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I exhale hard, flipping her onto her back and rolling with her, settling between her legs. Staring down into her eyes, I guide my cock inside of her, thrusting deep.
She whimpers, tilting her head back as I slide inside again.
And again.
“I’m the one who does this to you,” I whisper.
The idea of her falling in love…
Of her wanting anyone else…
“You were never anyone else’s but mine,” I tell her.
Throwing me over, she straddles me, and I grip her hips, watching her beautiful body ride mine.
And I was never anyone else’s, either.
“Can we get pancakes?” she pleads, skipping down the stairs in front of me. “I’m so hungry I could eat my shoes.”
We stroll into the foyer, and I pull her hips back into me, nuzzling her hair. “Yes, food,” I tell her. “Lots of food.”
It’s after eight in the morning, and Sunday or not, I never sleep in. I couldn’t move her, though. She fell asleep in my arms, and that’s how we stayed until she woke up. I drifted in and out, but mostly, I just held her.
I thought about sewing, the clarinet lessons I took when I was eleven, and the statistics behind junk mail. Like it still exists. Are people really opening it? They need to stop.
I thought about anything boring just so I didn’t get hard again with her naked body curled up into mine. The cute and soft little sounds she makes were impossible to ignore.
All I wanted to do was think about her. We should never have done it without a condom. I know what she feels like without one now and putting that between us won’t feel the same.
“You’ll have to pay for breakfast,” she tells me, taking my hand. “I think my debit card is somewhere under your back seat.”
I laugh, taking her face and kissing her, about to tell her I’ll find it, but something catches my eye, and I stop, mid-kiss. Looking behind her, into the living room, I see everyone sprawled out with posters and paint.
Farrow looks away, scratching under his nose to hide his smile, while everyone else stares at us silently.
I pull away, and Dylan turns, following my gaze. I scan the room, making sure there are no phones out, taking pictures.
“What’s all this?” Dylan asks, stepping closer to the massive piece of white butcher paper on the floor. Letters are painted in blue, but I can’t read what it says with the girls sprawled over it. T.C., Anders, and Luca blow up blue and white balloons.
“The parade,” Farrow announces. “In the Falls, remember?”
“Right.” Dylan nods.
We both forgot.
“Can I help?” she asks.
But Farrow tells us, “Go eat.” And then to me, “We’ll meet you on High Street at eleven.”
He tosses me my jersey that was in the wash.
I guide Dylan toward the door, hearing Coral’s words as she paints inside the lines of a block letter. “Looks like we don’t have to get those tattoos.”
All the girls laugh, Dylan biting out, “Shut up.”
They laugh harder, and I have no idea what’s going on, but I don’t really care.
I push Dylan out the door, taking out my keys as we jog down the steps.
