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She’s quiet for a second, and then she laughs again, shy now. “I don’t know. ”
I want her to say something dirty. I want this to be phone sex, for Caroline to tell me she’s blowing me, I’m fucking her, she never wants me to stop.
I’m loathsome.
It only makes my hand jerk faster.
“Tell me what your room looks like,” I say.
Tell me what you’re wearing. Tell me what you want me to do to you.
So she describes it—purple walls painted when she was eleven, a desk that she got in trouble for carving her name into, a daybed, whatever the fuck that is—and I turn my face away from the phone so she can’t hear my breath, broken.
“West?”
“Yeah?” I sound strange. I’ve lost track of everything but the sound of her voice and the slick flesh moving under my palm.
“Will you come, West?”
The sound of my name, the way her voice wraps around it. The breathy intimacy of her request. She wants me with her, and I do come. All over my hand.
“Sure. ” I’m so wrecked, I have to clear my throat and try again. “Sure, yeah, I’ll come. ”
It’s only when I’m getting in the car, asking her for directions, that I understand what a terrible idea this is.
By then it’s too late to back out.
“Boost me,” she says, and she giggles. Actually giggles, like a kid. “C’mon, West! Give me a boost!”
She’s got her hands on the roof, one foot denting the gutter—though it’s already pretty trashed at that spot, she must always go up this way—and her ass wiggling in my face. I’m pushed up against the railing of this tiny balcony off Caroline’s bedroom on the second story of her giant house, the cold of the metal seeping through my coat, wondering how I got myself into this insane situation.
She slips, shrieks, and knocks against me, hard. Without thinking, I get an arm around her waist, the fingers of my other hand wrapped tight around the rail. I wonder how this balcony is attached to the house. A few bolts? What’s the weight limit? What’s this fucking thing for, anyway? It’s not as if she’s going to string the laundry out her window to dry.
“You’re crazy,” I tell her, but she just laughs.
“I’ve done this a zillion times. Give me a boost, and I’ll help you up. ”
“It’s November. ”
“There’s no snow or ice. The stars are good up here. Come on. ”
I figure either I help her up on the roof or I spend the next hour of my life trying to talk her out of it. Plus, if we keep trying to do this her way, we’re going to end up dead.
She’s already got her foot up again, her ass pressing into my groin. My hands grip her hips automatically, guiding that sweet, soft pressure right where I want it.
I’ve forgotten all about helping her up, but Caroline finds purchase with her other foot, and then she’s gone, up, up, and away.
I’ve just helped a stoned girl onto the roof of her suburban mansion. After getting her stoned.
I’m going to hell for this.
Her hand is in front of my face now, white and small. “I’ll help you up. ”
“I can do it. Move over. ”
Her hand disappears. I climb up. She’s flopped onto her back, looking at the sky. The black coat she’s wearing kind of disappears into the dark shingles, and the moonlight catches the row of silver buttons like a landing strip that leads to her smile and the sparkles in her knit cap.
Author: Robin York
