The last time I spoke to Brandon was during the short drive to his parent's apartment. There was so much to say, but I kept my thoughts to myself instead of screaming my heart out. As I toss and turn on the soft mattress, I'm still processing everything he said yesterday. I've been alternating from different sides of this bed like a minute hand moves forward inside a clock.
No matter where I lay my head, anxiety claws inside my stomach, forcing me to stay awake. When I shut my eyes, I imagine a girl I've never seen before with her face pressed against the concrete. Her pulse slowly disappears, and her hand stops twitching. She hears Brandon barely speaking complete sentences as he yells at the 911 dispatcher on the phone. After he's done, he lays Amber's iPhone next to her lifeless body.
"She didn't die." I keep telling myself, shifting further inside the comforter. I force my eyelids shut, and my mind starts repeating what William Lockwood said to his son. He gave him a stern look and said, "She didn't die. You can't ruin the boy's life over one mistake."
Brandon wanted to enroll in the army to learn how to live with himself. He even teaches Learning Strategies after he finds out the accident left Amber physically and mentally handicapped. Meanwhile, his father is on a business trip with one of his top investors in Los Angeles. Coincidentally, John Haynes is the father of Donovan Haynes, so William's rhetoric about turning the other cheek makes a lot more sense.
Someone tries to twist the locked door open, but after a few attempts, they knock on it instead. I sigh deeply, tossing the covers over my right shoulder. The Lockwood's morning calling is so early today that even the sun can't keep up. I shuffle to the front of the room and pull the door open. Brandon stretches his right arm over his head, leaning against the doorway.
The black baggy shorts falling past his ankles are the only clothing currently displayed on his body. I'm not complaining, but boy, are those smooth-sculpted pecs one helluva wake-up call. My eyes haven't even reached his chiseled abs, and I'm already drooling.
Seriously, it's not even three a.m., and the number one Abercrombie and Fitch model is already half-naked. There's no way I can last nine months in the same house as those muscles.
"Like what you see," Brandon smirks, bouncing his pecs. "I could give you a real show if you ever came down the hall."
I blush, coughing out my words. "Why are you here?"
"Same as you," Brandon exhales. "I couldn't sleep."
"You either?" I frown.
"All I get is three minutes, then I think about what happened to your mom, and I'm wide awake." Brandon concentrates as he stares at me with sorrow.
I slightly swing the door back and forth. "You look like you want to stay."
Brandon smiles. "Want to not sleep together?"
I release the doorknob from my grasp and walk back to the left side of the bed. I plop down on the mattress in defeat, sliding underneath the covers. My head rests against the plush pillow when Brandon crawls into bed with me. He stays on top of the covers, but his left hand instinctively reaches for my green headscarf. I swat it away like a pesky fly, but he keeps pulling away at the silk fabric. Ugh, stop it already!
"This scarf is staying on my head like that pigment stays on your skin. It's non-negotiable."
"I didn't realize I could take my skin off and put it back on," Brandon says sarcastically.
"Why are you so bothered by what's on MY HEAD?"
"If you saw your hair the way I do, then you would always wear it out," Brandon says, snatching the scarf off my head.
He waves it over my head like a carrot, and I'm some deranged rabbit with her hair scattered all over the pillow. I crawl over his chest, reaching for my green headscarf. Eventually, I cross my arms, frowning until I get my way, but I forgot Brandon lacks human decency.
"Give it back! Why do you keep picking on me?" I whine, slapping his pecs hard with my hand. Maybe I felt around a bit to make sure they were on straight.
"You trying to take advantage of me?" Brandon asks with a coy smile.
My mouth gaps open. "You've felt more thighs than Popeyes, and I'm taking advantage of you!"
"I'm just returning the favor." Brandon shrugs shyly. "You said not to touch your thighs, and I'm asking you not to feel me up with your cold ass hands."
I pucker my lips and use the manliest voice I can muster. "This is why no one wants you. You have trust issues. Now, relax, baby, and let it happen."
Brandon looks at me blankly before he bursts out laughing hysterically. "You can't even say sex without using some bullshit synonym, and now you're trying to mansplain my feelings."
"There's nothing wrong with not saying profane words, asshole," I grumble, crawling back under the covers.
"We're doing a vocabulary lesson." Brandon reaches under the blanket and starts tickling me. "Either you use sex in a complete sentence, or I won't stop."
I roll across the bed, laughing uncontrollably. I grab the comforter and slither in between the sheets. I'm finally able to calm down, at least until Brandon invades my cocoon. He grabs my waist before I can run away, pulling me into a firm embrace. He litters my neck with brief kisses, holding me as if his life depended on it.
I turn around to face him, and he brushes my hair out of my face. His lips return to my neck, moving towards my collarbone and stopping three centimeters short of my breasts. He watches my chest rise and fall. Then he glances at me with a smile and kisses my forehead.
"I wish we could stay in this moment forever." He watches me as he props his arm on the pillow.
I bite my bottom lip. "I can't believe Wonder Boy just tried to get my top off."
"What?" Brandon asks incredulously.
"You heard me."
"This entire time I've been a gentleman, you've been imagining me in nothing but spandex?" He questions.
My eyes widen in shock when he pulls me in his arms. "I would never imagine you in spandex. Not that I don't want to, but it's an invasion of your privacy. And I'm not saying I don't want to imagine your Johnson, just that I wouldn't mind thinking about it. And shut the fuck up." I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.
How am I still able to make an ass out of myself in front of Brandon? It's like some messed up hidden talent I never knew I possessed. At this point, I might as well say 'sex' because I literally found ninety different ways of complimenting his mini-me. Not that I think it's miniature or microscopic or anything.
Ughhh, shut up already!
"Really, you're the one blushing?" He laughs.
"Stop. Making. Me. Nervous." I mutter.
"You realize you complimented my . . ."
"I never had this conversation. I never had this conversation. I. NEVER. HAD. THIS. CONVERSATION." I whimper, covering my face.
"Ebony, let go of the comforter," Brandon demands.
"No, not until I can go home."
Brandon slowly uncovers my face until he's pressing his lips to mine. "You're already home." He sighs.
His hand runs up the back of my shirt, climbing over my bra. I burrow my head deeper into his chest, thinking about everything we still have to overcome. I hate to say it, but in nine months, he's going to disappear from my life. Even though I'll never forget our time together, wherever the wind blows him, it'll still be miles away from me.
"How was your meeting with the recruiter?" I whisper.
"It was fine," Brandon says, playing in my hair. "but I barely remember him."
"Was he cuter than you?" I tilt my head towards him.
Without hesitation, Brandon pushes my head, completely ignoring my death glare. "Why? You plan on leaving me for him?"
I playfully raise my eyebrows. "Maybe."
"Well, he's fifty-two with a buff stepdaughter and a mean wife. You can try your chances, but you want get that far." Brandon teases.
"That's funny; my dad has a butch stepdaughter too."
"Instead of bagging on Alexis, why don't you move closer," Brandon instructs.
Brandon looks at me with those devilish eyes and a hypnotic half-smile. Every toned Adonis from the beautiful land of chiseled superheroes is screaming in my mind all at once. My imagination is scrambling to think of all the kinky ways this night could end.
Sadly, every scenario my perverted brain can muster ends with me losing my V card. So, there's a strong possibility that my back is pressed against the opposite side of the mattress past the invisible drawbridge.
The one that stretches from the top of the bed to the end of it with molten lava seething from the chasm. A bit dramatic, I know, but I don't trust the gleam in his eyes.
"Thanks, but I like the weather on this side of the drawbridge." I instantly blush, covering my mouth.
"Instead of building imaginary walls, you decided to raise the drawbridge." Brandon chuckles.
"Just stay on your side," I whine, swatting his hands from pulling me closer to him.
Brandon shakes his head. "Someone's going to extreme lengths to protect their virginity."
"And someone's going to extreme lengths to catapult past my last critical defense." I breathe heavily as my heart races inside my chest
"How else am I supposed to save the Princess?"
I scrunch up my face. "She doesn't need saving."
"I'll be the judge of that." Brandon places his hand on my waist, whispering into my ear.
I jump out of bed. "How about you just tell me what happened with the recruiter and stop changing the subject?" I say, pointing my index finger at him.
"Gawd, my girlfriend's going to be a 40-year-old virgin." He sighs, stretching his arms over his head.
"BRANDON!"
He bites his bottom lip as he looks at me. "No matter what the recruiter said, I couldn't stop thinking about you."
I mumble into the darkness. "You're lying."
He lays on top of his left arm as he watches me with his sculpted chest exposed. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Ebony."
"I'm not afraid of you, Brandon," I say instinctively.
"Then prove it."
I dig my fingernails deeper into my hand the closer I inch towards the bed. Before five minutes is up, I crawl back into the bed with Brandon. I slide across the plush mattress once, imagining Brandon passionately kissing the nape of my neck twice, when an illusion grabs my breasts and holds me in place. Then his right-hand travels from my boob to the dark crevices of my mind.
"Was that so hard?" Brandon asks, wrapping his arms around my back and closing the gap between us.
"When I'm with you, I overthink everything," I confess, resting my head on his chest.
Brandon strokes my back as his shoulders tense. "I need you to unlock your phone."
I tighten our embrace, breathing rapidly into his muscles. I stay quiet, unable to speak a single word without fighting the urge to burst into tears. Brandon pulls my iPhone from his black shorts, and gives it to me. My mother's warm smile greets me on the Lock Screen along with a particularly crude message.
"Unlock it." Brandon raises his voice.
I pull away, typing the four-digit code into my cell phone. When it's unlocked, I'm instantly hit with fifty new messages from the same random numbers. Even though these assholes are having a one-sided conversation, they're still harassing me, and now Brandon thinks I'm a willing participant. I shove the phone in his face, my stomach churning in disgust.
I break away from his grasp, shifting to the edge of the bed. "You can have it, asshole."
Brandon exhales. "How am I supposed to react?"
"Figure it out," I mutter.
Brandon grabs my arm. "I told you things I've never told anyone else. You can't just turn away from me."
"Ebony!" He yells, shaking my shoulders.
"How are you supposed to react," I spat, "How am I supposed to feel about strangers asking to have sex with me for money?!"
"Look, I can't lose you, but how am I supposed to think when you won't talk to me."
"Think whatever you want."
"Hey," Brandon falters, pulling me into a tight embrace, "please just talk to me."
I roll my eyes as tears start to fall. "It all started after one number sent me a text at Leigh Ann's Diner. 209-3â." I stop when I notice Brandon repeating the same number.
"209-350-1619." His hold fastens firmer around me. "That's Donovan's number."