of her eyes nearly knock me forward. They’re the color of the ocean--not really blue, but definitely not green--soothing yet playful. Her red lips curl into a feline smile as she looks me over, spending a little extra time on my mouth. The freckles along her face highlight her round cheek bones and studded nose ring. I follow the curve of her neck to the small tattoo of a compass rose hidden under her braid. She’s Dylan’s girlfriend.

“Ah, the Toadies – I’ve heard of them.” She opens the case and lifts the CD. “You don’t like my current playlist?”

“I do,” I say as I position myself against the wall. I stretch out my legs, brushing them against her ass and practically closing us off in our own private corner.

“Do I know you?” She asks while removing the Beastie Boys and placing
Rubberneck
in the player. She shifts her body slightly to face me, but all I notice is her Nirvana t-shirt, stretched tightly across her huge tits.

“Not yet.” I lean over her to adjust the bass, touching her thigh in the process.

Her cheeks blush as she tilts her head. “I – I like them. The Toadies.”

“They opened for the Chili Peppers in Buffalo – they’re pretty intense. The bassist is a chick,” I add.

“No shit?” She smiles. “What’s this song about?”

I’ve heard different theories about the story behind
Possum Kingdom
– ranging from a serial killer to vampires hiding around a lake in Texas – but at its core, it’s a song of seduction. “I don’t know – a lake, a boathouse, forbidden sex? But that’s what’s cool about music, misinterpretations make better stories.”

“Hmm, I’ve never thought of it that way.”

Of course she hasn’t – I just told her.

“Lyrics are screwed up all the time. Think about
It’s the End of the World
– everyone knows the chorus and LEONARD BERNSTEIN, but the verses are whatever you perceive them to be at that moment.”

She laughs adorably and leans into me. “That’s true! My cousin and I are always arguing over the words.”

“But it doesn’t make you like R.E.M. any less.” I place my hand on my leg to discreetly touch her arm. She leans in closer, her body welcoming my suggestions. “And this song,
Possum Kingdom
, the words become immediately irrelevant on that first guitar riff – and the tension continues to build with the pounding bass. Added to the fact that the bassist is a chick . . . this song is fucking hot.”

She raises her eyebrows slightly – then smiles.

“Do you live around here? I can’t believe we’ve never hung out.”

“I’m from New York. My buddies and I drove up for the party.”

“But isn’t it like the Fourth or something?” She looks confused and intrigued, but I never answer more than what’s necessary.

“It’s the Fourth.” I laugh.

She inches closer, bracing herself on her hand. My knee jerks toward her arm, brushing her soft skin and giving her goose bumps.

“Are you going to university?”

“Yep, I’m playing soccer for Penn State.”

Her smile changes to a flirtatious smirk as her hand skims the bottom of my shorts. “You don’t ask a lot of questions. Usually guys ask a million stupid questions because they think girls like to talk,” she banters.

I don’t need to ask her anything – whatever I haven’t figured out will be a genuine surprise. And for once, I’d like to be wrong.

“I only have one.”

“Then ask it,” she says.

“What else is pierced?”

And that did it.

She parts her lips to speak, but then moves her hand to her stomach. I keep my eyes locked on hers as she slightly lifts her shirt. But I don’t look – I know it’s a belly button ring, but I focus on her face. Eighteen-year-old boys do not possess self-control, and what I’m doing right now, is blowing her mind.

I jerk my body off the wall and dig in my shorts for my beeper. She watches me glance at the
invisible
number and I let out a sigh. “Hey, is there some place private I can make a phone call – like really quiet? It’s my mom, and if she finds out I’m in Canada, well, she’ll make my life a living hell,” I say calmly.

“Oh! Oh. Um, well . . . yes,” she whispers. “Here, I have a key to the guestroom. It’s next to the bathroom – Dylan and I put all the valuable things in there before the party. Shit, can I trust you?” She teases.

I take the key from her hand, stroking her palm in the exchange. “How about you keep the Toadies for collateral?” I rise from the floor and smile down at her. Damn, she looks amazing in that position – shit, and my dick likes it, too.

“Deal,” she mouths.

I make my way past the pool table, across the living room where I give Tango a
’sup
, through the foyer with the guarded bowl of car keys and a sharp left to the infamous guest room. There’s a line forming at the bathroom, so I keep my head down and walk directly toward the only other door.

At first the key doesn’t fit correctly in the doorknob, and the smallest spur of nervous excitement rushes through me. But then it opens. I close the door behind me and decide not to lock it – she won’t be long.

The room is on the small side, with a desk and a sofa bed occupying most of the space. Like she said, everything of any value is stacked along a wall of bookcases filled to capacity with vinyl records. I turn on the small lamp and open the top drawer of the desk: calculator, magnifying glass, paperclips and Valium.

I sit down on the couch just as the door opens. She closes and locks it behind her then slowly walks toward me. Her body is amazing – big boobs, small waist and the confidence of a woman. I open my legs further, inviting her to join me. She stops between my legs and places her hand on my head. My hands grab her hips and I lift her shirt with my mouth, taking my time to lick around her belly button and flicking her piercing with my tongue. She drops something near my foot, so I kick it out of the way while biting her waist.

“Did you make your phone call?” She murmurs.

“No,” I say into her stomach.

I lift up her skirt and slide my hand down the outside of her panties. They’re moist and I know she doesn’t get this turned on by her dick of a boyfriend. I glance up at her and her eyes are closed tightly. “Hey,” I say. “Look at me.” I stand to address her, and she presses her chest against me. My hands squeeze her arms until she opens her eyes. Her lips part and I kiss her – soft at first, then deep and forceful.

She tugs at my shorts then quickly clenches the fabric of her shirt. Our lips part as she lifts the t-shirt over her head. I watch her as she unhooks her black bra and drops it to the floor. Goddamn her tits are perfect – full and perky. “No,” I shake my head. “We’re doing this my way.” Having sex with another guy’s girl is not my thing – that’s best suited for assholes that need instant gratification. But having sex with a girl that truly needs it despite her relationship, well that’s just awesome.

I push her to the desk with my hips, my hands cupping her breasts and my tongue licking her neck. She bumps into the hard edge and I quickly plant my hand on the surface to break our fall. My hips pin her against the edge, my cock restrained beneath layers of fabric, but still making enough contact to cause her to moan.

“Tell me what you want,” she hums.

My hands trail slowly up her side, sending chills through her body. She quivers as I clamp her nipples between my fingers, tugging gently. I can feel her heart pulsating beneath my palm and her shallow breathing penetrating my neck. She closes her eyes again so I place my hand on her chin and pull down her lip.

“Open your eyes,” I snarl. She complies.

My thumb parts her lips and I kiss her, slowly and methodically. I want her to feel new sensations and I want her to watch. My shirt is slowly lifted over my head, and I let her – I like when she responds to urges.

I take a step back and toss my shirt to the floor. She unbuttons her skirt and shimmies it to her feet, carefully stepping out of it and then flinging it toward the couch. Her black cotton panties are simple but hot as fuck and I want to slide my hand in there—

“Take your fucking shorts off,” she commands.

Shit. She’s amazing.

“I’ll take them off when you finger your pussy,” I retort.

She wiggles onto the desk and smiles. I cross my arms and shake my head. She opens her legs and blows me a kiss. I sigh in dissatisfaction. She glides her hand down her stomach and into the black cotton. I remove my shorts.

“Now let me see your dick,” she says.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” I reply.

She spreads her legs further and removes her hand, slowly taking it to her nipple. I shrug my shoulders. She pinches her nipple and smiles in delight. I start to reach down for my shorts. She thrusts two fingers in her mouth and sucks dramatically. I lower my boxers.

“Holy shit! Fuck me,” she says.

“Suck me,” I demand.

She throws back her head in laughter then hops off the desk. Her mouth curls into a lustful pout as she walks toward me – but our dynamic is playful and I’m allowing her to surprise me. She pauses to lower her panties and I laugh at my involuntary weakness – I would let her do anything.

She lowers her head and strokes my cock. Her other hand brings my palm to her stomach, guiding it slowly toward her pussy. She looks up at me, her eyes wildly green and hungry while I slide two fingers inside her folds.

“What’s your name?” She asks.

Her hand leaves my cock and rests delicately on my hip. I can feel her tracing my scar so I thrust my fingers in deeper and watch her shudder in pleasure.

“Adam,” I say as something crashes outside the room. Her head whips toward the door at the sound of screaming and cheering further down the hall.

Oh shit! Fight!

The cops!

Where’s my bong?

Who’s that?

“Oh fuck, what’s going on?” She quickly puts on her panties and skirt and fidgets with her bra strap. I pull up my boxers and pick up my shorts then help her clasp the hooks of her bra.

“We should stay here,” I suggest.

I zip my shorts and grab my t-shirt – she frantically looks for her shirt. “I can’t! This is my house – I’m responsible for that shit out there.”

I toss her the shirt and sit on the couch to put on my sneakers. “I thought this was Dylan’s house,” I say.

“Yeah. Dylan is my little brother – do you have everything?” She looks confused and flustered but not as baffled as I’m feeling.

I was wrong.

She opens the door and looks back at me. “Sorry,” she says as she runs toward the living room. I follow behind her and immediately get pushed into a pile of angry, wrestling drunks.

Knuckles slam against my stomach and my reflexes force me to pound someone’s face. Blood splatters onto my shirt and I’m pretty confident I broke the fucker’s nose. My stomach is throbbing, but I’m able to grab onto chair and stand myself up . . . only to be kicked in the back by a combat boot.

“Cops!” Someone screams.

“Scatter!” I yell.

I limp toward the front door, using my upper body to block all the assholes in my way. I elbow one guy in the neck and then dart past the mob of screaming girls. Tango is fifty yards in front of me, hanging onto his shorts and waddling to the car. There’s no sign of Jeff, but he knows where we parked and I have yet to see an actual police car.

When I reach the car, Tango scurries to the bushes with his pants around his knees and hurls. I lean against the driver’s door and wait for him to finish.

“Yo, man, that Gold Schlager was ripe. I think E.T. curled up in my stomach and died.”

“Tango, you dumbass, get in the car!” I laugh.

“Shotgun,” he yells. He runs around to the other side and jumps in the front seat. I look down the sidewalk toward the house and there’s still no sign of Jeff.

“Hey,” I say opening my door. “What happened in there?”

“It was wicked dope – our man Jeff beat the shit out of some guy that was roughin’ up a girl.”

“No shit? Alright, you stay here – I’m going back to look for him. And if you’re going to blow chunks, open the goddamn door.”

I make my way back to the house, passing stoned stragglers without a care in the world and a group of girls puking on the curb – victims of the tainted Gold Schlager nonetheless. When I reach the house, Jeff is hunkered on the porch with a bag of ice taped to his hand and blood dripping from his knee.

“Yo, Jeff!”

He raises his head and smiles proudly. “Ad-am,” he stammers, lowering his head again.

“Here, I got you another bag of ice.” Her bare feet slap against the brick steps as she hands the bag to Jeff. I clear my throat and she glares at me.

I smile. She smiles

She winks. I wink.

And that’s that. My first taste of the unexpected returns to her house never to be seen again. A perceptive mistake – a misinterpretation. And it will forever be the moment that began my pursuit to find the girl that makes me smile.

“C’mon man, let’s get you home.” I wrap my arms underneath Jeff’s pits and lift him from the stairs. He hangs on to my waist as we stumble down the sidewalk to the only car with New York plates.

12:45 a.m.

“Jeff, that was awesome, bro,” Tango shouts while punching the air. “Buffalo boys be representin’! Ah shit, let’s get some food! Taco Bell – pintos and cheese,” he sings.

“I don’t want Taco Bell,” Jeff finally says. “We have to go to Tim Horton’s. They have the best donuts!”

“I agree with Jeff – and I’m driving. Hockey player’s donuts it is.”

We drive a few miles into the actual city and find a shopping center with a Tim Horton’s. Dad used to drive across the border when I was kid to bring me and my kid brother donuts for our birthdays. It was a treat. Not the donuts – a dad that cared so much.

“Yo, Adam – where were you all night?” Jeff leans forward between the driver and passenger seats and stares at my profile.