Forever With You (Silver State Series) Read online

  I look back over my shoulder as Kyle leans up on one elbow, twisting his body to parallel mine. He begins to lift and lower his hips, rocking his pelvis into my butt and augmenting the pressure that’s building in the space where our bodies fit together. He reaches around me to knead at my breast, then drops his hand to press flat against my stomach.

  “God, it feels so good, Kyle,” I whimper as I whip my head back and forth, shaking my long hair away from my face. Kyle brings his hand up to grasp the hair at the base of my skull and tugs on it, gently bending my head backward in a way that causes the blood to pound even louder in my ears. His lips tickle my neck as they move against my salty skin. “It feels fucking incredible,” he says.

  He keeps his mouth positioned just outside my ear so I can hear every pant and moan escaping his lips – his breath begins to accelerate, and I can tell he’s getting close. I wonder if he’s staving it off for my benefit. If he is, he doesn’t have to wait for long. My orgasm rips through me, its suddenness nearly taking me by surprise. Kyle is no doubt able to feel me contracting and compressing around him – a couple seconds later he curls forward, pressing his forehead into my shoulder as he erupts inside me, then falls still.

  Chapter 18 – Macary

  Sunday, September 18

  Kyle – 9:45 AM

  I woke up a few times during the night with Tawny sprawled across my chest, sleeping soundly. At one point I needed to take a piss, but I was afraid to disturb her, so I didn’t. Now I’m staring up at the ceiling, trying not to move as I mentally replay the events of last night. Party. Shots. Dancing. Fucking…in front of a camera. Christ, the thought alone is giving me a raging boner. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever guessed how amazing Tawny would turn out to be.

  It occurs to me I’ve never had a girl spend the night before. I’ve slept in their beds, but I’ve never had them in mine. It was different with them, too – for one thing, I’ve usually made a point of keeping to my own side of the bed, turned away. I pride myself on my intense foreplay, but customarily I’m not much for post-coital snuggling. I only stay because I’m too tired or drunk, or both, to drive myself home.

  With Tawny, though, I haven’t felt the need to set those boundaries. It feels good to have my arms around her, inhaling her sweet scent. She smells like baby powder and something vaguely fruity.

  I flinch in surprise when the object of my wandering thoughts suddenly lifts her arms over her head and stretches. Her body, clad only in one of my soft, old bleach-stained t-shirts, rolls against my side as she twists around to face me. For a moment she appears confused, like she can’t quite place who I am, but then her eyes shift and blink as they register the circumstances, and likely also the memory of last night.

  “Good morning,” I say, my voice gruff from lack of use.

  “Good morning,” she replies shyly.

  “How do you feel?” I ask, already trying to remember whether I have any more ibuprofen to help ease a headache.

  “Okay, I think,” she says. “Just…thirsty.” She opens and closes her mouth, feeling the dryness in the back of her throat.

  “Yeah, you’ll need to make sure you drink a lot of water today,” I say. “I’ll run get you some.”

  I kiss her temple, and she scoots over to make room for me to climb out of the bed. When I return a minute later, Tawny takes the water glass I offer her and sits up; she tips the glass up with both hands before greedily gulping down its contents, emptying it in about five seconds flat. I watch in amusement as a stray drop of water dribbles down her chin.

  She lowers the glass and brings the hem of the shirt she’s wearing up to her chin to wipe it, flashing me a glimpse of her flat stomach in the process. My gaze remains riveted on her toned midsection even as the material drops back down to conceal it. When I glance up a moment later, Tawny is watching me, her brows knit together like she’s trying to work out a problem in her head. Her eyes dart to her discarded clothing strewn across the floor, and for some reason my heart beat quickens – for some reason I don’t want her to leave yet.

  “How about breakfast?” I ask.

  Tawny – 10:30 AM

  Kyle’s roommate Shelley was reading in the living room when we left; I tried my best not to feel embarrassed by the fact I was dressed in my slinky black dress and high heels from last night, even though everything about her facial expression let me know she was very aware of my walk of shame. I wondered when she’d gotten back and inwardly cringed, hoping she hadn’t heard anything. Kyle, meanwhile, seemed totally unfazed.

  We swung past my dorm just long enough for me to scrub the makeup off my face and change, then drove to the most popular breakfast place on campus.

  Sunshine Kitchen is packed with people this morning, most of them students. The patrons seem for the most part to be divided between dolled up churchgoers and hung over, bleary-eyed partygoers. I smirk to myself as I realize that, for the first time in my life, I fit more into the latter group. Truthfully, I can’t say I mind it as much as I thought I would. Misery loves company, after all.

  All of the tables were full and running on a twenty-five minute wait when we walked in, so Kyle and I opted to sit at the bar. Typically neither of us is big on coffee, but this morning we’re both savoring heavily doctored mugs of the pungent brew they serve here.

  Our waitress, an older lady named Connie, sets steaming platters down in front of us – an egg with sausage and hash brown casserole for me, pigs in blankets for Kyle. I chuckle as I watch him drown his food in about a quart of maple syrup. “You like some pancakes with your syrup?” I ask.

  “Sometimes,” he replies. “On the side.” He grins and winks at me before stuffing a massive bite in his mouth.

  We eat in silence. Kyle inhales his meal as if he’s afraid someone will take it away from him, while I nibble at mine more slowly, unsure what my stomach can handle. Kyle predictably finishes first; Connie removes his plate, replacing it with our check, and he rests his elbows on the countertop as he waits patiently for me to get done. I glance over at him just in time to see his eyes flash in recognition of someone or something behind us.

  Before I can turn around, a girl sidles up behind Kyle and throws her arms around his shoulders. I freeze mid-chew as I inspect her elated expression and realize she’s gorgeous. Her bright green eyes are set off by her golden bronzed skin, and a curtain of fine, silky chestnut hair falls past her shoulders. She’s shorter and curvier than I am, and surprisingly she doesn’t appear to fit either the pious or the partygoer mold – she’s dressed casually in a pair of yoga pants and a fitted V-neck t-shirt, but she’s bright-eyed and bushytailed, not disheveled like the rest of us lushes. Suddenly I wish I’d insisted upon a shower this morning prior to being seen in public.

  “Holy shit, Macary?” Kyle exclaims as he stands up and spins around to return her embrace. She giggles as he towers over her petite frame, wrapping her in an enthusiastic hug. I glance back down, embarrassed, and remember I still have food in my mouth. I chew and swallow, then reach for my ice water, feeling it would be impolite to turn back around and gawk at the two of them.

  “What the hell are you doing back in town?” says Kyle. “I thought you left for Italy!”

  “I did,” the mystery girl replies, still laughing. “The school fucked up something with my student visa though, so my trip got cut short. I just got back last Thursday.”

  “Wow, that sucks,” he says.

  “It kind of does, but honestly I’m glad to be back. I hadn’t realized how homesick I was!”

  Kyle laughs. “God, I can’t believe you’re here! We have to hang out soon so you can tell me all about it!”

  “For sure. Well hey, I’ve got somebody waiting on me; I’ll let you get back to your breakfast. I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Yeah, great, talk to you soon!”

  I swivel around just as she begins to walk away, my heart beating like a jackhammer inside my chest. Who was that?

  Kyle drops ba
ck down into his seat. “Sorry about that,” he says, his face still alive with excitement. “I should’ve introduced you.” Uh, yeah. “Macary was a friend of mine last year,” he explains as he begins straightening the sugar packets in their container. Is it my imagination, or does he seem hesitant to look me in the eye? I wait, but he doesn’t volunteer any more information.

  Everything about the interaction that just occurred has me guessing Kyle was, at least at one point, involved with that girl as more than just “a friend.” I clear my throat in an effort to fight down the knot rising in the back of my windpipe. I take a deep, cleansing breath, followed by a drink of water. It’s nothing, I tell myself. He can do whatever he wants with whomever he chooses. We’re not together.

  I concentrate on loosening my hands, which have somehow ended up balled tightly in my lap. I should be glad this happened – it served as a useful reminder of what’s really going on here.

  I sigh and square my shoulders to Kyle; he’s watching me apprehensively now, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. I wipe my mouth with my paper napkin and scoot back my chair. “Ready to go?” I ask.

  Kyle – 11:30 AM

  My head is spinning. I watch Tawny as she walks, without glancing back, up the sidewalk to Argenta’s front entrance, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. The shift in her demeanor after the incident with Macary was so palpable I felt like I could reach out and touch it – I just can’t quite fathom what “it” is.

  It was disorienting seeing Macary, to say the least. The two of us were fast friends at the beginning of last year – she and her girlfriends tended to run in the same circles as Les and I did. We have a lot in common, from our taste in music to our preference for pilsners. Despite these similarities, our friendship was strictly platonic…up until the night before she left to fly to Naples for a year of study abroad. One of her friends threw her a huge going away party at the beginning of the summer right after finals, and, as seems to be par for the course at those types of gatherings, everyone had way too much to drink. Macary and I didn’t have sex that night, but we sure as hell came close. She chickened out at the last minute, only because she felt it would be unfair to both of us if we started anything right before she left. It took over a month to get her out of my head…in fact, now that I think about it, I believe seeing Tawny that day at Frank’s Pizza might have been what finally did it. I’d rarely thought of Macary since.

  Of course, I feel like an asshole. Last time Tawny and I bumped into someone I knew, I made the mistake of introducing her as “my friend,” and she went all quiet on me. I’m pretty sure not introducing her at all was even worse. Granted, she didn’t get quiet this time – it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it was that changed. It was more of a subtle difference in the way she treated me. Case in point: she insisted on paying for her own food this morning. Plus, I wanted to kiss her when we pulled up in front of her dorm, but she just waved at me as she hopped out, like I’m nothing more than a casual acquaintance.

  Then again, maybe I’m overanalyzing the situation – it wouldn’t be the first time, nor will it be the last. I remind myself of all the moments Tawny and I have shared over the past few weeks, and think again of last night. I’m pretty sure that was the best sex I’ve ever had – and I’m positive she enjoyed it, too. I’m probably just reading too much into her behavior since we finished breakfast. Really, she’s acted perfectly friendly.

  So then why the fuck does it feel like I’ve just lost her?

  Part 3

  Chapter 19 – Distance

  Tuesday, October 11

  Tawny – 3:00 PM

  I use a set of plastic tongs to heap strawberry slices and Oreo crumbles on my swirl of frozen yogurt, then set my cup on the scale next to the cash register. Once I’ve paid for my treat, I stroll to the front of the restaurant to join Vivian at a table against the wall. The Reno Gazette is folded into a neat rectangle in front of her, and she’s chewing on the rubber eraser of a number two pencil as she pores over today’s crossword puzzle.

  I settle in the seat across from her and take out one of my textbooks. The two of us have hung out several times over the past month – we’ve been to dinner and screenings at the arts theater; we’ve gone hiking and saw the meerkat feature exhibit at the zoo. Lately we’ve fallen into a rhythm of meeting up and studying (or in Vivian’s case, playing) in companionable silence. It feels nice to have a close girlfriend again – apart from my roommates, Rhiannon has been the only consistent female influence in my life for the past few months, and I try to make a point of not burdening her more than I have to, especially since she’s in the throes of wedding planning. Still, as close as we’ve become, there are certain things I can’t talk to Vivian about. Unfortunately, one of those things happens to be weighing pretty heavily on my mind these days.

  It’s been twenty-three days since I last saw Kyle, and honestly it seems closer to three months than just one. The first week without seeing him felt like a replay of the week after we slept together for the first time – he called, I ignored; he texted, I messaged back a one word answer. He left me a couple of voicemails asking me to go places with him, and Lord did I ever want to say yes. I had already made up my mind, though, and I clung to my resolve to end my jacked-up relationship with him. I reminded myself I’d given the “friends with benefits” scenario a fair shot – it just wasn’t the life for me.

  I did consider whether I owed it to Kyle to call and let him know my decision, but ultimately opted against it. We were never dating, after all – this wasn’t a breakup. Still, if I’m being honest, my decision to leave things unsaid probably had more to do with my own selfish aversion to awkward confrontations.

  Anyway, sometime around the middle of last week, after seventeen solid, fruitless days of trying to contact me, he finally gave up. This revelation was both a relief and a source of anguish for me. Of course, I had to know he wouldn’t stay on my case forever – and really, his attention span seems to be longer than I originally gave him credit for.

  There is, of course, another complicating dynamic. I can’t help feeling guilty whenever I think of Kyle’s grandma – which is frequently. If nothing else, I want to be there for him for that reason alone, and likely if he ever mentioned Donna in any of his text messages, I’d be more than willing to compromise on my stalwart decision to keep my distance. In the absence of any news from Kyle, however, I’ve been checking up on her in my own way. My mom sees her in their weekly Bible studies, and she’s dutifully reported all she knows about the course of Donna’s treatment – which so far isn’t much other than the fact she’s had surgery to remove the lump. Next she’ll start chemotherapy.

  But even in my whorl of guilt and frustration, I can’t help reliving certain moments – like when Kyle would tell me I was “beautiful” or “amazing,” or when he’d look at me like I meant more to him than just someone to hook up with, to satisfy his sexual craving. There are times when I almost trick myself into believing he may have felt something deeper for me – but if that was the case, then he passed up multiple opportunities to make his true feelings known. As much time as we ultimately spent together, I can’t believe he wouldn’t have spoken up if I was what he truly wanted.

  A few thoughts remain that continue to gnaw at my insides and obstruct my path to closure. The first is of the girl at the NAK party who started grinding against Kyle while we were dancing, touching him in ways that made me believe she’d done it before. Seeing as I was drunk at the time, it took me a while to remember that fleeting moment. The memory of the way he’d leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear, and then the smug smile he’d put on her overly made-up face, continues to be a painful one. Had he been making a date for later while I’d been standing right there in front of him?

  Next, of course, is the thought of Kyle with that girl Macary – the pretty one from the breakfast place. I have a recurring nightmare that stars the two of them engaging in an act of passion akin to what I
experienced with Kyle, and I’m always left feeling moderately nauseated by it. Not a day has gone by when I didn’t wonder whether they’ve ended up together. Kyle’s affection for her had been pretty plain to see.

  And then there’s the video. It’s a shame we couldn’t reach some sort of agreement about what to do with that little piece of cinema before things turned south. It turns my stomach to think such a thing exists in the absence of a pact to keep it confidential. My only consolation is my intact belief in Kyle’s innate decency as a human being. It’s also occurred to me he may have just erased it – and that thought is, for some reason, almost as disturbing to me as the thought of him sharing it. I have no idea what sort of twisted logic is at play here – I guess it just hurts to think I could be so easily rendered irrelevant.

  There are times when I’m sitting quietly across from Vivian, who’s such a good and loyal person, when I wish I could open up to her about these things. But Vivian is close friends with Aiden, and I know it would be a conflict of interest for her to commiserate with my plight.

  Which reminds me… Aiden. Aiden is a great guy. He’s so well-mannered and attentive and patient. Things are progressing slowly between the two of us, but they are progressing. We’ve been on two dates in as many weeks, just the two of us. What’s strange is it feels more like I’m letting it happen than making it happen, and I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not – is it bad I don’t feel as if I’m playing a very active role in building my own relationship, or good it doesn’t feel forced?

  Such is my state of inner turmoil these days. No wonder I’m exhausted all the time.

  Kyle – 5:45 PM

  I spend entirely too much time sitting at my desk – reading, writing, editing photos, screwing around on Facebook. I’ve made time every evening for the past couple of weeks to go for a run or lift weights at the gym, vent some pent-up aggression, but other than that, when I’m not in class, I’m sitting at this fucking desk. I even eat dinner here. It’s miserable and lame.