Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I own some very strange word association, pencil-buns, Vans poetry, and a bunch of yeahs.
Prereaders: _ss77_, LuvinJ, Dinx Betas: Perrymaxed, Mac214
Playlist: Slide by Goo Goo Dolls, Two is Better Than One by Boys Like Girls feat. Taylor Swift, If It's Love by Train
Chapter 11: The Day Masen and I Go Public
I spend Saturday morning tidying my bathroom and end up wiping down the mirror three times because I can't concentrate. I keep thinking about his words, his lips, his hands on my skin, and I become a complete moron. I can't complain though because last week when I cleaned my bathroom, I was ready to give up Masen. So this is much, much better.
I make it to lunchtime before calling him. I think that's pretty good.
When he answers, he's quiet. That can mean so many things, so I don't let it bother me. I invite him to the park to hang out. The guys are already at The Wedge, so we decide to go there. I don't really want to be around a bunch of other people right now, but if it means I get to be with Masen then that's great.
I pick him up and hand over a sandwich. He smiles, says, "Thanks," and digs in right away. We ride in silence. It's so awkward, but in a good way. He's sitting close to the passenger door, gazing out the window. He finishes the sandwich and rids his hands of the crumbs on his jeans. He keeps looking at me now that's he's done eating; it's a hunger—a different kind.
I purposely park farther away than usual, closer to the playground than to The Wedge, which gives us a few minutes of solitude.
When we meet in front of my truck, he slides his hand around mine, and my heart starts to race. Being Masen's girlfriend is so much better than being just a girl he talks to occasionally, if at all. We walk hand–in-hand toward the bridge. He keeps glancing my way and smiling. It's a bit much for me, so at one point I stop walking and angle myself toward him. I stare at the ground, suddenly shy. Why am I being so dumb?
"What?" he asks, dropping his board and toeing it back and forth.
"I'm not ready to share you yet." I can't believe I said that. I sound like a jealous girlfriend . . . already.
"You wanna . . ." He nods back toward my truck, but I shake my head.
"No, I . . . I don't want everyone knowing about this, us. We just got together, and they're gonna be all stupid and happy, and I just—I kinda just want it to be ours. Just—for a little while. Are you okay with—"
I can't get the rest of my words out because Masen's lips are on mine: hard, unyielding, possessive. Damn. My body's rigid, and like a fool, I stand there with my hands to my sides until he tugs one. I wrap them both around his neck. This is much better. He's so full of good ideas, and creative too. Well, his tongue is.
His hands lock around my waist, and I love them there. It's the perfect spot. Oh, who am I kidding? Masen's hands anywhere on me is perfect. Hell, I took pinky–to-pinky just a few weeks ago, and even that was divine. I think I have an illness.
Masen pulls away slowly, kissing me intermittently as he puts space between us. "I think . . ." he says, a bit out of breath—which makes me so giddy, it's ridiculous. "I like that idea. Don't wanna share you either."
"Just—" I kiss him again. I have to. "For a little bit. I don't want to answer their questions."
"'Kay," he says, holding out his hand. I take it and step onto his skateboard, feeling confident in us, in this idea. He pushes me forward along the path until we reach The Wedge. Angela spots us and hops up, running in our direction. I lower one foot, my hands on Masen's shoulders as I dismount—anything to keep hold of him.
"You're here!" Angela yells, encroaching on our little bubble.
"Have fun," I mouth, and he nods. As soon as Angela reaches us, he takes off, gliding under the bridge to reach his friends.
"Hey, girl. So, you two actually made up?"
"Yeah, it's all good."
"Sorry about Embry, he . . . whatever. We just wig out sometimes."
"It's fine."
She waits for a minute, probably hoping I'll spill. I don't, so she presses on. "C'mon, saved you the seat next to the trash can."
"You shouldn't have."
"I know. I'm just that kind of friend."
"Embry's so lucky."
"I know." Angela links my arm with hers, and we sit in our usual spots to watch the boys. The rest of the day flies by as I watch Masen trick out. I've always known he was a good skater, but now that we're connected, I'm more involved than ever while watching him. I feel pride. And worry—worry that he'll bash his head open. I wonder how Angela has sat by and watched Embry all these years without going nuts.
It gets late, so Angela and I collect money from the guys and make a fast food run. We return with burgers, and the guys eat quickly before returning to the trenches. Masen hangs back a bit, so I offer to share my Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard with him. I hold out a spoonful; he wraps his lips around it, making me jealous of an inanimate object. Yeah, I might have an illness.
"Good?" I ask.
His eyes are wide, and he smirks. "You have no idea," he says before placing his board on the railing and sliding down, avoiding the steps.
I do my best to hide my exuberance at his blatant flirting. I don't even care whether he was talking about me or the peanut butter cups or how much he loves skateboarding. I'm just so unbelievably happy.
Angela eyes me speculatively, and I hand out my spoon. "Want some?" I offer, trying to deflect.
"Ew, it's all full of Masen cooties."
I shrug and enjoy my spoonful of ice cream, all the while thinking of him. He's right, and I could say the same thing to him—You have no idea.
Darkness falls, and The Wedge is getting sparse. Eventually it's just me and Masen. I should be going home soon, but I don't want to be without him. So I stay. He skates on his own under the bridge, and I wonder how often he's out here like this enjoying the peace and quiet. I walk closer and sit on a short wall to watch. The view from here is so much better.
He does a few tricks I've seen before, but on one he crash lands when he glances my way. "I'm sorry," I shout, but he shakes his head like I'm being ridiculous. He continues on and runs the length of the wall before climbing it and doing a complicated aerial. He lands on his board, but it slips out from under him. He connects with the pavement, and I watch as he makes no move to get up. I panic and stand, calling his name. Nothing.
I'm running and skidding to a stop when I reach his side so I can lean over him. "Masen!" I place my hand on his chest. His eyes pop open, and he smiles. I smack him, then pull away. "I can't believe you."
"Sorry, sorry," he says, tugging on my arm, trying to get me to stay with him. "Wanted to see what you'd do."
"Like freak out?" I say loudly, hands flying in the air. I still look him over, wondering if he's really all right. He seems okay, though.
"You're freaked out?" His smile fades, and his eyes crinkle in the corners.
"Yeah," I say, like duh.
"C'm'ere."
I lean in and kiss him, but it seems it's not enough. He grasps my hand and pulls me toward him—on top of him—and kisses me. He tastes like peanut butter cups and cream. Then the weight of the moment hits me. Masen is kissing me at The Wedge. This is so cool. I respond more than is publicly acceptable, but we're the only ones here. I don't really care. Then I realize he's not touching me, so I ask why.
"Filthy," he mumbles between kisses.
"Don't care," I say pulling him up, so I can straddle him on the hard ground. There's nothing around us but his abandoned skateboard and the sounds of our kissing. Life is good.
-MD-
This week is possibly the best week of school I've had since moving to Arizona. Masen and I keep our little secret by sneaking kisses between classes in empty hallways and under the bleachers. It's all very teenage romance, and I'm loving every minute of it. Except for our moments in English.
English—while once my favorite class because Masen is in it—has now become a den of sexual thoughts, and Masen isn't helping. Since showing me his notebook, he's kept it an open book, so to speak. I'm able to read any poem at any time. Some are sad, some sweet, but most of all they're sensual. He's made it very clear that he's not shy; in fact, he's quite forward. I am too, so our flirting has gotten progressively more brazen, showcasing the fact that we both want one thing: each other. I don't mind it one bit, but it's very distracting.
He sits beside me, notebook under hand as usual, only now he keeps glancing at me with hooded eyes and a casual lick of his lips while he writes. If he keeps this up, I'll be tempted to just throw him on our shared table and mount him—in front of everyone. I don't care anymore who knows and who doesn't.
I sit with my arms folded across my chest, contemplating how I can get Masen to do something inappropriate in class. Of course I never would, but it's fun to think about. And apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so . . .
Masen slides his notebook over to me, his finger pointing to a certain passage. I lean over, reading his words, "Red, ripe, waiting, my hands on her, smoothing down her shirt, finding skin, quenching my thirst."
I pull my pencil from my hair and write a note to the side. "You're a pervert. I like it!" I add a smiley face because I'm dumb. I slide it back to him, and his eyes go wide. He covers his mouth with his hand, coughing to cover a laugh.
He shakes his head and mouths, "Not that one," then points to another note.
I scoot closer and lean forward to read. "Where's my pen? Haven't seen it for a while . . ."
I laugh through my nose and write back. "It's in my underwear drawer."
When I move out of the way, Masen reads it, then thumps his head down on the desk. I laugh and pat his back. Me too, buddy, me too.
We make it through English—and the rest of the week—without attacking each other at school, but I don't know how much longer we can keep up this charade. At the very least, I think hand holding would help me out with this craving I have for skin on skin.
Friday after school, we're all hanging out in the science wing waiting for Embry. He's stuck in detention for calling a teacher a muggle. We all want to go to CVS for a goody run. While we're waiting, Angela's chatting away and driving me crazy. I generally adore her, but more than anything, I just want some alone time with Masen.
Embry saunters out of the classroom with a big smile on his face.
"There's my badass boyfriend," Angela announces, running to him and plastering a big kiss on his mouth.
Masen groans, and I couldn't agree more.
They walk hand-in-hand toward us. Masen helps me up, and we walk beside them. Embry holds the door open as Masen steps back, saying, "Forgot something." He says it to me, so I throw my thumb over my shoulder to indicate I'll go with him.
Angela pipes up with, "We'll meet you in the parking lot." And then they're gone.
Masen walks back to his locker, and I follow. He works the lock and opens it, not saying a word. "Hold this?" he asks, and I hold out my hand. He places a pen with a bright tie-dye pattern on it, and I laugh.
"Is this for me?"
"Nah, it's the sparkly pen's new friend. This one's jealous. He wants to see your underwear drawer too." I double over with laughter, and he bends to meet me. "You okay?"
"I'm perfect," I say gleefully.
"I know," he says, and I'm speechless. How does he come up with this stuff? He returns his attention to the contents of his locker and books are shuffled around. "Just forgot—I needed . . ." He shuts the locker abruptly and slides over so he's in front of me. I hold my breath as he leans in, his hands on my neck. ". . . This," he finishes, and softly kisses me.
We take too long in the empty kissing-is-allowed-here hallway. I worry Angela or Embry will say something, but they don't.
We gather some snacks and eat on the curb of CVS before we all go home. I won't see Masen tonight. He won't say why, and I don't pry. Some things I've learned to leave alone. Tomorrow night there's a party at Tyler's, so I'll see him then. I look forward to it. Probably a little too much, as I spend an hour obsessing about what to wear. In the end, I go with a trusty red t-shirt and jeans that are comfortable. I'm not very good at dressing up.
-MD-
I have plans to pick up Masen, but when I go outside to leave, I find him sitting on his skateboard on my curb. "I would've let you inside."
He stands and smiles. "That's okay. I'm not . . ." He rubs his neck and continues, "Dads and me don't really. . ."
"It's fine." I wave him over, and with a quick hello kiss we're off to Tyler's.
I've never been to Tyler's before. In fact, I don't really know him. I kind of wrote him off rather early on as the dude that took Masen away. It makes me feel a bit silly now that I'm here in his kitchen eating his chips and drinking his beverages.
Masen and I play it cool but stay next to each other the whole night. Every graze of his fingers or blatant stare gets me all worked up. I just want to be alone with him. I've never had it this bad before. No wonder Angela and Embry are always all over each other. Who cares when there's this kind of chemistry? Not me. At least, not any more.
A loud, full-of-bass song comes on, and Embry and Angela go crazy dancing around in the living room with a few other couples from school. It's fun to watch them, though I can't imagine Masen and me dancing around like fools in front of everyone. It's just not really us. But, then what is us? Public us? I have no idea, but I kind of want to find out.
I slip my hand into his, and he doesn't protest. He squeezes it back and leans in, his breath on my neck. "Wanna go somewhere?" Yes! I want to scream but don't. I nod, and he stands, pulling me behind him and keeping the distance between us short. I can smell him as we walk—like berry Gatorade and something else, entirely all Masen.
We head out the back door into the yard that's decorated with some sadly placed twinkle lights. They blink, offering very little illumination. The yard is full of overgrown weeds and discarded furniture. There's a dog barking from the house next door, but I couldn't care less about any of this because I'm with Masen.
He lets go of my hand, and I perch myself on a ledge while he walks over to the fence, which he bangs and tells the dog to "Shut the hell up!" I can't hold in my laughter. He looks so annoyed. I've never seen him this upset before. "Hate that dumb dog. Always barking." He reaches me and stands between my legs, hands on my thighs. "Why are you laughing?" he asks, genuinely curious.
"I've never seen you angry before. And over a dog?"
"He's stupid. Keeps me awake . . . sometimes."
"You sleep here?"
"Sometimes." He shrugs.
"Do Tyler's parents say anything?"
"Nah . . . just has a mom. She—she dates this car dealership guy in north Scottsdale. When she's gone sometimes I—I crash on the couch."
"Oh." Well, now I feel really bad for having so much hatred toward Tyler. I'm glad to know someone's looking out for Masen, and he's not always stuck in that horrible house of his. I would invite him to live with me in an instant if my dad wouldn't go ballistic about it—which he most definitely would.
The barking dies down, and the song changes inside the house. Its soft notes filter through the open kitchen window. "I like this song."
"Yeah?" Masen's thumbs are on the move, inching upward to my hips.
"Yeah. Do you?"
"I like it." He's so quiet I'm not even sure what he's saying, but I don't care because he's leaning. All I see is his sexy leather choker and that neck I want to lick. He thwarts my plan and gently kisses me. He's so slow this time, and I can't handle the dichotomy of my racing heart and my lethargic lips. But it feels so good that I don't change my pace. The blinking lights in my periphery and the soft strains of the music create the perfect mood until the dog barks again. Masen jerks his head and scowls. I laugh when he turns around and yells at the "Ugliest, loudest mutt on the planet!" He's so cute.
When he turns back around, he shrugs. I giggle again, feeling ridiculous that I love everything about him. "Wanna go back inside? Ruining my mood." He jerks his elbow toward the dog.
I shake my head and pull him in by his shirt for another kiss—a more frantic one that matches my fast-pumping heart. We're in a full-on no-mistaking-it lip lock when the crackle of the screen door pierces the air. The freaking dog goes insane. Masen drops his head and groans.
"Sorry, man," a familiar voice says—Tyler—though I can't see him. Masen jerks his head as if to say, S'okay. Tyler replies with a chuckle and a, "'Bout time," which ends with a fist bump. He sifts through the mess on the porch, and the door clangs shut.
I drop my head to Masen's chest, breathing him in.
"Sorry," he says, smoothing his hands over my arms. "Y'okay."
"Yeah. I've been thinking this whole night I don't care anymore who knows. In fact, I want everyone to know."
"Can we just have tonight?"
"Yeah," I say, looking up. He gives me a peck and then surprises me by lifting me off the ledge and setting me on my feet.
"Remember reading about a little red shirt in my, uh . . ." He tips his head, with a shy smile.
"Mmm . . . maybe." I vaguely remember something about a red shirt. I think he hated it, if I recall correctly.
"Little red shirt, why do you hate me," he says, reciting his poem, then adds, "Little. Red. Shirt." He punctuates each word with a squeeze to my waist. I look down at my simple red top. I have no idea what he's going on about, but it sounds good. "It's dangerous."
I laugh through my nose and kiss him again. "I'll save you," I say, my words full of meaning.
"Hope so."
"Stomach?" I ask, pointing to the yard.
"Neck."
"Lips."
"Naked."
"That doesn't work." I fake a scowl.
"Sure it does."
"Boobs," I counter, cocking an eyebrow. Challenge is on. He smiles so wide, then looks down, nibbling his bottom lip. I want to nibble it too.
"Little red shirt." He's so quiet but chuckling. He tugs on my hand and pulls me to the tall grass. He settles himself there and pats his belly, where I rest my head.
We hang out in Tyler's dirty yard, talking and laughing amidst the sounds of party music and the yowling of the dog. And Masen is absolutely right: loudest damn dog ever.
After a while we head to my home, but when we get there I don't want him to leave. He rides me up and down the street on his board, teaching me some basic moves. I am definitely not a skater.
We sit on my curb, holding hands and chatting. Masen's got his eyes on a college near Tustin. He's determined to go since his parents never did. I'm so happy for him; he's making great goals. I just wish I could be a part of them in some way. But I guess I am, sort of. We talk until my front light magically goes off and on. That's my cue to go inside, I guess. Masen pulls me up immediately, so I don't get in trouble. My dad will love him when he gets to know him . . . hopefully. He certainly respects my dad and his rules, it seems. I give him a quick kiss goodbye and watch as he rides, and for the first time, I don't feel like he's skating away from me.
-MD-
Monday morning greets me with bright sunlight in my room. I'm not a morning person, to say the least, but today's not so bad. Masen and I have a plan to go public, so I'm sort of excited. Well, more excited for a Monday than I have been in a long while. I think I'll call it Masenday to commemorate it.
Masen—the person, not the day of the week—greets me at my door, and we ride to school together. We walk hand-in-hand toward the quad where we'll need to part for our first period classes. We stop, and just like we planned, Masen leans in with no hesitation and really goes for it. Tongue and all. It's probably the most blatantly inappropriate public kissing I've ever been a part of.
"You know, I don't hate this."
"Me neither," he says, a shy smile on his face. "We should . . ." He nods his head toward a building. He leans in one last time, kissing me softly on my neck before whispering, "I'm taking this; I know where it's been." He swipes my pen, and I laugh, kissing him one last time before heading to class.
On my way there I pass Angela and Embry and give them a little wave. Well, everyone will know now, and that's fine with me. I'm proud to go public with Masen. Especially on such a great Masenday like today.
A/N: Masen Days Extras are available on my blog: purelyamuse dot blogspot dot com. Teasers, visuals, and peeks into Masen's notebook will be posted weekly (Wednesdays) as a follow-up or sneak peek of a chapter. You can sign up for email updates or follow the blog. Enjoy!
A quick thanks to Jordan aka hotsauce_twiguy for giving me a line for a dirty Masen poem and dubbing Mondays Masendays. I heart you, and thanks for letting me use your words. Good luck finding checkered Vans that fit!
MsJaxTeller is a musical encyclopedia. Thanks to her, we have a working playlist that rocks! Thanks, sweets!
Thank you Twitter for posting a picture of a detention slip wherein a child was being punished for calling a teacher a muggle. I laughed about it for days, and now it has a place in my fic. Gotta give credit where it's due.
To all of my readers: words can't express how it feels to interact with you through reviews, pm's, and Twitter. You make this so much fun and have a great influence on this story. Thank you for your support.
My prereaders and betas are unbelievable. This chapter didn't exist until Monday, and no one complained about it. My prereader stayed up late to read it, and my betas had a one day turn around. They are wicked awesome, yo. They've also never said a word about the fact that chapter eleven has had three versions and three titles. Thanks for your patience and mad skills, babes.
