Contest entry for the P.S. I Love You Contest
Title: luv
Pairing: Bella/Edward
Rating: M
Word count: 8,197
Summary: 1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. 2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection. 3. the feelings I have for you.
DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.
luv
...
Walking to school never gets easier. Rain or shine, my hair always looks like it's been blown to hell and back by the time I make it through the doors.
Today's no different.
Shaking out my umbrella, I try to calm the frizz, leaving a trail of raindrops down the hallway. Normally I've got a handy scrunchy tying up my oversized shirt in the front, but today I'm wearing my favorite pair of overalls, one strap unclipped, and a thin red sweater tucked neatly underneath. My sneakers squeak and squish. I cringe from the feeling of my wet slouch socks as well as the familiar pair of worn converse and platform Mary Janes that come into view.
Looking up, I find what I always find every morning. Masen Edwards and Tonya Sanders making out against my locker.
Rolling my eyes, I lean all my weight onto one foot and clear my throat.
It's not enough that these two are pretty and seemingly perfect in every way. Her with her blonde hair and blue eyes. Him with his burnt brown hair and green eyes. They clash but they don't. They don't work but they do. Whatever.
They're the sweethearts of the class of '97. Have been together since before I started high school. Cliché or not, they rule over this place. Over everything, really. But not me, just my personal space.
"Oh. Hi, Bella." Tonya giggles after she finally breaks the suction on Masen's face.
I give her a tight smile. "Hey."
She giggles some more into the big T on Masen's letterman jacket. I give him an unamused look, and he lightly pushes her away with a smile all his own.
"Sorry, Swan. We still on after school?" he asks, like I haven't been tutoring him the same two days out of the week for the better half of the school year. It's rewarding to see he remains a lost cause after all this time. I'm pretty sure all he knows how to do is kiss—I'm assuming, of course—and throw a football.
"It is Monday."
He nods. "Cool."
I give him a look as if to say yeah, it is, now move out of my way. He wraps an arm around Tonya's shoulders and leads her down the hall, leaving me with no time to grab my books before the bell rings.
When I finally make it to first period, I have to bust up the PDA posse once again.
This time I don't even bother with the niceties. I break their hands apart with my thigh on my way to the back of the classroom, where I plop down beside Angela, my quite chaste, somewhat best friend. She's a breath of fresh air.
"Degrading, isn't it?" She doesn't bother lowering her voice as she eyeballs Masen and Tonya's re-conjoined hands. "The way they paw all over each other? All day. Everywhere." She shakes her head in disgust. "It's a travesty on the public school system."
It's no secret how Angela feels on the subject of premarital sex and the like. Hand holding is the devil's hug. Or so her mother always tells us. She doesn't condone such actions.
My mother, on the other hand, always encourages them.
Needless to say, Angela's mom has no idea we still hang out anymore. And by hang out, I mean we sometimes talk to each other in class or on the phone or in the hallway.
Mrs. Collins snaps her fingers to get the attention of the class. I turn to the assigned page and try to read along without glancing up toward the front.
Not that I care, but the hand holding is a bit distracting. Just how their fingers tangle. And the way Tonya's thumb runs back and forth over Masen's.
Before I know it, Angela's shaking my shoulder to let me know class is over, and I've missed the entire lesson worrying over something I don't even care about.
By the time lunch rolls around, my arms are killing me from carrying my books all day and I'm seriously considering changing my last name to Dwyer, my stepfather's last name, just so I can move lockers.
"Why are you lugging all your books around?" Jake asks as I drop them on the table and sink into the seat beside him. He's channeling Kurt Cobain today, with his bleached hair and ripped jeans. At least he's given up on the skids.
"Don't ask."
"Okay." He easily drops the subject by shoving a piece of his pizza in his mouth and offers me a bite as he chews.
I brush him off with a disgusted look and wave of my hand, looking in the opposite direction and directly into a pair of curious green eyes.
Surrounded by his friends, Masen motions between me and Jake as if to ask if we're together.
I scrunch up my face then look back over at Jake and the greasy string of cheese plastered to his chin.
My stomach rolls.
Not because Jake is bad looking. He's cute in his own way with his previously dark hair and equally dark eyes. In ten years he'll be the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome as long as he ditches the heavy highlights. But right now, he's just a freshman. A little too short and a lot too pudgy from the baby fat. Oh, and pizza.
I resist turning back to feed into Masen's teasing. He knows I don't have a boyfriend. Never have. And I damn myself every day for ever telling him that.
Jake hands me his apple, and I take a big bite, ignoring the fact that I can still feel Masen's eyes on the side of my face.
When lunch ends, Jake offers to take the books I don't need back to my locker. I let him, happy to not have to lug around the extra weight the rest of the day.
It goes by quickly, finally wrapping up with a painfully shameful game of dodgeball in P. E.
By the time I meet up with Masen in the library, my long, frizzed-out brown hair's in a ponytail, courtesy of the yellow scrunchy Jessica Stanley left behind. I'm sweating bullets and remind myself not to try so hard next time.
Masen quietly watches me set up for our session. I can feel his eyes on me like I did in the lunchroom. I do a quick shoulder swipe on the side of my face, suddenly very self-conscious of how I must look. Red sweater and a yellow scrunchy. Probably like I've been sweating over the grill at McDonald's or something. After a couple hand sweeps and a discreet booger check, I glance over to find him staring at the top of my head.
"What?" I ask.
"I like your hair better down."
I stop what I'm doing, ready to ask if taking my hair down is another one of his conditions for his cooperation. But I don't say anything. Instead turn back to situating my papers.
He shifts in his seat. "You wanna go someplace else and do this?"
"What's wrong with this place?" We always study here and he's never had a problem with it before.
"Nothing. It's just not very comfortable. My ass falls asleep before I do." I see him wiggle around in his chair out of the corner of my eye.
"Where do you suggest we go?"
"I don't know. Your house, maybe?"
"You want to go to my house?" I ask, looking over at him again. I rest my sweaty palms on the table. "Why?"
"Why not?" He shrugs and leans back in his chair, teetering on the hind legs, all cool and collected. Probably not sweating at all.
All the why-nots run through my head, but I don't say them aloud. They heat my insides and I douse them with a dose of reality. Not to mention, my dad would kill me.
"I could give you a ride home, for one. You wouldn't have to walk in the rain."
"How do you know I walk?"
"Don't you?"
"Well, yeah. But—"
"So, you want to walk home in the rain?"
"No. But—"
"Then it's settled. We study in your room and you don't get wet. From the rain," he adds with a slightly embarrassed smile on his face.
Before I have time to argue, he's collected all my books and is heading for the parking lot. I have no choice but to follow.
Masen surprises me by being a total gentleman, opening up my door before dumping my books in the backseat. I climb into a leather-covered cloud of his cologne.
I've smelled it before but never at this capacity. It does things to my belly that are next to impossible to ignore. But I try my hardest.
"What kind of car is this?" I ask when he climbs in beside me, forcing more of his annoyingly pleasant scent up my nose.
"Gremlin. Got it from my dad. We rebuilt the engine together." He turns the ignition and it turns over a couple times before finally starting.
He returns my amusement with a look to shut up and I hold in a laugh, grabbing hold of the door handle when the car jerks to life.
It's a less than five-minute ride to my house but it feels like forever sitting next to the star quarterback in complete silence.
We're friendly, but we're not exactly friends. I doubt he knew I even existed before being forced into an empty library with me on a biweekly basis.
Before I can tell him which house is mine, he's pulling in my driveway.
"Don't read too much into it. Everyone knows where Chief Swan lives," he tells me before getting out and collecting the books from the back.
I hadn't read too much into it until he pointed it out. Now I can't stop reading too much into it. Huffing at my own internal rambling, I rush up the stairs and unlock the door, leaving it open for him to run in behind me.
I lock the deadbolt like Charlie always tells me to.
"My room's upstairs," I say, leading a boy up the stairs like Charlie always tells me not to.
My stomach is in knots as soon as he walks through my bedroom door and throws down the books. They send a wave rippling across the bed.
"You got a waterbed? Nice." He jumps up on it beside the books and lies back. Closing his eyes, he stretches his arms behind his head.
"Make yourself comfortable," I say, feeling all but. How can I when Masen Edwards' scent is lingering in my nose and his entire body has taken over my bed?
Masen peeks at me out of one eye. "Thank you, I will. Now, why don't you, and we can get started?"
I look around the room before deciding the beanbag in the far corner is the safest spot.
"No, up here." Masen stops me, insisting I lounge with him on my bed. "I have the books. How are we gonna study with you all the way over there?"
At a loss and needing him to get out before my dad gets home, I climb up on the other side of the bed and start gathering the books. Masen stops me again by grabbing my wrist.
"Not so fast. You owe me something first." He lets go but my wrist still tingles. "Now, lay back. Like this." He lies back down in the position he was in.
I follow suit, resting my hands over my stomach instead of behind my head, too afraid my sweater will ride up if I do.
We lie there in silence, both of us staring at the ceiling before he starts. "Your mom's in Arizona, right?"
"Mm-hm, Phoenix."
"Was it nice there?"
"Depends on what you think is nice, I guess."
"What does that mean?"
"It was hot. So, if you like sweating then it's nice."
"So, you don't wish you'd stayed with her? You'd rather be stuck in the cold and rain?"
"I prefer the rain," I tell him, picking at a loose string on my shirt. "I like to cover up. Would chose my flannel over a swimsuit any day." Sitting up, I reach for the books. "Now, can we please get this over with?"
With a groan, Masen begrudgingly concedes, sitting up as well.
One bowl of chips, a soda, two bathroom breaks, and a wealth of personal information later, he's had his fill and finally leaves. His taillights disappear around the corner just as my dad's headlights light up the gravel driveway.
I let out a sigh of relief and head downstairs to warm up some leftovers from the night before.
The extent of our conversation is how each other's day went and a thank you for the lukewarm meal.
As Dad retreats to the living room with a beer to stare at the TV, I head back upstairs to get ready for bed.
My room still smells like Masen even though he left well over an hour ago. I let myself enjoy it since he's not here and shove my nose into the pillow he was lying on before collecting up all the books.
When I reach for the last one, a piece of paper falls out of the stack. Looking closer, I notice it's been torn out of a dictionary.
Love (luv), n., v., 1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. 2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection.
The last part is written in.
3. the feelings I have for you.
…
The next morning is the same as any other, except for the fact that Masen's Gremlin is idling in my driveway.
"What's that boy doing here?" my dad asks in an accusatory tone, bending down to look out the window with me.
I shrug. "You got me. Maybe he wants to confess to something."
We stand up straight at the same time and look at each other a moment before he gestures for me to get out of there.
Pulling on my favorite flannel, I gather up all the books on the coffee table and head outside.
I stop by Masen's passenger side window and he leans over to roll it down.
"Morning," he greets with a smile I don't return.
"What are you doing here?"
His smile widens, and he chuckles to himself before leaning over farther to pop the door open. "Just get in. I'd feel like an ass if I let you lug all those books around town. You look ridiculous by the way."
He gestures for me to get in and I do, balancing the books on my lap while simultaneously trying to buckle my seatbelt.
Frustrated with me, Masen takes the buckle from my hand and snaps it in place. The back of his fingers graze the bare skin where my shirt has bunched, causing the same uncomfortable feeling I once got when I accidentally found and played one of my parents' "special tapes."
Squeezing my thighs together, I go to pull down the fabric, yanking my hand back when I touch his.
I glance in his direction out of the corner of my eye and he shifts into gear, seemingly unaffected by the nothing that just took place between us.
Of course it's nothing. What else would it be?
Any awkwardness is replaced with worry when Masen guns it backward out of the driveway and the books threaten to fly off my lap.
I hold on tighter, hoping my grimace doesn't look like a cheeky grin when Dad steps outside, and we take off at a reckless thirty-five miles per hour.
I'm finally able to collect myself when we stop at the one red light in the middle of town.
"So, where's Tonya?"
"Sick." He doesn't elaborate.
"What kind of sick?" I ask, wondering if I need to Lysol my room.
He shrugs. "I don't know. Didn't ask. She's probably just going shopping."
For his sake, I hope so, seeing as he was just tongue deep in that gunk yesterday.
I give him a disgusted look and shake my head.
"What?"
"You just amaze me is all."
"And what about me amazes you? Besides the obvious?"
I roll my eyes. "Your girlfriend says she's sick, and you don't even care."
"I care."
"Do you?"
"Sure."
"Okay. Well, did you tell her you hope she feels better?"
"No."
"Ask her if she needed anything?"
"No. Why would I? It's not like I'm sick. I don't get to stay home from school."
He has me there. "Well, are you at least going to take her some chicken noodle soup after?"
He doesn't answer as we pull in the school parking lot.
I hunker down in my seat when he jumps out and jogs to the passenger side to open my door. He reaches in, and I swat his hand away. "What are you doing?"
"What's it look like?" He reaches for the books and I swat him away again, this time actually making contact.
"You have a girlfriend."
"So?"
"So, people will see."
He rolls his eyes and grabs the books off my lap anyway, practically dragging me out of the car by my collar. "Come on. You're gonna make us late."
I follow a few steps behind him to look like we're not walking into the building together. We stop by my locker, and he shoves my books inside, all but my English book, and starts heading for class.
"I think I can handle it from here, thank you," I say, trying to get my book back, but he switches hands, holding it above his head.
Our chests bump when I try to snatch it. He grabs me by the waist and pulls me close before I go flying back and land on my ass.
I'm on the cusp of a full-blown panic attack when he holds me there for what feels like forever. He's warm and it makes me warm in all the wrong places. Wrong because we shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be touching me. I shouldn't want him to.
"Do you give in yet?" he asks, letting me go when I give him a nod.
I stay back and let him walk into class ahead of me, waiting until the bell rings before heading to the back of the room. I snatch the book from his hand when I walk by, thanking God Tonya's out sick. Or shopping or whatever.
Angela looks over at me as if to ask why Masen Edwards carried my book into class. I shake my head and face forward to turn to the assigned reading, refusing to look up until the bell rings again and I'm sure everyone's cleared out.
When I finally do look up, I'm alone. And still warm all over.
…
The time comes that I've been dreading all day.
Lunch.
Jake is sitting at our normal table, a plateful of chicken fingers piled up in front of him.
I watch him for a moment before heading over and taking a seat. He looks up from his favorite food long enough to acknowledge my presence.
"No books today?" he asks. I wonder if that's how he snuck in his little note before. When he carried my books back to my locker for me.
"Yeah, no." I'm at a loss for words. I knew Jake had a crush on me when we were kids, but I was under the impression he'd gotten over it.
We sit there for a moment. Him oblivious. Me watching him dip and sip.
I catch Masen's eye when Jake reaches for another chicken strip, then again when he sticks it in his mouth.
My body flushes again.
Reaching for the apple on Jake's tray, I look away and take a bite, pondering how I'm going to approach this. I'm down to the core when I finally figure out what I'm going to say.
"Jake, we're friends, right?"
He creases his brow. "Yeah. Since we were in diapers. Why?"
"And we'll always be friends. No matter what?"
"I'd like to think so, yeah."
I nod, and he gives me a confused look.
"Why are you asking? Are you feeling okay?" He goes to feel my forehead with the back of his hand, and I lean away just as the bell rings.
I do my best to avoid Jake and Masen the rest of the afternoon until the day ends and I hide out in the library, finishing my homework.
The door squeaks when it swings open. I smell him before he even makes it to the table.
"Can I help you?" I ask, jotting down a few notes for Friday's English test.
"I was just wondering if you wanted a ride home."
I flip the page. "No, I'm good."
"Yeah, I figured you'd say that." Instead of leaving, he sits down at the table across from me.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
I hold back a sigh. "Studying. What are you doing?"
I look up to find him staring at the mess between us. His eyes meet mine, and I look back down.
The longer we sit in silence, the antsier I get, trying and failing to concentrate on my school work.
I'm usually done by now but at this rate I'll never finish.
"Are you just going to sit there and stare at me?"
"Maybe."
There's a seriousness to his voice I've never heard before. Dropping my pencil, I look up.
His appraising eyes meet my angry ones in a staring contest neither one of us is willing to lose.
After a while, his face blurs. Everything but his eyes becomes a mess of shapes. I notice gold specks peppered throughout the green of his irises and that's when I cave.
Dropping my gaze, I start to clean up my mess, refusing any help he repeatedly tries to offer.
"Is this your newest hobby? Annoying me?"
Masen smirks. "Maybe."
"You should stick to football." Sighing, I flip my book shut. "Just do yourself a favor and go take care of your sick girlfriend, okay?" I gather my belongings and leave him behind in the library.
I stop by my locker to drop off everything I actually got finished. When I open it, a torn piece of paper flutters out.
Tossing the majority of the books in, I pick the paper up, glancing down each end of the hallway before reading.
I love you more today than yesterday. I'll love you more tomorrow still.
…
Soon enough Masen catches on that I've been leaving the house early and missing our scheduled sessions to avoid seeing him.
My dad and I are more than irked when he shows up at our house one morning an hour and a half before school starts.
"You better go talk to that boy. Tell him to go on home. It's too damn early," Dad says then takes off upstairs to get twenty more minutes of much-needed sleep.
I stare out the window, wondering if my stalker will notice if I try and sneak out the back.
The toaster dings and I head to the kitchen to drown it in jelly. I sit and enjoy, letting Masen wait and waste his gas.
It's not that I like or want to be mean. It's just I don't want to see him. I can't see him. Not after the intense dreams I've been having about him. About us.
He shouldn't be here. If anything he should still be in bed or at Tonya's. Anywhere but here.
I ward him off as long as I can before I absolutely have to leave.
I walk right past his car without a glance and head in the direction of the school. But he's not having it.
Pulling up alongside me, he travels at tortoise speed.
"What are you doing?" he asks as if it isn't obvious.
"I'm walking to school."
"Well yeah, but why?"
Stopping, I face him. "Because I need to get to school."
"So, I'll take you. Get in."
I shake my head and start to walk again. "No."
"No?"
"Yeah, no. It's the opposite of yes. Or are you too stupid to get that, too?" I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
"Wow. Okay. Forget I ever offered." He takes off before I can apologize.
I stand there hating myself until I muster up the strength to drag my feet the rest of the way.
Masen's ugly car isn't in the parking lot when I get to school. He's not in class. Not at lunch.
His absence makes me mull over what I said to him all day. The words picking at me like a vulture.
Even though it's not one of our scheduled days, I almost expect him to be waiting for me in the library when I go in to finish my homework or at my locker when I drop off my books.
But there's no Masen. Just another letter.
Of all the things you've taught me, there are still two things I don't know. I don't know how to fall out of love with you and I don't know how to let you go.
…
A couple days later, I'm ten pages deep in the newest issue of Teen Beat magazine when the phone starts ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
I poke my head out of my bedroom and yell down the stairs. "Phone!"
I've been begging Charlie for a line in my room, but he still thinks I'm too young for my own.
"I got it," he belts back, but as soon as the last word is out of his mouth, the phone rings again.
Frowning, I retrieve a couple pairs of socks from a drawer and slip them on. November's approaching, and the chill inside the house, especially on the wooden floors, is relentless. Once I've skipped down the carpeted stairway, I catch Charlie dropping the phone on the cradle with a grunt.
"Wrong number?"
"Prank caller." He mutters something I don't catch and plucks his sheriff's coat from a hook in the hallway. "Working the evening shift tonight, Bells. You okay for supper?"
As if I haven't been feeding the two of us since moving up here. If not for me he'd still be living on diner food.
"Yeah, I'm cool."
"Cool." He smirks at the word. "I'd tell you to leave that phone off the hook, but I don't like not being able to reach you while I'm gone."
"Told you we need to invest in caller ID."
"Waste of money. Besides it takes the mystery out of who's calling." Charlie plops his hat on his head and brushes by me on his way to the door. "I'll be back by midnight, Bells. Get in bed early tonight. And no boys."
Sniggling, I follow him to the door. "Because there are so many boys beating down the door to get to me."
He pauses in the doorway, but doesn't turn around. Shaking his head, he steps off the porch and into the light drizzle of rain. I lean in the doorway, forehead puckered in thought, wondering what in the heck is up with my dad.
But then the phone rings.
I pad back to the hallway and pick the phone up on the third ring. "Hello?"
"Bella?"
I'd recognize that voice anywhere. "Masen?" I straighten my spine. "How'd you get my number?"
My voice sounds like a bullfrog, like there's a bubble stuck somewhere in the back. Swallowing a couple times, I lean against the wall and slide down to the floor.
"It wasn't easy." His voice is smooth, but holds a weird sense of frustration. "And your dad didn't make it any easier."
"What do you mean?"
"Didn't he tell you I called?"
"Uh, no." Tangling and untangling the curly phone cord between my fingers, I feel weirdly exposed. Naked, even. Although I'm home alone, I feel like I should crawl into a closet with the phone, hiding from any prying ears and eyes.
Why is he calling me? He's never called before.
"I called you six times."
Stupefied, I hold the phone away from my face, blinking blankly at the pea-green plastic before shoving it to my mouth and ear again.
"You did? Why?"
"I was wondering if you could study again tonight. It's been a few days. Football and everything." He pauses.
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that."
"Let's just forget about it."
"Okay." Licking my lips, I try and do what he says with small talk. "How was the game Friday night?" I'm trying to sound clueless, but I'm having a hard time pulling it off. Earlier this morning, I'd seen his photo plastered on the front page of the sports section of the local paper. Charlie'd put it away as soon as he caught me staring.
"We won," he says in his gloating voice, which isn't much different than his normal, everyday voice. "Stop changing the subject. You wanna study or what?"
"Oh, I don't know." I gnaw on my thumbnail, grappling at any excuse to avoid seeing him. "I'm pretty busy tonight."
"Doing what?"
Ripping INXS photos out of my Teen Beat magazine and taping them to the ceiling above my bed. Not thinking about you. The usual.
"Just, you know, housework and stuff." I glance down the hallway at the immaculately clean kitchen and swallow my guilt. "Besides, my dad's at work … and before he left he specified no boys allowed."
"Because you're so well-known for sneaking guys over while he's away at work?"
I wait for him to laugh, but he doesn't. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he sounds a little jealous.
That's just ridiculous.
"You're the only guy who's ever been to my house," I admit.
His prolonged silence after my confession makes me feel hella dumb. Like, why did I even tell him that?
"Besides Jake, I mean," I babble.
"Jake, the guy you eat lunch with every day?"
"Yeah. I've known Jake since we were kids. Our dads are good buddies. Jake's like an annoying little brother."
"Okay," he says, sounding relieved. "If I can't come to your house, how about you come to mine?"
"I don't know," I hedge. "I don't even know where you live."
Masen laughs. "Everyone knows where I live."
Now it's my turn with the prolonged silence.
Masen clears his throat. "I can give you directions."
"You know I don't drive yet."
"So I'll pick you up."
For some weird reason, my cheeks are burning. "Are your parents home?"
"No, they're out of town all weekend."
Chewing my bottom lip, I try to imagine myself in Masen Edwards' house. Alone. With no threat of Charlie popping in at any second.
A fine sheen of sweat breaks across my forehead. Using the back of my hand, I wipe it away in one long swipe.
"What about Tonya?"
"What about her?"
I roll my eyes and hold back a sigh. "How is she? Is she still sick? I haven't seen her around all week." Which means I haven't seen them making out.
He sighs for me. "Tonya's fine. Now are you going to come over or what?"
I think about it for a minute. "No."
"Bella …"
My index finger has gone numb from being wrapped up in the cord too long. I flick the end of it and close my eyes, lightly banging my head against the wall. "Yeah, okay, but I have to be home before ten." That gives me an hour of flex time before Charlie comes home.
"Awesome. See you in ten."
Masen hangs up before I can respond. Not that I have anything remotely intelligent left to say. I clamber to my feet and hang up the phone. That sheen of sweat has worked its way from my face, down the back of my neck, and to the curve of my back. In fact, I'm sweating everywhere, and my heart's racing, and I have no idea why.
As if! You're tripping over Masen Edwards. And you're gonna fall flat on your face.
Stomping upstairs, I'm angry with myself for giving Masen a second thought. Sure, he's a nice guy. But he's only calling me to help him out. Without me forcing him to study, he'd be slacking off between games and practice. His grades would slip. He'd be kicked off the team, and then his ride to college would end. He's using me for a football scholarship, and I'm using him for a scholarship of my own.
Entering my bedroom, I think back to the day when Principal Banner had encouraged me to join the tutoring program. With the promise of a scholarship to the local community college, I felt like I had little choice at the time. Besides, it was an adventure. Something fun for a girl who has little fun. And thrilling, putting myself out there to teach some stranger.
That stranger turned out to be Masen Edwards.
He doesn't feel so much like a stranger anymore.
It's not about the scholarship anymore. I've grown to like him. A lot. Maybe even ... No. I won't allow myself to think it. But no matter how hard I try and reason those feelings away, they're not going anywhere.
Standing in front of my closet door, I shimmy out of my baggy jogging pants and rip off the matching sweatshirt. If I were brave, I'd change into the cute babydoll dress my mom, Renee, sent me in the mail a while back. The dress is cute, kinda like the one I saw someone on 90210 wear one time.
I take the dress out of the closet and immediately hang it back up. The dress is too … Kelly for me. Too Kelly Taylor, Kelly Kapowski. Kelly Bundy. Cute. Trendy. Borderline sexy and as Jake would say, totally wack.
I find and put on an old, worn concert tee, a red, plaid, long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of faded, ripped jeans. I cinch the jeans with a wide, black belt and toe on my Docs. The combat boots hide my slouch socks, which is good, because last week I overheard Lauren Mallory in the cafeteria whispering about my "so yesterday" socks.
Who knew socks could go out of style? They're socks.
There's a knock downstairs that sends me skipping to my bedroom window. Masen's Gremlin idles in the driveway, sans driver. Grabbing my backpack, I head downstairs to find Masen standing on the porch waiting for me. His hands are cupped in front of his mouth, and he blows hot air against his palms, warming his fingers.
"You need your raincoat." He glances over his shoulder, then back at me. "It's drizzling now, but the weather's supposed to get pretty bad later."
Nodding, I open the door wider. "You can come in while I grab it and call Charlie."
"You're calling Charlie?" Eyes widening, he steps inside and follows me down the hallway where the phone hangs from the wall. It's a little comical how the thought of me calling my dad to tell him I'm leaving with Masen spooks him.
Must be the police-issue gun.
"Uh, yeah. If he calls and I don't answer, I'm grounded until I'm twenty."
"You're telling him you're studying at my house?"
I pick up the phone and dial the number to the station. "Not exactly."
Masen leans against the wall and listens as I sorta-kinda lie to my father. When I hang up the phone and turn to him, I find him smirking at me.
"Dirty liar."
"Not necessarily." I grab my rain slicker from a hook on the wall and pull it on. "I told him I was going to the library to study. Seems like I remember you telling me you have a library in your house. Technically I didn't lie."
...
Masen lives on the exact opposite side of town as me. Literally on the right side of the tracks.
The Psychedelic Furs play on repeat in my head as we bounce our way over them and pass by the skate park where Jake is skating by himself.
"Isn't that your friend?" Masen asks.
My gaze lingers out the window. "Yeah. Jake."
"Right."
"Why did you say it like that?" I ask, looking over at Masen.
His brows crease and he glances at me before looking back at the road ahead.
"What do you know? Did he say something?"
"About what?"
My insides run cold as all the blood runs to my face. "Nothing. Nevermind. Just pretend like I never said anything."
"No. No way." Masen smiles and shakes his head. "Not gonna happen."
The passenger window heats with my breath. I close my eyes. "I've, uh, been finding these letters."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"What kind of letters?"
I can't believe I'm actually telling him about this. "Love letters. I think he's been leaving them for me."
Masen's quiet for a minute. I look over to find him staring emotionlessly out the windshield before saying, "No offense to your friend, but he doesn't strike me as the romantic type."
I think back to the last several weeks. All those shared lunches together. Maybe he's right. Jake hasn't acted any differently since I found the letters.
"You seem a little disappointed."
I shrug. "I'm not. I wouldn't want Jake to like me like that."
Not when I want you to like me like that.
"So what do you want then?" Masen flips on his blinker and leaves the main road.
I don't answer thinking maybe it would be nice to be looked at the way Jake looks at his pizza. But I don't say that. I don't say anything.
Masen looks away from the road long enough to inspect my face. Slowing the car, he turns off the road onto a wooded drive. "Why are you always so quiet? Getting information out of you is like prying out teeth."
"Why do you want to know so much about me?"
Masen parks the car and cuts the engine. I feel his eyes on me, but I'm too busy checking out his house to pay him much attention. Climbing out of his car, I barely register his words.
"What?" Peeling my eyes from the two-story mansion in the woods, I take turns looking between him and his beat-up car, wondering why a guy who lives in a house like that drives a car like this.
"I said I thought it was pretty obvious." Masen shuts his door and leans against the car, watching me over the roof. "I want to know you."
I feel my blush rushing all the way to my toes. "But why?"
He doesn't answer, just jerks his head for me to follow him up to the white mansionesque structure. The inside looks like the set of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. I keep waiting for Uncle Phil to come stomping around every corner.
"Where's Jeffrey?" I ask, a smidgen disappointed that Masen doesn't get it.
"Huh?"
"Jeffery, your butler." I do a spin of the room until I'm facing him again. "A house as big as this needs a sassy butler. Who cleans?"
There's a look of surprised amusement on his face. He opens then closes his mouth, looking down at my hand before taking it in his. "Come on, I want to show you something."
I let him drag me along behind him, my eyes on our conjoined hands the whole time. Our fingers are indistinguishable. Knotted like the tight feeling in my stomach.
Masen Edwards.
His hand.
My hand.
Touching.
He takes me to a room at the far end of the hallway. Instead of walls there are bookcases. Instead of wallpaper there are books. Floor to ceiling. There's even a rolling ladder like in the movies for crying out loud.
"You weren't exaggerating when you said you had a library in your house."
"I never exaggerate."
Prying my eyes away from all the titles, I turn to face him. "So, you really called me six times then, huh?"
He doesn't seem one bit ashamed. "I really called you six times."
He takes my hand again to pull me in the direction of the door.
"Where are we going? I thought we were going to study here."
He shakes his head. "You know I can't study when I'm uncomfortable."
I know he can't study anywhere.
"Libraries make me uncomfortable. I think better in bedrooms."
I have the urge to fight his grip and run the other way, but I don't because I'm curious. I want to see where Masen sleeps. Where he gets dressed and undressed. Where he ...
I swallow that last thought and let him lead the way.
...
Masen's bedroom reminds me of my thoughts: a jumbled mess.
There are awards hanging crookedly from the walls, our high school banner tacked above his headboard. Shelves filled with football trophies fill the gaps between band and car posters littering the room. There's a boom box perched on a massive entertainment center, and he has his very own television in his room. And on the nightstand beside his bed? His very own phone.
"Whatcha wanna listen to?"
I spin around and find him skimming through a triple width cassette storage rack taking up a good portion of one wall.
"New stuff, old stuff?" He pulls a few tapes out of the rack, stacking them up on the entertainment center. "Nirvana? Pearl Jam? Soundgarden? Alice in Chains? Stone Temple Pilots?"
I drop my backpack on the floor beside his bed, then sit on the edge. "You got anything not so … American Top 40?"
Masen glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "This is Seattle grunge. Everyone likes Seattle grunge."
"Not saying I don't, but it's not the only music out there, ya know?"
Masen narrows his eyes. "Are you questioning my taste in music?"
Wide-eyed and feigning innocence, I shake my head. "No, never." But even as I deny it, I'm digging inside my backpack for my Walkman. Once I find it, I pop open the little door on the side and fish out my mix tape.
"Be careful with that." I hand it to him. "You don't know how many hours I sat next to the radio and worked on this tape. There's a few commercials in there that I couldn't cut out. Oh, and the first few seconds are missing on some of the songs, but you know." I wave my hand.
Masen shoves the tape into the radio and hits play. We both sit in silence for a few minutes, breathing in the music.
"Who is this and why does she sound so angry?"
"Her name's Alanis Morissette, and she's totally jaded. I think she'll be popular in a few years." I carefully place my Walkman back inside my backpack and remove my science textbook.
"Whatever you say." The mattress shifts beside me as Masen sits on the bed. He takes the science book out of my hand and tosses it to the floor.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"I didn't bring you here to study."
That head-to-toe blush comes barrelling back again. "What?"
Masen laughs at my expression. And somehow his hand finds its way to the top of my thigh. The warmth of his palm melts my bones, turning them to jelly.
"I brought you here to tell you I broke up with Tonya."
I glance over at him, absolutely shocked. For as long as I've known him, there's always been Masen and Tonya. "Why?"
His hand leaves my thigh. Along with the other one, it finds its way into his overgrown hair. He rests his elbows on his knees and groans into his hands. When he finally glances up at me, I feel the depth of his stare all the way inside my stomach.
"Because I like you. And … it was me who wrote those letters."
One song ends and another begins. I lick my bottom lip, repeating his words inside my head. Numb from the neck down.
He wrote the letters?
"What? But why?"
Masen's forehead crinkles. "What do you mean, why? I thought it was obvious."
"You had Tonya … She's a Kelly."
"A what?"
I suck in a deep breath, and release it with an exasperated groan. "A Kelly. Kelly Kapowski. Kelly Bundy. And I'm …" I wave my hand at myself, lost for words. I should just shut up. I sound so stupid.
Masen's eyes light with understanding. His confused expression fades away. "I don't want Tonya. I don't want a Kelly. I want you." He puts his hand over mine. "I want a Winona. I can be Johnny."
Chewing my bottom lip, I eye his stupid letterman jacket. "Johnny wouldn't be caught dead in that jacket."
Masen sheds his jacket, but doesn't toss it aside. Instead, he drops it on my shoulders. And that hand of his finds my thigh again.
"They've been broken up for years now, ya know?" I point out. "I heard he's dating some supermodel."
"They'll get back together," Masen assures. "Winona Forever. Do I have to get Bella Forever tattooed on my bicep to prove it to you?"
The mention of his bicep has me checking it out. I open my mouth to argue, but then he kisses me. Lightly and on the cheek. His breath is warm and smells like mint. I turn my face toward him, mostly out of surprise, an argument on the tip of my tongue, but he doesn't give me a chance to say anything because his lips are on mine.
The kiss is soft and gentle, like a fond childhood memory. I close my eyes, feeling it everywhere, in my muscles, in my bones, dizzying and rushing, pushing out the self-doubt when his kiss becomes more persistent. I taste his tongue against mine, and it tastes anxious with strained containment. And I don't want containment. I want more. Been wanting it for a long time.
Touching his face, I press my palms across the scruff of his jawline, working my fingers to the back of his neck and into his hair. I bring him closer, and he groans against my lips. The vibration of that groan reaches me in all the dark places reserved only for me, but maybe not as much so anymore.
His eager mouth pushes me back until we're horizontal on his bed and he's nudged himself between my legs.
I can feel him hard against me, pressing down to try and get closer. So close I think we might go through the mattress. But it's good. It's really good. I like the way his weight feels on top of me.
I open my eyes to find his closed, concentrating on taste and feel. I can see his lips moving, a quick glisten of his tongue when it runs out to brush over mine.
The skin around my mouth begins to burn, but I don't care. I just lift my head and kiss him harder.
The hand on my hip slides up my side to cup my boob. I gasp against his mouth when he gives it a light squeeze and runs his thumb over my nipple.
My reaction drives him on. He grinds against me harder, earning another muffled noise.
The movement makes my muscles tighten, my breath quicken, and my heart race. My brain soon follows, buzzing as my body soars. I let out a low moan and he freezes, pulling his mouth away before I'm ready for him to.
"Did you just?" he asks, a proud smile spreading across his face when I look away without answering.
He follows my face and I turn my neck the other way only to have my jaw caught by his hand.
"Hey, don't be embarrassed. I loved the way you let go like that. The way you moved beneath me just now. The noises you made. It was hot."
Hot and I don't necessarily belong in the same sentence. Not like Masen. Not like Tonya. But somehow being with him right now makes me feel like maybe we do.
Masen lets go of my chin to play with a curl in the end of my hair. I get brave and run my fingers through his. He closes his eyes, purring like a kitten.
I smile at the pleasure he takes in my touch. The pleasure I take in it. And let him lie on me until the sun sets and it's time for me to go.
He takes me home with no argument, proving that when Masen wins he's pretty easy to get along with.
Pulling up to my house he kisses me on my cheek. "Pick you up in the morning?" he asks, playing with a string of my hair.
"Yeah."
"And we're still on after school tomorrow, right?"
I nod, pulling the hair from his hand. "It is Monday."
Hosts note: Please leave the author some love. Reviews are encouragement. In case you have an idea of the author's identity, please do not disclose it in the reviews or anywhere else.
P.S. We love you.