Stolen Wishes (8 page)

“They match,” I whisper, taking in the
little penguins decorating the thin strip of white cotton between
her legs.

“William?”

I swallow. Hard. I just want to lean forward
and kiss her there. Open my mouth against the cotton. I want to
explore that sexy strip of skin where her inner thigh meets this
private piece of her, and then I want to slide my tongue under her
panties and taste her. “You’re so beautiful.”

I graze my fingers over her stomach and down
to her panties, my touch whisper soft as it reaches the apex of her
thighs. My patience is rewarded with her cry, so I keep my touch
light. “I want to make you come like this.” My voice is rough,
threaded with need.

She lifts her hips again, pressing into my
touch. Then she surprises me by sliding her hands to her hips and
pushing down her panties. “Please.”

“Oh, damn,” I murmur, but I peel off her
underwear.

She’s bare and exposed to me, and I can
hardly breathe. I want to spend hours looking at her, but I can
tell by the way she’s shifting under my gaze that she’s
uncomfortable with this. I draw my body up until I’m lying beside
her. She kisses me, and I’m lost in it for a moment. The sweetness
of her breath, the soft glide of her tongue.

My hand slides between her legs and I gasp,
swallowing her breath. I would give anything to know what it’s like
to feel myself inside her.

She shudders under my touch, and I
still.

“Are you scared?” I hate the thought.

“Yes.” She smiles at me and tangles her
fingers in my hair. “But not scared about this. I just… I think
sometimes I’m still afraid I’m going to lose you.”

“You have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

She closes her eyes.

“Is this okay?” I ask, circling that
sensitive spot between her legs.

“If you don’t mind.”

I press my face into her neck and groan.
“Why would I mind touching a piece of heaven?”

Cally

I want to touch him, make him feel like he
makes me feel, but I have no idea what I’m doing and—

“Let’s get you home, beautiful,” he says,
cutting off my thoughts. He gathers the plates, empties the
glasses, and wraps up the food, placing it all back into his
backpack.

I swallow back my disappointment. His
grandmother is hardcore about his curfew—unlike my parents, who act
like they’ve never heard the word. I fasten my bra and slide into
my shirt.

He walks me home, touching me the whole
time, like he’s afraid I might disappear. At the front door, he
kisses me softly. “Goodnight, Cally.”

“Goodnight. Thank you for tonight. It was
amazing.”

He looks down at me and grins. A blond curl
falls into his face. “You can say that again.”

As I watch him walk away, something nags at
me. In my dark house, I make my way to the shower. The nagging
remains as I undress and step under the hot spray of water.

I told him I was ready to move forward, to
do more, but I wasn’t. I mean, we physically did more together, but
I haven’t truly moved forward from my previous position, from my
fear that my worth to him would be tied up in giving him pleasure.
Until I touch him, the fear won’t release me from its grasp.

I dry myself off and hurry to my room with
my phone to send him a text.

I’m sorry I didn’t return the favor tonight.
I should have. I think I’m scared.

I send it before I can overthink it and
change my mind. I didn’t have to wait long for his reply.

I don’t want you doing anything that scares
you. Anyway, now I have something new to think about while I take
care of myself.

For a second, I’m not sure what he means by
that, but then I understand, and the realization of his meaning
causes something to stir in me. My nipples tighten. I never would
have imagined the idea of a guy doing
that
could turn me on,
but when I imagine William…

I hesitate, then type,
You…do that?
It’s not that I don’t believe it. He’s a guy with a girlfriend who
doesn’t put out. Of course he does
that.
But I don’t want to
change the subject. Not yet.

His reply comes fast.
Don’t you?

My stomach flips and my heart kicks up a
notch. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never talked about this with
a guy before. The girls joke about it, but this is different. I’m
careful with my reply.
I guess. When it’s necessary.

And when’s that?

I shift uncomfortably in my bed. If we keep
up this conversation, it’s going to be necessary very soon.
After a heavy makeout session sometimes. When I’m lying here
wishing I were brave enough to do more with you.

My heart pounds in my ears as I wait for his
reply.

Damn. I didn’t expect you’d actually tell
me.

My cheeks burn, but even embarrassed, I’m
not sorry I told him. I want more of this conversation. More of
him. So maybe next time he’s close to me, I’ll find the courage to
touch him in return.
Does it make you uncomfortable?
I type.
I like that idea—him shifting in his bed thinking about me like I
do him.

I grab my phone greedily when it buzzes with
a reply.
I want you twenty-four seven. I’m uncomfortable as
hell, and it’s worth every second.

Are you sure you’re okay with
waiting?
I type quickly.
Just until prom. Then I’ll be
ready.
As I hit send, I realize I want him to say no. I want
him to tell me he needs me now and doesn’t want to wait anymore. I
want him to show up at my window again, but this time I want him to
come inside.

But his reply is even better than that
fantasy. Because I know he means it.

I’d wait forever for you, Cally.

***

“What are you doing?”

Dad is packing books into a small suitcase
when I walk in the door after school. There are two more suitcases
at his feet.

“Cally.” He looks at me for a long time
before saying more. His face is sad, those dark eyes, so much like
mine, a little desperate. “One day, you’ll be older and you’ll
understand that sometimes we just have to do things, even if not
everyone in our life will understand or approve.”

“It’s true? You’re really going overseas?
You’re leaving us?” In the weeks since I’ve caught Mom packing,
she’s mentioned Vegas a few times, but never with any definitive
plans. I’ve let myself believe that and the half-packed house meant
the move wasn’t going to happen.

He doesn’t answer but drops his gaze to his
hands.

“You can’t do this.” My words sound panicky.
Wild. “She’s going to make us move, and that’s not fair. My life is
here. I don’t want to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” he says to the floor.

“Cally!” Drew’s voice comes from her bedroom
and she shuffles out and wraps her arms around my leg. “Come play
Barbies with me?”

“Daddy has to go now, Drew,” my father says,
nearly choking on the words. He squats to his haunches and opens
his arms for her.

Tears burn the back of my eyes.

Drew runs into his arms and wraps her arms
around his neck. “Bring me back something cool,” she demands. “And
maybe next time I can go with you.”

“Maybe,” he manages, but Drew seems
oblivious to his emotion.

Gabby toddles out from the bedroom next, and
Dad scoops her off the ground and nuzzles the side of her neck. She
squeals with delight.

“I’ll call,” he says. “And if you want to
move back here with me when I get home, let me know.”

Drew frowns. “Cally’s going to Las Vegas
with us. She can’t live here with you.”

“We’re not going to Las Vegas, Drew,” I
scold, as if it’s her fault my parents have lost their minds.

“Yes we are. We’re leaving at the end of the
month.”

My heart plummets, falling far past my
stomach, past the floorboards, and deep into the dark and fiery
part of the earth. “No.”

Mom wasn’t failing to say anything about the
move because she’d changed her mind. She wasn’t talking to me about
it because she didn’t want to argue. And waiting until the last
minute to pack the house? That’s just her M.O.

Drew’s eyes light up. “But you should come
to Las Vegas, Daddy! Mom says it’s a super fun place.”

She can’t comprehend the permanence of my
parents’ separation. Maybe it’s for the best.

“I need to get to the airport,” he says
quietly, settling Gabby to the floor and picking up his suitcases.
“You girls be good.”

He heads to his beat-up old hatchback, and
the girls rush to the window to wave at him as he goes. They don’t
understand. Or maybe he’s been absent enough in their lives that
they truly don’t care. I don’t know.

I watch his car back out of the driveway,
and I feel like he’s taking part of me with him. Not because I’m
that close to my father, but because he was my last chance to stay
here in New Hope. To stay with William.

“Have you packed yet?” Drew asks me. “Are
you excited? Do you think we’ll get to see the lights in Vegas? How
long will the drive take? Can I take my Barbies?”

Her questions nearly shatter me. Even if I
could talk my mother into letting me stay here without her, I know
I can’t do it. Mom’s just a couple of orange pill bottles away from
being an unfit mother. My sisters need me.

I can’t put it off anymore. I need to tell
Will.

The birds sing the whole walk to his house.
Their happy tune contrasts so painfully with the dull knife sawing
through my heart that I just want to close my eyes and listen until
their hopeful song fills my ears and my head.

Will’s car is in the driveway, and I don’t
ring the bell. I go to the back of the house and through the
mudroom door he keeps unlocked when he’s home. His grandmother is
in Indianapolis visiting her cousin this week, and he made it clear
I could come over any time I wanted. Made it clear that he’d like
me to stay over. Why haven’t I? What am I waiting for?

The mudroom leads to the kitchen, and I find
a banana peel and an empty cereal bowl, milk lining the bottom, on
the counter. He must have made a snack after getting home from
track conditioning.

I head to the front of the house and find
him on the couch, hair wet, bare from the waist up, and sleeping.
One hand is behind his head. The other rests on his abdomen, right
over that faint trail of hair that marks a path from his chest into
his sweatpants.

Between football and track and general
self-discipline, Will pushes his body hard, and he exhausts himself
in the weight room.

I approach the couch quietly and lower
myself to my knees on the floor beside him. He’d want me to wake
him up, but I want to look at him first, memorize the shape of his
chest and the flat of his stomach, the way his thick blond lashes
curl against his cheek, and the untamed curl of his hair.

Before I realize what I’m doing, my hands
are on him, tracing down his body, following that path of hair to
the waistband of his sleep pants. I’ve touched Will before. I’ve
given him massages, put my lips to the bare skin of his back,
kissed my way down his spine while my hands rubbed at his sore
muscles. I like massage. Despite the ugly things Mom has done to
her massage business, I admire the art of human touch. With
William, massage feels like this gift I can give him.

He shifts, and I lift his hand from his
belly and start to work my thumbs into his palm. I work my way up
to his forearm, and he moans appreciatively in his sleep. I stroke
his arm, kneading the shoulder and the bicep, keeping my touch
light and easy. When I finish his arm and he’s still sleeping, I
straddle him and start on his chest. His pecs are always so tight,
and he shifts under me when my fingers press into those
muscles.

I shift to catch my balance, and when I
settle back down, the hard length of his erection is settled right
between my legs. I draw in a breath at how good it feels and flick
my eyes back to his sleeping face.

I’ve wanted to touch him for so long now,
and I’ve been too self-conscious. This could be my last chance. I
could be leaving at the end of the month. Will wanted us to keep
seeing each other while he went away to college, but the nearly two
thousand miles between New Hope and Las Vegas is a far cry from the
few hours between here and Notre Dame. We’ll be lucky if we see
each other a couple of times a year.

The thought tears through me savagely, and I
swallow a sob. I’ll anesthetize the pain of the future with the
beauty of the moment.

I shift back and lower my head to his chest,
following the same path my fingers just took with my mouth and
kissing my way down that downy-soft hair on his belly. When I reach
his waistband, I lift my head to see him staring at me. His chest
rises and falls in a rhythm faster than his sleeping breath and his
blue eyes have gone smoky. I don’t say anything, just lower his
pants down his hips with a light tug.

He isn’t wearing underwear beneath his sleep
pants, and my breath catches at the sight of him. I’ve felt him
before—between my legs and through our clothes—but I’m still
surprised at his size. But it turns me on too. Seeing how aroused
he is. Knowing he’s watching me. That he wants this.

I put my hand around him, a little unsure
and awkward at first, but then he groans—long and low—and I’m
emboldened and tighten my hold. I lift my eyes to his face again as
I stroke him and he’s still watching me with heavy lids and parted
lips. The pleasure on his face is the most beautiful thing I’ve
ever seen.

I’ve been afraid of becoming my mother.
Afraid that sex with William would destroy everything. I
underestimated us.

“Jesus,” he hisses at the first touch of my
tongue. “Cally.”

I might not have done this before, but I’ve
read enough issues of
Cosmopolitan
to have an idea how it’s
supposed to go.