25 | 𝑁𝑒𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑃𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑦

"No one is going to want to see a used condom," he lectured pointedly.

"You never know with teenagers now-a-days, they go crazy over these types of things," I admitted, pushing my toes against the tip of the constricting shoes. "Now, will you tell me why the hell we're here?" I argued, throwing my opposing arm out to the sheet of snow stretching the length of the woods. Trees branches were littered in icing and cone-shaped glass shards.

My other hand, well, was clammy in the warmth-filled hold that Victor provided in his clutch.

"Are you kidding?" Victor laughed, the blades beneath his skates slicing through the ice and abruptly cutting in front of me, causing my body to tremble with preparation to fall.

His  hand snagged onto my waist and kept me stable. "Rhy," he began gently, making me dumbly assume that whatever was to follow my nickname would be sincere. "You are a terrible ice skater."

"In my defense, your mom has tiny feet!" I deadpanned, prodding a finger towards the skates I wore. "Victor, why are we in the woods?" I beckoned a hand to the frosted lake we balanced on. "More importantly, here?"

"Because, dating is like ice skating," he announced, proud of himself. I was also proud up until he tried to make a point by releasing my hand and freeing me.

"Aw--hell no!" I shrieked, waving my arms like a flightless bird. "I need you!"

"I'm flattered, but one day, you'll be stranded atop a frozen-over lake and you won't have me to hold your hand," he sarcastically described, encircling the perimeter of the lake in one fluid, effortless motion. He shouted, "time to fly, baby bird!"

I really want to understand how he knows ice skating? Like does this bitch practice on the weekends? What the hell?

I stabilized myself, standing awkwardly on thin blades. "You still haven't told me why we're here... or why we need to tell teenagers we slept together?" I replied in a questioning tone. He floated towards me, scraping the ice, a blizzard of flakes dusting into the air.

"Think about it," he started with a creepy, lopsided grin. His eyes were darkening and I knew that was a bad sign. I quickly scanned his gray sweatpants, hugging his waist loosely with the ebony sweatshirt. The hood hung over his black hair, swept in gel. If he thought that wouldn't kill me, he sure as hell made sure I was dead when he picked me up in his jeep with a red checkered flannel on top.

He continued, "if I let it slip to the school that we're friends with benefits, forget about it," he laughed maniacally. "I'll give a few rumors here and there, and bam, you got yourself a hunter."

My nose wrinkled. "I don't want a hunter, Vicky. I want someone who genuinely wants me."

"He will," Victor assured, smacking his lips. "After he hunts." He progressively skated backwards, his arms outstretched towards me. "Come on, Rhy. You aren't going to get in a relationship by just standing on the ice."

"That's not true," I sternly declared, wrinkling my nose and crossing my arms in refusal to obey to his simple commands. "In all the movies I've watched, it's always the guy who has the balls."

"Well," he uncomfortably began, ceasing his movement. "Time to grow a pair, Rhy, because I'm afraid you've fallen for a neutered puppy."

I rolled my eyes, beginning to lift my foot off the ice when my body started to propel backwards, a blur of the woods and mountain curves flew towards the sky. My tailbone slammed to the sheet of ice, a groan of agony drawing out between my lips as the glossy frost shot up through the palms of my hands in sync with the sharpening splinter of pain. I laid dead on the ice when Victor bent over me with a quirked eyebrow.

"This is it," I croaked, "my life ends here."

"You were standing when you fell, I hope you know that," he mentioned, the silhouette of his face stood out among the bluest of blue skies. The back of my head was pressed against the ice while the throbbing sensation spread throughout my body.

"I think I live here now," I responded with an unsteadiness to my voice. The sun rays were in my eyes, flickering through my eyelashes.

"Come on, get up!" he amped, holding out his hands, towering over me. "Come on. Princesses get up after they fall."

"Not with a broken sciatica, they don't," I snapped. I heavily lifted my hand up to a chortling Victor. "Stop laughing at my pain."

He shook his head, though the tidal waves of chuckles didn't lower in volume. He grabbed both of my hands within his and started to raise me off the ground, though my feet were scrambling and slipping each time. Once on the blades, my back was numb with pulsating shocks. His lips were molded in a tight lipped smile. "Are you okay?" he asked with a seriousness to his tone. "We can stop."

"If I wanted to stop, I'd tell you," I assured, giving one of his hands a squeeze.

He rolled his eyes. "I know you would." He began to drift away from me, one of his hands releasing mine. He leisurely drew to my side, his foot sliding forward while I helplessly trailed. I winced in pain, but continued nonetheless.

Our hands were connected by our sides as we slowly encircled the lake, wrapping around between the snow coated mountain range and the overlapping clusters of trees. The brisk air slapped against my face as we progressed.

"Dating is a struggle," he voiced.

"Getting him to like me is a struggle. Let's take it one skate at a time?" I suggested weakly.

"Put it this way," Victor muttered, advancing towards the forest line. "Sullivan is like a block of ice."

"Oh, boy," I uttered exhaustingly under my breath.

He burst into laughter, shaking his head. "No, give me a shot to explain myself." He paused and rephrased, "You keep hitting into him and falling, and failing, and slipping, and making a fool of yourself--"

"I get it," I curtly interjected.

He smirked and said, "but you just have to learn how to fucking use this ice to your advantage. Look--" He let go of my hand after my minor persistence of wanting him to stay, but he stopped in front of me a few feet ahead. "Skate to me, Rhy. I won't let you fall."

"Isn't that what I want to do?" I asked. "Fall for him."

"You already did, like a minute ago," he reminded, gesturing to the shavings of ice, marks of memory flashing in my head. The sparkling, glossy, frozen-over water made a shudder run up my spine instinctually.

"Victor, I've never been ice skating... ever in my life." I was trying to smooth over my vulnerability and fear with short laughs.

"Neither did I at one point," he remarked. "Everyone on earth had to try and go to the bathroom, try and communicate, try and breathe--"

"Your point?"

"We all got good at it." He cheekily beamed. "Rhy, I won't let you fall."

I stubbornly crossed my arms over my chest. "You said that the last time and look where that ended up." I lifted my arm towards him and wiggled my fingers as an invitation for him to grab.

He looked down, raised his hand and his pointer and middle finger pressed on either side of my thumb gently. He looked up at me with an adorable grin faint on his lips. I pushed off of my right foot hesitantly and glided my left foot forward, simultaneously as Victor drifted backwards, aligned with my footing.

"I'm doing it!" I exclaimed in brief excitement, lifting my other hand as he clutched two of my fingers softly, his grip strengthening as our blades scratched harmoniously over the ice.

"And you doubted it?" His eyebrow curved with his forehead. "Ice skating is easy when you get the hang of it." Victor beckoned his head to the frosted view of trees swaying and snow flurries in the wind, that of which I admired. "Chasing after Corbett isn't and won't be easy, but you have to make him your skating rink."

"Excuse me?"

"In order to skate, you had to get a feel for the ice. Once you learned, you could enjoy the broader picture." He warmly assured me with his eyes. "Rhy, I want you to get Corbett, but you have to trust me that I know what I'm doing."

"I don't know about that," I questioned with a guffaw.

"Look, you learned how to skate. Bet ya didn't think you could do that." He continued to scroll his skates backwards, looking into my eyes with this intense gaze. If I wasn't hovering my hands over him, and entrusting my rhythm, I would've most definitely fell.

"Remind me what you think we should do?" I inquired with realization.

He lowered his tone shamefully and mumbled, "that we should fake being friends with benefits--" His voice heightened. "He will know you're available, and that I'm not a threat, but at the same time, he'll feel the need to establish his dominance and trust me--"

His words were abruptly cut off by his deep-throated yelp as he tumbled backwards to the ground with me tripping forward in an attempt not to land on him, surpassing the world in a gust of memories forward.

I thundered right into his chest as he curled in misery beneath me, writhing for me to get off. "God, Azariah!" he groaned. I swiftly raised off him, my leggings wet with water, soaking through to my skin and numbing me in a frigid December chill. My knees were throbbing atop the slab of frost.

"Sorry," I apologized with a hopeful look on my face.

He sat upright, his palms behind him as he squinted, studying my expression before he heaved up his arm with a faint wince, his benumbing fingers grazed my forehead, creating a searing hot touch, the prickling deadened fingertip shot coldness and warmth through me. He swept away a few loose strands of carmel baby hairs, a faint wetness of ice slipped off his hand and down my temple.

Shit. I liked that.

He giggled. "Would ya look at that, you have two heads."

"Well, shit."

♡♡♡

It was getting late, I knew that, but in truth. I could bask in the day, over and over again, every tortuous, prolonged fall, to the very moment my heart completely melted like the ice on his fingertip.

We'd driven up north where he used to go skating when he'd first moved to Wyoming, and though we'd already lived as north as you could possibly be in the state, I never knew this small town existed like he did. It was isolated by a barrier of trees and snow, but the cobblestone pathways between antique stores and the old fashioned clock at the center of town surrounded by a sprinkle of flowers, were all so welcoming to tourists.

I sat on a bar stool with a small wooden backing, facing the diner windows. Our waitress already slid my breakfast in front of me, and Victor's pasta, as well as our two weizen glasses of coke that quietly sizzled in unison to diner rush-hour. The sun was glaring behind the silhouette of a mountain straight ahead, rich oranges flooded the town in a golden glow and the navy hued skies transpired behind clouds. It was a watercolor painting and the few gatherings of people only added a touch of humility to my sight.

I was startled when Victor placed the palm of his hand on my back, which was now clad in his bundling hoodie that he'd found in his car. He slid onto the bar stool next to me, his hand falling off. "Still can't believe you ordered breakfast at dinner time," he mocked, unfolding his napkin.

"What can I say? Breakfast is good for any time of the day, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but I know I'm not," I teased, digging my fork into the heap of scrambled eggs, smelling the aroma of butter watering down the curve of my pancake. "Looks like a dream on a platter," I voiced. "You're the weirdo who ordered pasta at a diner."

"Oh, why thank you," Victor joked sarcastically, his eyes flashing towards me whilst he dug into his pasta. "Rhy, I meant what I said back there." He swallowed his bite of food and lifted his chin to stare out of the window. "Once you get comfortable with him, it'll become easier." His voice stood out among the parade of distant chatter.

I rolled my eyes, laughing hysterically. "Well, when you word it like that... yeah, it makes a lot more sense--"

He playfully nudged me in my bicep with his knuckles. "That's what I've been telling you."

"What happened to being a bad bitch?" I asked childishly, chowing down at a few warm bites of egg.

"Believe me, you will be, but let's start small. One skate at a time," he responded, his voice transfusing into chuckles before he ate his pasta silently. I did the same, chewing on my grapes until I felt the rhythmic vibrations of my cell phone on the granite counter. My hand flipped over the phone to see Sullivan Corbett's profile picture and his name 'Liv' with a heart alongside it.

I slapped the phone down frantically. "What do I do? The devil! Skating!" I flapped my hands repetitively, gulping down my eggs as Victor raised a brow, unhurriedly chewing.

"You answer it," he curtly said.

"You don't understand---what do I say? You answer it!" I waved the device towards him as I felt the glances and eyes peer over their shoulders. He shrugged, reaching over to grab my phone when I slapped his forearm and snatched the device before he could. I pressed the green circle, bringing the phone to my ear.

"Hey," I breathed unevenly.

"Hi," he started with a question to his tone. "Y'know that the project is due soon and we didn't even start it, right? We only just finished watching all the movies," he explained briefly.

My eyes widened up towards Victor now that I was pacing the length behind the bar stool. "Yeah..."

"Well, are you busy right now?" He seemed as if it was an effortless invite. "I could've texted, but it makes more sense to speak it. You could come over my house in like twenty minutes?" he suggested.

"Right now?" I implored, gazing up at Victor with big, pitiful eyes, begging for him to let me.

He narrowed, scanned his phone, then nodded, but pivoted in his chair, slipping out his wallet, and for a moment before he turned, I could've sworn I saw a flicker of downcast. He threw up his arm as a signal. The waitress scurried over and he muttered, "we'll take this to go."

Sullivan must've heard, because he suddenly asked, "was that Vislocky? What are you doing with him?"

"Sex," I impusivily stated. "I mean," I choked on my words, refusing to see the confusion in front of me. "Victor and I are friends with benefits now..." I wanted to add, like you and Kayla, but that wouldn't be accurate. Victor and I weren't like them, far from it.

Victor tapped my shoulder and gestured to where he needed to pay. He started to walk off with the brown paper bag in his hand, the diner's red sketched logo behind him and blatantly staring back at me. I felt bad, and wished I could've finished my eggs.

Eggs can't be microwaved.

♡♡♡

"Do exactly as I said."

"I know," I murmured softly. I glanced at his eyes again. "Vicky?" I unbuckled my seatbelt strap and towered over the middle consul, though we were inches away from each other, he refused to move even the slightest bit from me in the constriction of his jeep. Snowflakes were dotting his windshield and the wipers smeared them continuously while heat poured through the vehicle.

His eyes visibly fleeted to my slightly parted lips while I asked, "does my breath smell?"

Fuck, I think I ruined that moment.

He reluctantly separated from me. "You gotta be kidding me," he chuckled. "If I had a taste, I could be more accurately certain," he told me and I hated myself, because I deeply considered it.

"Does it?" I pleaded.

He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering over mine hotly. "No," he whispered, his breath prickling my chin and chapped lips. "You do smell like pancakes and syrup though."

"What do you expect? I ate them on the drive, thank you very much." I darted to the opposite side towards the door handle and clutched it tightly in my grasp. "What if I have my first kiss? What is that like?"

"I could show you--"

"I'm being serious, Vicky. What is it like?" I desperately stared at his wearisome expression before he relaxed against his seat.

"Azariah." He rolled his head towards me. "You will learn quick enough if you had your first kiss with him today and if he ever was to judge you for your kissing skill or lack thereof, I would gratefully take him to a place where people don't return."

"Don't kill my crush," I lectured. Popping open the car door to break the surface of searing air with a wicked coldness. "Thank you, Vicky. For a lot of things."

"Call me tonight," he deadpanned. "I would like to hear about this."

"Always." I gave one last cheesy smile before prancing up the drive and up to the wooden awning extending off his house. The double doors suddenly opened and a rather, insulted Sullivan, stood in the doorway, glaring at Victor's jeep as it lurked out.

He held up his hand and the metallic frosted jeep stopped, the driver's window rolled down uncomfortably slow. As I waited in the frigid cold wearing nothing but leggings... and shit, shit, shit, shit! Victor's sweatshirt!!

"Vislocky, why don't you come inside for a minute?" Sullivan shouted out towards him.

Victor didn't glance at me as he said, "is there an offer of food in there?"

He is aware we just ate, right? Well, technically, I cut his dinner short... whoops.

"Sure." Sullivan waved him inside and I watched as the jeep's grumbling muted into a clear distinction of panic. My eyes widened while I saw Victor hop out, slamming the door shut, retreating to the doors and giving a courtesy nod to me as he thanked Sullivan who held open the door for him. Without warning, Sullivan implored, "friends with benefits, now, huh?"

I clutched my laptop tighter to my chest, which Victor let me pick up from my house. "Indeed we are," I griped.

"Guess you could say that." Victor shrugged off. "Heard you were with Kayla?"

I held my breath as I walked behind them, their muscular builds shifting in aligned movement as they reached the kitchen counters. Sullivan narrowed his eyes on Victor. "It shouldn't have been talked about. You of all people should know how rumors can get wild."

"Indeed, but you know what they also say," Victor mumbled, hunching over the granite cool surface. "Everybody finds out about everything eventually."

"Who said that?" Sullivan shuffled through the items in his fridge.

Victor swallowed, quickly looking at me, but somewhere in there looked like an emotion I couldn't detect. "My mom." Victor lifted his head intrusively, seeing Sullivan pluck out a bowl of fruit. "Rhy would like cheese if you have any."

My heart.

Sullivan postponed himself. "Cheese? We have... swiss?"

"Works for her," he sang sweetly, taking an apple slice and popping it in his mouth while Sullivan handed me a slice of cheese.

He remembered... that was kind of, and just kind of, sweet, because I know if I admitted that it was anything more than that, I might only realize that he remembers more about me than my crush does.

Victor and Sullivan talked about the English project with myself joining every now and then, but after at least ten minutes, Victor stood, squeaking the bar stool behind him. "Speaking of, I should get going to let you guys finish."

"You sure?" Sullivan pressed, "we have deserts or some shit--"

"Don't tempt me," Victor teased, holding his hand up in surrender. "I should go." Without any preparation, Victor walked towards me, his arm slipped around the outline of my waist as he compressed a clouding kiss on my forehead, then another on my cheek. "Be a good girl for Corbett, right?" He touched my lips with his, not a kiss, but enough to make me feel like T.V static.

The sarcasm in his voice pestered me as I turned bright red, enflamed. "Right," I tightly repeated through my teeth. I could tell Sullivan was uncomfortable, but slightly protective as he puffed his chest.

Victor's warmth left me while I watched him walk down the hallway, Sullivan appeared at my side unexpectedly, and for some reason as we both gazed down the hallway, I wanted Victor's heat near me again, but instead, a strong man's cologne filled my nose, causing my temple to pulse.

"Like to get started?" he suggested, seeing my small and curt nods. "You know," he began, "I never knew you and Vislocky were so close."

"We aren't," I quickly expressed, "I mean... not like that."

Fuck, that sounds bad.

He nodded slowly and declared, "you've always taken me as inexperienced, but just... why him?"

I was hurt by that, but lowered my eyes, focusing on the tiles as we floated through the hallway, surpassing individual windows painted in ominous black curtains. Faintly I could see Victor's jeep headlights disappear behind tree branches. "I don't know, he's always been there," I admitted, but it was deeper than how it sounded.

Sullivan nodded again, but more silent than the last. He peeked over into the living-room and motioned to the sofa. My heart picked up speed and went up into my throat, swelling helplessly in place. My breath quickened in alignment with the organ inside of my chest as a feverish blotchiness scattered my pale skin. I seated myself tensely on the cushion as he flickered on the T.V..

"Rhy," he started. "I mean this is a not-weird way, but I think you'd make an excellent friends with benefits."

Was that a compliment? I'd like to think so, I'd have to tell Victor that one. Maybe he'd know, but knowing him, he might just agree.

"You too."

Hmm... I might've just skipped a lesson or two, but I am a certified bad bitch in this conversation.

Sullivan walked over to me, quickly looking at my presence and asked, "would you like my sweats? You look cold and... wet?" He scrutinized my jeans. "I don't want you damaging the couch."

I leapt up, now realizing. "Right," I agreed, and he quickly disappeared before standing before me minutes later, offering me the sweats to coincide with the plain black hoodie that once belonged to Victor Vislocky.

This qualified as player shit.

x