Beth Hyland - Fall Into Forever

My cheeks heat up. My scalp tingles.

I can’t tell if I just made him mad or if he’s trying to figure out whether or not I’m telling him the truth. He puts a hand on the wall next to my head and leans in close. My heartbeat is seriously pounding against my eardrums right now—so loud that I can hardly hear.

“I think you think there’s something going on between Sara and me, am I right?”

He smells minty, like he’s been chewing gum. And soapy, like he just washed his hands. It’s cool—really cool—that he doesn’t smell of strong aftershave or cologne.

I don’t answer.

“There’s not,” he says. “I was waiting for friends and she invited herself to my table. But if you don’t believe me, check out who she’s dancing with now.”

He moves just enough so that I can see Sara on the dance floor. And yeah. She’s Channing all over some dude’s Tatum.

“That’s my friend James,” he explains. “He’s hoping to get lucky tonight.”

It certainly looks like that’s where it’s headed.

Jon turns his attention back to me. “So, do I get to kiss the birthday girl?”

At the word kiss, my gaze drops to his mouth. Forget what I said about being able to hear my heart pounding against my eardrums. I’m pretty sure it stopped beating altogether just now. His bottom lip is fuller than his upper lip, and I wonder how it would feel moving against my own.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?” God, that sounds lame. I blame the Buttery Nipple.

He flattens his other palm on the wall next to my head, caging me in without touching me. His elbows are slightly bent. If I wanted to, I could slide down a few inches, dip under his arm, and be free. I don’t want to, but it’s nice having that option.

His breath is warm on my cheek, making a few loose strands of my hair stick to the lip balm I just applied. He reaches up and, with a feather-light touch of his thumb, gently strokes them away. My lips part. I shiver. Even though we’re in the back of a crowded college dive bar, it feels as if it’s just the two of us.

“Say yes, Ivy.”

Are you kidding me? I want him to kiss me. And it’s not just the alcohol talking. A completely sober me would want the same thing.

I nod.

He’s looking at my mouth, his nostrils slightly flared. “I want you to say it, though.”

I think the butterflies in my lower belly just guzzled a whole case of Red Bull.

“Yes, Jon, I want you to kiss me,” I say breathlessly, aware that I’ve given him more than the one-word answer he was probably expecting.

He groans. Sucks in a breath. Then he bends his elbows until his mouth is less than an inch from mine. I’m breathing in his air and he’s breathing in mine.

“Happy twenty-first birthday, Ivy.” Then he closes the space between us.

Jon’s a good kisser.

A really good kisser.

Did I say he’s a good kisser?

At first he’s a total gentleman, his lips soft, just as I’d imagined they’d be. My mouth automatically matches the rhythm of his. And that’s when I feel his tongue. It delves inside, sliding past my teeth, exploring, seeking out everything about me as if I am his to discover.

Forget what I said about him being a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t kiss the way Jon Priestly does.

It makes me want more. Much more. I arch into him. He presses into me.

Oh. Yeah.

It’s obvious he wants more, too.

He continues this relentless assault on me with just his mouth, kissing my jaw, my earlobes, my neck. Goosebumps and friends of goosebumps spring up along my skin.

I lift my arms to slide them around his neck, but he stops me. Instead, he takes my hands, threads his fingers into mine, and pins me against the wall like a crime scene outline figure.

Something sounds in the back of my head. An alarm?

I stiffen. He keeps kissing me.

I’m suddenly underwater, kicking my arms and legs, but going nowhere. I need to breathe, but I can’t. I’m in over my head. Stuck. Trapped.

My fingers tighten their grip on his. Pinned to the wall like this, my wrists suddenly start to ache. My nails turn clawlike as they dig into the backs of his hands.

Jon lifts his head. “Are you okay, Ivy?”

I don’t answer, because I’m not sure.

“Cuz if you’re not, we can stop. It’s no big deal.”

The butterflies in my stomach are now piranhas, and I feel as though I might get sick. I breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

He releases my hands. I rub my wrists, even though that’s not where he’s been touching me.

“Ivy?”

My lips feel swollen as I blink his face into focus. He’s frowning and his eyes are boring into mine, but he doesn’t make a move to grab me again. I test him and push on his chest. He backs up a step, putting more than a foot of space between us, and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry if I… Do you want to go back out there?”

I’m standing here, my hands still on his chest, but he’s not touching me. He’s letting me go. I can leave if I want to.

I look at him again. I mean, really look at him.

Like I said before, Jon isn’t the kind of guy I’m normally attracted to. Gauges in his earlobes. Unruly dark hair hanging over one eye. His face hasn’t seen a razor in days, and he’s probably got more tattoos and piercings elsewhere on his body that I can’t see. However, and this is a big however, anyone with a vagina, and some with penises, would agree that he’s totally hot.

So you see, it’s okay that he’s not really my type. I’m not looking to fall in love or start anything long-term. I just want a temporary bandage. Someone to help shrink the mess inside me until I can figure out how to do it on my own.

Besides, it’s my birthday, I’m buzzed, and I deserve a little fun. I’m trying to forget all that heavy shit anyway. It doesn’t exist in the new world I’m trying to create for myself.

I take a step toward him, then another and another. Until he’s the one pressed against the wall and I’m the one caging him in. Which makes me the one in control.

At first he looks a little surprised. Not pissed-off surprised, but the kind of surprised you feel when you open a present that’s not what you expect but is still really cool. He grins and there’s a mischievous gleam in his eye. He seems totally fine with the power reversal.

I relax and let my body take over.

I’m not sure how long we kiss back there, but somehow we end up on the dance floor. His hands are on my hips and my arms are above my head. I’m laughing. He’s laughing. Then he’s turning me around. Back at his table, he pulls me onto his lap and I smear frosting on his lips from one of my birthday cupcakes. Then I kiss it off.

I want him to come home with me, and I tell him so. I’m not ready for this night to be over.

He cups my jaw and whispers in my ear. “I want you, Ivy. So fucking bad. But you need to be completely sober, because afterward, when you’re lying there in the dark, I want you to know it was your choice. Your decision. No one else’s.”

I literally melt into him when he kisses me again.

“Plus,” he says against my lips. “I want you to remember everything.”

Jon

The sound of water rushing and clanging through the pipes isn’t my favorite way to wake from a deep sleep. But that’s one of the drawbacks of living in an old house with old plumbing. When someone flushes or showers, it’s really loud. Given that most of my roommates are slobs, I doubt someone’s doing the dishes or laundry. Rolling over, I bury my head under the pillow, hoping I can fall asleep again. I’m not ready to get up yet.

As I lie here, I think about Ivy. Last night at the pub, we had a great time together. I couldn’t seem to get enough of her. She made me laugh like I hadn’t in a long time. We slow-danced to the fast songs and kissed during the slow ones. Her hands guided mine over her hips while the music and crowd surrounded us.

As the night wound down, she told me to come back to her dorm room with her, saying Cassidy was a heavy sleeper. I teased her about having sex in her twin bed with her roommate just a few feet away, and told her she’d had too much to drink. She tried arguing with me, and I just about caved. God, her lips were so soft and her body curved against mine so perfectly. At that very moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to bury myself inside her and feel her shatter around me. Had she been anyone else, I know I would have.

But something different lurks in those sultry green eyes of hers. I didn’t want an alcohol-fueled hookup to change it in any way, so I stayed strong last night.

I grab my cell from the nightstand and check the time. It’s been almost ten hours since I saw her. Before I talk myself out of it, I send her a text.

Hey, Ivy on the Roof. Good morning.

It takes only a few seconds until my phone vibrates.

Hey yourself.

Are you awake?

No, I’m sleep-texting you.

Is she being a smartass or is she pissed off? She was pretty freaked out when I first kissed her, back near the restrooms. I set the phone down and rub the sleep out of my eyes. What did she think I was going to do to her, anyway? She acted fearful, almost panicky. Had she warmed up to me only because she’d been drinking?