His Girl

Homecoming

California, especially the southern half, doesn't experience noticeable season changes. It's simply more or less warm throughout the year. That being said, you know it's fall when coffee shops promote pumpkin lattes and high school halls promote homecoming.

I was anticipating a different homecoming. Breaker would be released by the end of the week. I didn't care about some dumb dance. My nerves were tingling from my stomach to my heart.

It was a Monday. Another dull, dry, dreary day. I hopped off the bus and trekked home. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me but upon second glance, it wasn't a mirage.

He was sitting on the low brick wall that wrapped the front of our apartment complex. I stopped, energy pulsed inside. What do I do, run to him? Walk slow, act cool? I was momentarily lost until he turned his face toward me. His eyes lit up, he stood, we both walked quickly to within an inch of each other.

"Hi," he said, his hands on both sides of my waist. I looked up at him, smiling.

"You coming in?" My heart was thumping.

"Is it cool?"

"My mom has class."

"Yeah?" his voice was low. He leaned down, his lips over mine, gently sucking.

"Yeah."

Inside, I tossed my bag down and went into the kitchen. He followed along.

"Hungry? Mom left lasagna" I was looking in the fridge.

When I turned, we were face to face. Blood rushed to my cheeks, my body trembled.

"I just want to see you."

"Me too," I fell into him. He held my head and kissed me. His hands traveled down my back and rounded my bottom. I'd never been touched there. I moaned in surprise.

"I missed hearing you say my name," He nibbled my ear as he whispered.

"Breaker," I responded.

His knees bent, his forearms lowered around my hips, he lifted me up until my legs wrapped around him. He sat me on the counter.

"Again."

"Breaker!" His kisses were vigorous. I was breathing harder. He reached one hand behind his shoulder, pulling his shirt off over his head.

I'd seen the points of the tattoo peeking out of his collar, now I knew. It was the tips of a crown, sitting on the head of a lion that spread over his chest.

"King of the jungle," he smirked, making me giggle. It felt like bubbles were floating in my chest and head. My eyelids were low, my mouth in a subtle pout. He held my chin, his thumb slid across my bottom lip, pressing inside until I could taste him.

He pulled me close, his torso between my legs, I held his neck while we kissed, longer and deeper. After a moment, he softened and took a step back.

"What do you usually do home alone?"

"Homework, and dinner," I shrugged. My arms folded around my waist, shoulders up, head tilted. I longed to touch him again. I could see in his eyes that he knew. He was slowing the pace.

"Is that all? You don't eat much," he pinched my side making me squirm. "You're quick at homework. What else do you do? Write in your diary?" he teased

"Uh," I blushed.

"You dooo," he was onto me. "Where is it?" He walked to the hallway.

"No!"

"Which room is yours?" He opened all the doors.

"Breaker, no!" I ran after him.

"So this is where my girl sleeps," he smiled like the Cheshire Cat as he surveyed, his hand moved lightly over the top of my dresser.

I grabbed his arms, he still moved effortlessly. A rude awakening about upper-body strength after puberty. I was severely out muscled. He opened the drawer of my vanity.

"No, please!" I had no choice but to beg. My heart pounded, I was panicking.

"Just makeup, which you don't even need." He moved to the nightstand. I sat on the bed and tried to hold the drawer closed, but he pried it open.

"Aha!" He lifted my journal up.

"Don't," I grabbed at him but he evaded me.

"I just want to know if I'm in here. Am I?"

"Of course," I was starting to cry. He opened to the first page, I watched his eyes as he read. How could he? I felt betrayed.

"Oh Chanel, I didn't know." He knelt before me, I covered my face. I started that journal when dad got sick. He forced my hands away, pulling my head to his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was just teasing you. I wanted to see where you wrote that you liked me."

"You don't want to see what I'm going to write now," I managed to say, with sniffles.

"I can imagine," he smiled. His hands held my face. I felt safe again. "Will you still kiss me?" He leaned in.

"Yeah."

"You ever think about me when you're in here alone?" He was moving over me to lay down. "Hmm?"

"Yeah," my voice was soft.

"Tell me what you think about." We were both lying down, pressed together. I was lost for words, I only whimpered.

"I told you you're shy," his hand stroked my side, his breath on my neck. My chest writhed up and down.

"I think about you," I said desperately. I wanted to do as he asked, tell him whatever he wanted to hear, but I didn't know how. I was intimidated. I melted into him as he kissed me. The weight of his body, pressed me into the mattress.

"Do you think about this?" He drove his hips forward. I couldn't speak through my panting breath. I nodded.

The sound of a key in the front door distracted us. I looked at the clock, I hadn't realized so much time passed.

"It's my mom!"

We jumped up, he was opening the window.

"Come here," he pulled me to him, one leg already stepping outside. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" His tongue was deep inside, a hard and airtight kiss goodbye. When he let go, I was stunned for a moment. I snapped out of it and closed the window behind him.

I ran into the kitchen and pulled the lasagna from the fridge, flinging a serving on a plate and throwing it into the microwave. I could hear her opening the entry way closet to hang up her sweater. Then, her steps got closer.

"Hi, mom, I called in the most normal voice I could muster. As I grabbed a fork, I spotted a wadded up black t-shirt on the floor. I gasped too loudly.

"Everything okay," mom was rounding the corner.

"No parmesan?" I was throwing cupboards open and slamming them closed.

"It's right here."

As she was focused on condiments, I ran to my room throwing his shirt under my bed. Racing back before she noticed. The microwave bell sounded. I sat at the table, trying to slow my breathing.

"How was your day," I asked.

"Good, yours?"

"Good. Yeah, mine was good too."

Phew.