At 10:45 am, when Casey was awake with the certainty that her mother and the rest of the family was gone for the day, and the driveway's absence of parental vehicles confirmed this, she smiled. Lying to miss school wasn't something that particularly bothered her, the homework she would miss was an annoyance at best.
Having a day off from the real lies that had been consuming her—the ones that preserved her relationship with Derek—was something she needed. That they both needed.
She snuck over to Derek's room, peeked inside, and found him fast asleep. Her smile grew. It would give her time to put her plan in motion. Stepping back, careful to avoid the floorboard that creaked, she left him still slumbering, heading shower quickly.
Dressing with equal urgency, she pulled on a tight-fitting v-neck top and dark jeans. She put on some foundation and mascara, outlining her lips with creamsicle-flavored chapstick. It was Derek's favorite flavor, after all.
She wrote on a post-it note, "Winner makes the loser breakfast. First clue: Ammunition is in the bathroom. P.S.: We have a sick day."
Her hand pocketed the post-it stack and pen. There were four toy guns and twenty-four Styrofoam bullets in the games closet. Taping the note very snugly against a foam bullet, she inserted it into the toy gun, testing it. It exited weakly, managing a distance of about a foot.
What it lacked in speed, it made up for in its message deliverance abilities. She took two of the guns and eleven of the remaining bullets and hid them next to Derek's toothbrush. Casey hoped he would take the hint.
Sneaking over the creaky floorboard again, she peeked into the boy's bedroom again. His body curled, facing her direction, mouth slightly agape. Casey smirked. So unaware. She snuck over closer, aiming the message at his heart.
It landed perfectly, but the boy didn't stir.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Casey murmured, rolling her eyes. She hadn't considered this possibility. Derek rolled over, away from her.
She spied his megaphone cloaked by the shadows and a mountain of clothes whose cleanliness was questionable. Well, she would have to take the obnoxious route. She took back the bullet, pocketing it for her reserves.
Going to the main floor, poised at the foot of the stairs, Casey stated, "Derek Venturi, you lazy cad!"
Derek awoke suddenly, startled. He stumbled out of his room, squinting at the girl he was sure had gone insane.
"I'm hunting you down with Nerf guns in eight minutes."
"Will you stop that? There are other people in this house, you—"
"Yeah, I told mom and she said she's disowning us and everyone's staying at your Aunt Mary's." She responded casually, off the speaker.
Despite the fact that Derek didn't have an Aunt Mary, he sputtered out, "What?"
Casey giggled. "Stop having a heart attack, they think we're sick, I'm improvising here."
He glared at her. "You're making me chocolate-chip pancakes."
"Ooh, you have to beat me first. Your ammunition is in the bathroom. Take much longer and I'm not opposed to winning by shooting you before you brush those teeth."
"I'm so getting you for this," He said, pointing at her warningly, disappearing into the bathroom.
After Derek had prepared himself, he slunk across walls of the hallway creaking his neck around the corner. Nothing.
"Oh, Casey…" he sang out, attempting to get her to reveal her hiding place. No dice. He frowned, glancing at his bedroom for a moment. A slow smile grew across his face.
Diving into the bedroom, he grabbed the pillows on his bed, returning to his spot. "Case?" he called, smirk growing.
"Quit it, Venturi, you're not winning that way," Casey responded somewhere. She knew she should have taken the spot in the closet before he left the bathroom, but she was certain he was listening for her ascent up the stairs.
Suddenly, a blur of blue caught her eye and she leapt out from her hiding spot beneath the stairs, shooting immediately.
Then she felt a stinging hit forehead.
And heard Derek's laughter.
When Casey saw the pillows on the stairs, she realized what he'd done. While she hadn't planned for their little war to last long (she did want breakfast after all), she hadn't intended it to end so soon.
"So, about those pancakes…?" Derek said, his smirk only deepening when his eyes took in her scowl.
"Oh, shut up, I'm sure you would have burned them anyway," Casey said, dropping the toy gun on the couch.
Derek sauntered over to her, hands on her shoulders. "Keep telling yourself that, Case. We both know I won." He leaned in further, lips closer now, as if to taunt her more.
But the scent of her chapstick drew him closer and she smiled against his lips.
The boy drew back, lips reddened. "Well now I'm just hungrier. Chop-chop, Case," He murmured huskily.
Casey rolled her eyes, the smile on her face betraying the pretense of annoyance, and went into the kitchen, grabbing the things she needed.
Derek watched as she prepared the mix, a generous amount of chocolate chips sinking into the batter with each stir of her hand. He supposed he could have started a conversation, made a quip about the batter on her cheek—how exceptionally talented she was at getting food on her face despite being older than Marti.
But he was content to watch. His silence was odd to Casey at first, as she caught him simply watching a few times, but she seemed to enjoy seeing his face void of a superficial glare or scowl.
Derek rarely saw Casey so carefree. She usually had worry in the edges of her expression, a sense of determination and fixation on Doing the Right Thing.
He supposed a lot of people would say that was just Casey, she always looked like she was working on something, figuring out some utterly important life question, like whether she should plan her classes for her PhD after finishing her extra credit assignments or squeeze it in during her shower.
But with him she seemed to release the binds that tied her to the ever-exhausting need to be the mature one, the adult, the role model. She seemed to remember she was only barely seventeen and that not every single action she took had to be part of some greater plan.
After three pancakes lay piled on two plates, Casey dropped the pan into the sink and announced, "Done."
He took the plate gratefully, digging in.
"'Ese ar gud, Cae." Derek managed around a large bite at the girl who took the stool beside him.
"Unlike your table manners," Casey teased, taking a dainty bite.
"Love you too."
She smiled again, kissing his cheek.
"I was talking to the pancakes." Derek said with a grin, hearing her scoff and dodging the shove Casey intended to give him.
"Jerk." She murmured lightly.
He kissed her, feeling her body relax against his. It never failed to prove intoxicating, the way her tension could disappear so easily by his touch. She stood up, parting from him briefly to guide him toward the couch.
Oh. Derek smirked, pushing the toy gun away and laying on it lengthwise, pulling the soft form of Casey closer, lips on her neck, hands roaming.
She took his face in her hands, putting her lips to his.
Twenty minutes later, when she drew away for a breath, settling her head on his chest, she felt the rumble of his voice.
"I'm going to try to be less of one," he murmured, "A jerk, I mean."
Casey lifted an eyebrow, though he couldn't see it. "You're never going to stop pranking me."
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he admitted.
Casey laughed. "Wait 'til I tell Em you made a Harry Potter reference."
"That's just cruel, Case. You know the fact I read that—to Marti—is highly classified information." Derek stated defensively.
No one besides Casey knew he took the liberty of reading the entire series without Marti. For research, he claimed—he had to ensure it was age-appropriate.
Casey found a place for her arm on the couch beside him to prop herself up, "Relax, Venturi. Your rep is safe. Besides, it'd just make girls love you more with the story you'd feed them." Her nose wrinkled at the thought.
"Jealous?" The boy murmured, grinning.
"More nauseated," Casey responded flippantly, remembering a night some months before where Derek brought a date home to quell the parents' curiosity of his supposed lack-of-dates, "That obnoxious laugh and hand-on-your-shoulder combo gets old. Especially when it's some bimbo in our own house."
Derek's expression grew grave.
Observing the shift and concerned of a fight brewing, she continued quickly, "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm being honest."
He didn't respond for a moment, appearing pensive. "Do you want to tell the truth, then?"
Casey looked startled, her eyes searching his expression for any hint of jest. She couldn't find it.
"No…no, I don't think so. Not right now, when we still have senior year."
It was the answer he was expecting, but Derek wasn't sure what his response would have been.
Predictably, this was the question Casey had to ask. "Do you?"
Derek cracked a grin at her, raising his eyebrows. "You do realize you're on top of me wearing a low-cut shirt and that getting you out of it is all I want right now? Seriously, kind of hard to think."
"Convince me, Venturi." She challenged in a whisper, leaving the question behind and watching his eyes light up.
"My bedroom," he murmured against her neck, the words sounding heavy, "Now." One hand ran up her chest roughly, the other mimicking the pressure between her legs, causing her back to arch.
She looked down, her eyes muddled with a sort of intensity causing a pull from his navel, and wordlessly removed herself off the couch, making him follow without thinking about it.
In the darkness of his bedroom, Derek brought her closer, kisses rougher now, the frenzied need running through his veins. Tangled on the bed, her breath grew ragged as his hands sent waves of pleasure through her.
Casey stopped him briefly, removing her top and bra, her lips crashing back on his bare chest when he did the same. Despite what some may have thought, Casey wasn't opposed to many methods of sating the desire that she felt.
It was only moments later that the last articles of clothing they wore were too much of a nuisance to ignore.
This time was different. It felt different, and they both knew.
"Do you have…" she trailed off, her eyes showing the vulnerability she wanted to conceal.
"Yes." He answered, swallowing hard, "Are you sure? I don't…want to hurt you."
"You won't," Casey murmured, leaning in to kiss him, "Just go slow,"
"I will," he responded, moving his lips down to her neck, "Can't just jump into it, Case, jeez, that's just a waste of my talents."
A few hours later, reality was catching up to them. Casey found herself unreasonably emotional about the fact that she couldn't stay with the boy curled up next to her. She pressed her lips to his forehead.
"Are you okay?" Derek asked drowsily, unaware of the time.
"I'm okay, but everyone will be home soon. I should go." She busied herself by redressing.
"Case?"
Derek saw her look at him in question. "I do love you, you know."
She leaned forward, closer to his ear, her smile evident even at a whisper. "I love you too. Now sleep."
He closed his eyes, finding the suggestion a good idea.
She ensured she had everything and opened the window before leaving, giving Derek one last look as she closed the door.
Casey was good at hiding things because she was a strategist and planner. This meant she knew exactly what needed to be done before anyone even got to the driveway.
Everything was returned back where it needed to be—the dishes washed, dried, and put away, the toys returned, the couch pillows fluffed, telltale signs of Derek rummaging around by leaving cereal and medication out.
Satisfied with her handiwork, she took a second shower, longer than it needed to be, lost in her thoughts. Remembering every moment.
Who would have thought Derek Venturi was going to be her first? Certainly not her.
But she didn't regret it. Not in the least.