Perfectly Flawed (57 page)

It takes a few moments for me to realize that
we’re lying in his bed, practically spooning. He’s hands rub up and
down my arms softly, electrifying me as they move. Right now, we’re
in an intimate setting, anything could happen. Does he want
something to happen? Do
I
want something to happen? I do,
really, but if he wants to do something now, you know, before I
jump a plane to head over two thousand miles across the country,
I’m not sure how I’d feel about that. Wait.

I can’t do stuff, no, not yet. Clearly, from
the way he’s touching me—this could be considered
heavy
petting
, right?—he wants something to happen. Like, right now…
right here… on this bed.

Looking into his eyes, I see love, so much
love for me, that I quiet the argument warring in my head.

Maybe we should have
the
talk.

Although, I have no idea what
exactly
to talk about.

Time to wing it.

“Hey, Zeph,” I start when I move away,
putting some safe distance between us. I’m nervous with the things
bouncing in my brain, the worries about him and me and… the act of…
well, you know. “There’s one thing that we haven’t discussed since
we started, you know, dating,” I mutter quietly, feeling my cheeks
heat in a flush, the burn trailing down my neck.

“How you have great taste in guys?” Out comes
that cocky grin of his I both love and hate. “I think we’ve got
that covered.” His hand reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear,
his fingers lingering for the feel of my skin.

I lean away. His touch is too distracting. I
sit up on the edge of his bed, putting more distance between us,
even my back to him. “No, I mean, like…” I trail off, darting my
eyes around the room looking at random objects. Why does wanting to
talk about this embarrass me? It’s a natural thing between two
people in love.
It happens, Joey, just remember that
, I tell
myself.

The bed shifts and dips as Zephyr’s head
become more visible. I try not to look at him but I can never avoid
his face. His eyes narrow as he looks at me, trying to figure me
out. Shit, I knew this was a stupid thing to do. “I don’t…” Then
his eyes widen with understanding. That smile plays on his lips,
widening into a large grin. Sometimes, I
really
want to
smack it from his face. “Are you talking about
sex
?” he
nearly whispers, excitement and shock clear in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” I quietly admit, turning my
gaze to the poster on the wall—but I can’t focus on it—as I feel my
blush move further south, covering my torso. I bet I’m as red as a
cherry.

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me
closer to him, until I’m leaning against him. “And why do you want
to talk about sex?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Is he mocking me?

“Because, well…” I can’t talk about this,
damn it. It’s official, like very official, I’m not a teenager. Not
a normal teenager that can go around school talking about who slept
with who and how many times at whatever party over the weekend. If
I were to talk about… the, uh, act of coitus—I watch too much
The Big Bang Theory
—I may just run from the room before any
details are exchanged.

I may run now.

“Joey,” he starts, his voice sounding
serious. “Do you want to have sex?” he asks. There’s no hit of
humor in his words or his eyes.

“Well, not now,” I blurt out loudly, feeling
the blush run to my toes. I didn’t even know that was possible. I
clap my hands over my mouth as Zephyr starts laughing. “I mean, I
don’t know. Don’t you?” I ask quietly when I’m sure that my mouth
won’t betray me again by blabbing and confessing anything more.

“I’m a guy.” He sits up, facing me, laughing
lightly. “It’s genetically wired within me.” I
know
that,
dude. “And when I see you, I just want to lie in bed and do very
fun and naughty things with you.” I blush more while wondering who
says
naughty
anymore. “But I refuse to pressure you.”

“But, about…” I start, not really sure where
I want to go with this conversation. I’m not sure what I want to
tell him, or what I even want to say.

“Jo, from this,” he begins, gripping my hands
in his, forcing me to look at him, “I can tell that you’re not
ready for sex.” He may have a point there. “We can wait until we
are both ready and you can actually say the word
sex
.”

My mouth drops open, I’m offended… okay,
really. Or maybe I am. I think.
Ugh
. “I can say the word.” I
tell him, trying to defend myself. My blush grows hotter, meaning
that I’m the brightest of reds.

He raises his eyebrows. “But not in reference
to yourself.” He makes another great point, damn it. “Go on. Say
it.”

“Say what?” I ask sheepishly, casting my gaze
down to the comforter on his bed.

“Whatever you are trying to tell me,” he
says. “And you suck at this, by the way.”

But I relent and say, “Well, one day, in the
future, you know, with you.” Dear God, this is going horribly. “I
would like to have, um…”

Damn! I hate it when he’s right!

“
Sex
,” Zephyr finishes for me,
smirking.

“Yes, that,” I answer quickly. Zephyr starts
laughing. “This isn’t funny.” I whack him on the top of his head,
watching his shoulders shake as he laughs at me, makes fun of me.
Before too long, I can’t help it, either. I start giggling,
laughter erupting through my body. It’s funny and it feels good to
laugh with him. He is right, if I can’t say it then I probably
shouldn’t be doing it.

Ha, get it?

“Really, I should’ve taped this,” he mumbles
between bursts of laughter. “Because that was hilarious.” Does he
notice my embarrassment or is he ignoring it? His laughter finally
calms, his breathing slowly returning to normal before his gaze
settles on me, my face. “Look, I love you and I’ll wait forever if
I have to.” His hand starts to caress mine, his fingers lightly
gliding along my palm. The feeling of his touch is so light it
feels like a feather against my skin.

“Uh, you haven’t…?” What am I asking? Why the
hell did I start that? I don’t want to know. Wait, yes I do. No, no
I don’t. Shit.

Please say no! Please say no! Please say
no!

Zephyr looks down, avoiding my eyes.
Oh,
shit!
“I won’t go as far as to say that I
haven’t
…” he
trails out, taking a brief pause to figure out what to say,
“because it would be a lie.” My smile falls from my face. I’m not
mad, just a little sad. I always guessed but I was never sure. “But
I thought it was the thing to do at the time.” Don’t say who,
please don’t tell me who it was. I may just have to hunt her down
and punch her pretty face in. “It’s a stupid excuse, I know that,
but it happened.”

“So I won’t be your first,” I mutter sadly,
quietly letting the words leave my lips.

“You’ll be the first girl that I love,” he
whispers, leaning closer to me. “And when we do ma—”

I quickly clamp a hand over his mouth to
prevent the next word from leaving his lips. “I will say
sex
before I ever say that.” I pull my hand away from his mouth.

“What?” he asks. “Making lo—”

“Don’t even.” I squirm in front of him. “That
one just sounds
weird
and
old
, and I don’t know about
you, but I haven’t aged twenty years.”

That makes him laugh again. Why does he find
me I so funny right now? “You’re so adorable, you know that?”
Zephyr pulls me closer. It’s some place I want to be.

I beam up at him, grinning like a little kid
looking underneath the Christmas tree on Christmas morning. “I’ve
heard that from time to time, yes.”

“I should let you catch your plane.” But he
doesn’t release. After five minutes, I pry his unwilling arms from
around my waist and stand away from the bed to gain much needed
distance.

I turn to face my boyfriend. This will be the
last time I see him for two weeks. He stands up, following me the
five steps to his bedroom door. I turn, leaning against the door,
stalling my exit and wrap my arms around his neck while staring
into his beautiful eyes. “I love you,” I tell him.

“I love you, too.” He leans forward,
capturing my lips with his, kissing me deeply, passionately
claiming my lips one last time.

“And I will text you constantly.” I kiss him,
fighting the urge to just maneuver back to his bed. I don’t want to
leave him, not yet.

“I’ll ignore the time difference,” he
struggles to say against my lips.

If we keep this up, I’ll need a new flight to
Texas.

Nineteen

After a long flight, one I wish I could’ve slept
through or, if only to numb the pain from the annoying kid that sat
behind me who repeatedly kicked the back of my seat, drank through
just to calm the hell down. I hate flying. I mean
I hate this so
much; I would rather walk to Texas because this is scary shit to
do
type of hate. I guess that isn’t so much
hate
as
fucking terrified I will die, God forbid there be
turbulence
. Spending that amount of time defying gravity, and I
don’t mean in
Wicked
terms, I realize how much I love the
ground. There’s just something about a large, metal tube soaring
through the air that just doesn’t make sense to me, like, that is
not
kosher, people. If I were alive and hanging around
Orville and Wilbur back in 1905, I may have smacked them.

However, while I’m in the air, I try not to
curse the Wright Brothers for fear their spirits may send my
aircraft flying right to the ground, and I try not to think about
how something so large and heavy can soar through the air
effortlessly. I mean, has anyone noticed that humans were not meant
to fly. If we were meant to soar through the air, we would’ve
evolved from something with wings, growing our own wings as we
go.

As I walk through the terminal, I pray and
thank God for my safe flight, I thank him for the safe arrival.
Hilary laughs at me because I’m not quiet about it. I’m almost
screaming it with gusto at random passersby because I’m still
astonished by it, surprised with flight.

“There are my beautiful girls!”

I hear his voice before I can see him. The
crowd splits and I can see Grandpa standing with Grammy, both
grinning from ear to ear, holding a sign that reads
ARCHEMBAULT
. It was cool to do when I was under the age of
thirteen, now it’s cheesy, but I still love it.

I run toward them, selfishly leaving my
suitcase behind with my aunt, and throw my arms around my
grandfather’s neck, knocking the sign from his hands to the floor.
The scent of tobacco wafting from his shirt mixes with the scent of
fresh air, which never happens back home, and calms my nervous
stomach. I finally relax, feeling the tension leave my shoulders as
they slump to my sides.

“Popsicle!” I loudly cheer into his shirt as
his arms wrap around me, patting me on the back.

I then hug Grammy, smelling her floral
perfume as it floats from the fabric of her cotton t-shirt, and
wait for Hilary to catch up, taking my suitcase back from her. I
didn’t exactly mean to leave it behind, I was just caught up in the
moment of a family reunion.

My aunt hugs her parents, having to jump up
just to hug her father around the shoulder.

“I thought we’d see Patrick for Christmas?”
Grandpa asks my aunt when all the hugging ends and we’re standing
awkwardly in the airport, watching people pass by in cowboy hats.
Grandpa makes a show of looking around for anyone else that we may
be traveling with.

As cool as it would be, he can stop the
charade; there’s only the two of us.

“It’s a little too soon for Christmas trips
together, Dad,” Hilary tells him as he grabs her bag to wheel out
to the car. He reaches and tries to take my bag from me, but I swat
his hand away and trail behind, walking next to Grammy. We’re
eavesdropping on the conversation happening in front of us,
silently waiting to include our own two cents. “But he says
hello
.”

We arrive at the car, an SUV similar to
Hilary’s back in Washington, only in red, and I help Grandpa load
the bags into the trunk.

“I don’t think I told you this before,”
Grandpa begins, directing the comment to my aunt as she leans
against the side of the car, her attention on her father. He slams
the door to the back closed and I walk to the other side of the
car, aiming for the door, the seat, behind the passenger side, and
slide in, buckling up quickly. “But I like that boy,” Grandpa
finishes once he’s behind the wheel.

Soon, we’re on the road, heading toward the
farm that my aunt grew up on.

My grandparents, I once learned, met in
school back in Scotland. They both bonded over their similar goal
of one day living on a farm in the United States—an awkward and
random goal but they’re awkward and random people. My grandmother
would then get a full ride scholarship to Harvard, leaving my
grandfather back in their hometown before he could join her,
proposing to her on the day of her graduation.

It wasn’t too long before they could
officially move to Texas, and not long before they became
naturalized citizens.

“He’s a cool dude,” I tell Grandpa, leaning
forward to look into the front seat, smiling to him as he drives.
Hilary tugs me back by my jacket—safety first.

“Dude?” Grandpa questions, humor clear in his
voice. “None of that teenage slang, you hear?” I laugh, as does my
aunt. With the Scottish accent, it’s only funnier.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell them from the
backseat.

I’m so happy to be back in Texas, so happy to
be surrounded by my family again. This is how life should be—filled
with the people you love, the people who won’t judge your decision
to booze it up on a long flight, the people who won’t whine when
you can’t stop complaining about random things. I only wish that
Zephyr could be here with me.