Teenage Dirtbag

Ch. 10

The following morning I woke up and quickly showered and dressed. I had woken up late, and by the time I was ready for the day it was almost eleven-thirty. I had just finished my breakfast when there was a soft knocking at the door. Dumping my dishes in the sink I checked over my appearance in the hall mirror, fixing my shirt before answering the door. "Hi," I said with a smile as I took in his appearance, he had on a blue button down shirt and a pair of tan shorts.

            "H-hi," he answered, and quickly turned to wave his father off. I leaned out the door and waved to him before he drove off and I grabbed Marcel's hand, pulling him inside. He smiled as I closed the door, "are you always so anxious?"

            "What? Me," I asked turning around, "I'm not...do you want a tour?"

            "Sure," he answered, looking amused as he dug his hands into his pockets. I took him through the downstairs, showing him the living room and the kitchen. He would stop and look at the pictures on the walls, and soon we were making our way upstairs.

            We made it to the final door in the hallway, "and this, is my room," I said pushing the door open. He walked inside and I slowly followed in behind him.

            "Nice room," he said and took a seat on my bed. He picked up a picture from my bedside table and looked at it, "this your Dad?"

            "Sure is," I said taking a seat next to him.

            "This is the only picture of him in your entire house."

            "Yeah my mom got rid of them all when he left," I said blankly.

            "Oh, I-I'm sorry," he said awkwardly, putting the picture back.

            "Don't be, it isn't your fault. It's hers really."

            "Who's," he asked.

            "My Mom's," I answered simply.

            "You don't really talk about her much..."

            "We don't really talk much."

            "Because she made your Dad leave," he asked, turning to look at me.

            "Yeah," I answered quietly, "but let's not talk about that."

            "Right, sorry," he smiled shyly, "what do you want to talk about?"

            I turned so I was sitting indian-style on the bed, "Marcel, you know I really like you, right?"

            His entire face went red, and I wondered if maybe I got too serious too quickly, "I-I really like you too."

            I smiled, "so then, is it safe to say...we're more than just friends now," I asked, suddenly feeling shy.

            "I think it is," he answered, his cheeks still a dark shade of red.

            "Good," I answered, leaning forward to kiss him. For the first time he didn't tense up when my lips met his. He was relaxed, letting himself go. Neither of us were too experienced in the making out department, but when we were both in the moment it was easy to let go and just let our bodies move on their own. And I'd seen enough movies to pretend I knew what I was doing.

            He gripped my waist and pulled me closer to him. Without too many fumbles he leaned back against my headboard and I climbed into his lap. I ran my hands up his arms and clasped them behind his neck. "Hold on," he said, his voice breathless. I leaned back and he took his glasses off, setting them on the night stand before he pulled me back in.

            I had begun to lose track of time, and when my phone buzzed in my pocket it startled me and I pulled away from Marcel. "What is it," he asked, his hands still gripping my waist.

            Pulling my phone from my pocket I quickly read the message and sighed, "My moms on her way home."

            "Well at least we got a warning," and his cheeky smile made me laugh.

            "Thank God for that," I answered, leaning in to kiss him again before I got off of his lap. He put his glasses back on and stood, stretching his arms over his head causing his shirt to show off his stomach. "How blind are you when you aren't wearing your glasses," I asked, leading him back down to the living room.

            "Not too bad, I mainly just can't see far away. Why," he asked as he sat on the couch.

            "They make it hard to see your eyes."

            "I can take them off sometimes," he said, doing just that and tucking them into shirt, "there."

            "I approve."

            "You know we have the same color eyes, right," he asked, but I could see he was trying to hide a smirk.

            "Not true," I said leaning against him. "Yours are much nicer."

            "Mmhmm," he said as he put his arm around me.

            My mom arrived shortly after, pizza boxes in hand. She was more than over-joyed to meet Marcel who put his glasses back on for the occasion. He answered all her questions perfectly, even laughed at her corny jokes. By the end of the night I think she was even a little sad that he had to go.

            Marcel's father had told him he would be back to pick him up at seven, and once I got my mother to actually say good-bye to him we walked out to the front porch to wait. "Thanks for coming over," I said, chewing the corner of my lip, "she thinks you're great."

            "Good, I had fun. She's not so bad really."

            "Yeah I know," I answered.

            We looked up as headlights turned down my street, "well I'll see you in the morning."

            I nodded, wrapping my arms around him in a quick hug before he left, "goodnight."

            "Goodnight, Scarlett," he leaned in, quickly pressing his lips to mine before leaving the porch and getting into the car.