Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Now

We get a room with two beds in case we want to stay the night, and I figure I’ll share a bed with Chloe. I don’t voice this because I can’t see myself sharing a bed with a boy who I don’t remember even kissing. Even if I am beginning to have feelings. It wouldn’t be horrible or anything, just awkward. No way would I be able to sleep.

When we get settled into the room, I lie down on one of the beds and my sore body thanks me. I’m not exactly sleepy, but the fact that my body relaxes so much into the mattress makes me yawn.

Wyatt fiddles with the coffee maker, the air conditioner, the TV, the iron, and then goes into the bathroom and turns on the hair dryer. Chloe stands awkwardly between the two beds, hugging herself. I want to tell her to sit down, to relax, but I wouldn’t mind if both of them decided to go get lunch while I rested. “Do you know a good place to get some food?” I ask Chloe, hinting. “I’m pretty hungry. Maybe you two could—”

“Yes!” she says, too loudly for the room. She winks at me. “I will go and do that. I will find a great place for food and I’ll come back in, what...two hours?”

I narrow my eyes and sit up. “What?”

“Yes, yes, that’s a great idea. I’ll be right back. Well, not right back. But back soon. Expediently. You know, later rather than sooner.” She lowers her voice to a whisper only I can hear. She points at her wrist. “Two hours okay? Is it enough?”

“What—?”

But then Wyatt’s finished inspecting the bathroom.

She nods. “Okay, then. See ya!” And she’s out the door before I can put up a fight.

Wyatt and I look at each other. Look away. We look at each other again. I giggle and can’t stop. It’s not like we haven’t been alone before, but something about Chloe leaving us alone in a hotel room two hours away from home is awkwardly hilarious. It’s weird that I wanted him to leave just seconds before so I could get some rest, but now my body is on high alert and vibrating with energy.

I’m so nervous I can’t look at him for too long but, simultaneously, want to keep looking at him. To keep him looking at me. He licks his lips and something deep down tells me that’s what he does when he’s nervous. So we’re both nervous, that’s okay. I rub my slick palms on my dress.

“Sit down, Wyatt,” I say with the most nonchalant laugh I can muster. He sits, but on the bed opposite me. “Stop making this weird.”

“Sorry.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s just...I don’t know how to act right now. I want to be around you, but you seem to be going back and forth about me still. I don’t want to rush you into being together. I don’t want you to feel obligated and I definitely don’t want to feel like you’re doing something because you think you have to.”

“First of all, I don’t think I usually do things that I don’t want to do, especially if I feel obligated to do them. The more everyone talks about me, the more I believe that I only do things that I want to do. Do you honestly believe that ‘Liv’—” I do air quotes around my nickname, “—goes above and beyond to please others?”

“That’s just it,” he says with a heavy stare.

“What?”

“You...you aren’t ‘Liv’ right now, haven’t been since your accident. You’re...different. Kinder. Friendly. Really fun to be around.”

I anticipate his words to be like a punch to the gut, but I was kind of expecting them. “I wasn’t those things before?”

“Not...completely. You had your moments, but a lot of time you...” he pauses, gauges my reaction. “Had to be the center of attention. Now, you seem to care about people. You make it a point to talk to them. You’re not acting like you’re the only one affected by your accident. You seem to get that we’re all dealing with stuff, too.”

“Well, of course you are!”

He leans forward, now only a few inches away. “But, if you were the same person, you wouldn’t have noticed that. It makes me...makes me want to tell you that—” He cuts himself off. I wait for a long moment, then two. He still doesn’t finish his thought. Instead, he stares at the brown-and-black-flecked carpet.

“What do you want to tell me?”

He shakes his head.

“Please tell me.” I clasp my hands together, feeling an impatient need waft over me.

He gives me no response. I don’t even think he blinks.

I don’t want, now of all times, my bitchy voice to come tumbling out. I bite as hard as I can on my tongue to keep it in check.

Wyatt senses the air in the room change, I guess, because his head pops up, he looks at me, at my reaction to not getting what I want. Something changes in his eyes, like he was about to decide something and now he’s changed his mind again. Gone back to his original plan. “It was nothing, really. Don’t worry about it. It was definitely nothing to get upset about.”

I still want him to tell me—maybe it was something important and he isn’t sure I’m ready for it, so I try to change his mood back. I reach out and rub a knuckle lightly over his forearm. His skin is warm and soft. He watches my movements, but doesn’t look me in the eye.

Then I get up to sit next to him. I run my finger down to his wrist and wrap my hand around his. “There was more I wanted to tell you. Remember when I said ‘first of all’? Well, there’s a second of all.”

“What is it?” His voice is as weak as a feather.

I swallow down the nervousness. “My feelings are growing for you.” I start to put my head on his shoulder, but he moves away from me, standing up.

His movement jostles me roughly and instantly I feel rejected. Have his feelings changed toward me? How can he go from telling me how much I’ve changed to not wanting me to be close? “What is it?”

“You’re different.” He starts to pace around the room. “I guess I’m just having a hard time finding my role in all this. I thought it was one thing, but since you’re so different, I don’t know if I can...” he drifts off, continuing to pace. His expression is tortured.

“Your role? Because I told you I wanted a break?”

“It’s more than that.”

“You want to explain it to me, then?”

“No.”

I don’t push him and we both go quiet.

Several minutes later, he’s still standing awkwardly in the front of the room. I should tell him to come sit down again. I don’t like him so far away.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” I try, switching gears.

He looks at me, his expression so filled with emotion it breaks my heart. “How are the ribs?”

“Better,” I say, holding my gaze on his. I’m feeling so much right now, anxious, frustrated, but mostly needy. I want things between us to be okay. I don’t know in what state—together or not together—but I want it to be okay. “What would you like to do tonight?”

He blinks a few times. “Get to know each other better.”

My mind goes into the gutter, reading too much into his words. But then I force myself to think the way he probably means it: since I don’t remember him and I’m so different, we could learn more about each other tonight.

But now I find myself picturing him naked. “We should do that,” I whisper, like I’ve told him he has nice eyes. Which he does.

“Should I make some coffee?” he asks, but I pretend that he says,
you have nice eyes too
.

“Sure,” in which I mean
I
want you to come sit next to me
. I don’t lose eye contact with him until the second he turns to lean over the coffee pot.

“Decaf?” I picture him saying,
I
will sit in your lap if you ask me to.

“Sure.”
Please come sit next to me before I lose control.

“Sugar? Cream?” he asks as the coffee machine begins to whirr.
I
want to kiss you.

“Yes and yes.”
I
want to kiss you back.
“Please.”

Silence falls around us and in my head. He pours two cups and comes over to sit by me. Thank God. He hands me one and I take it with my good hand and feel his fingers. Meaty and long. His hands are big, I notice for the first time. “Thanks.”
I
want you to touch me.

I take a sip and scorch my tongue. “Ow. Hot. I burned myself.”

He looks at my mouth and my eyes. My mouth then my eyes. It might be my imagination, but I’m pretty sure he moves his head forward a fraction of a fraction. I move mine a fraction of a fraction of that fraction. I hope he does/doesn’t notice.

I take a silent deep breath.

He blows on his coffee and takes a sip. Doesn’t stop looking at me. I move my head another fraction. He doesn’t move his.

“Kiss me, please,” I whisper, finally saying aloud what I’m thinking.

He licks his lips and squirms where he sits. Stares at his coffee.

“Don’t,” I say. “Look at me.”

He does. “You sure you want me to kiss you?” he asks, his voice hesitant and sweet.

“Very.”

He leans down and pecks the tip of my upper lip. It’s as soft as a marshmallow. He pulls away.

“You can do better than that.”

“I’m scared to.” He looks back down to his coffee.

“I’m not. Stop being scared. I’m yours. I want to be yours.”

This gets his attention. He sets down his coffee on the TV stand and wraps his big hands around my jaw. His fingers are under my ears and in my hair. He kisses me.

He kisses me like it’s the last time. He kisses me like it’s the very first time.

He brushes my hair aside and kisses my neck, my collarbone, the scar there. The feel of his lips sends a chill up my spine. Our eyes meet and I kiss him back. Coffee splashes onto my lap and it stings through my jeans, but I don’t care. I set the cup down and keep kissing him, this time reaching for him with my good hand, roaming around over his chest, his waist, his back. His muscles slink under my touch and I pull him to me. He warms my front.

Wyatt moves so slowly it drives me insane. He kisses my neck again—down one side and then the other. He scoots closer and kisses me on the mouth, tastes the inside. He goes even slower, as if to savor my taste, but it’s as if a truck engine is powering an electric toothbrush. I can feel excessive power behind every movement.

Then suddenly we’re not kissing anymore. Wyatt stands, shakes out his hands, paces, doesn’t look at me. He jumps in place, sticks his hands under his armpits like he’s cold, and sits next to me again.

“What was that all about?” I ask.

He shakes his head and dives back in with his kisses. “Take off my dress,” I say. I would do it myself, but it would look a lot less sexy one-handed. Not that a cast is sexy, but me trying to take off my shirt while wearing the cast would be worse.

He stops kissing me again. “No.”

“No?”

“I can’t.” He closes his eyes. Shakes his head.

I don’t understand his hesitation. “Is it me? You don’t like the new me? I’m too different.”

His eyes pop open, widen. “I really like you. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He shakes his head again.

Now that I have the green light on his feelings, I want to keep pushing him. He wants me and now I want him. Seems easy enough. I kick off my shoes. I stand and try pulling up my dress. It gets stuck on my shoulders.

Wyatt makes this whine in the back of his throat while he stares at my body. Finally, he reaches over and plucks the dress from my head. My hair goes everywhere. He stands, his face serious and determined now. His hands snake around to my back and pop off my bra. My arms shake as he hooks his fingers in my underwear and pulls them down. His eyes flick over me. He turns cherry red, and his gaze is on my face again.

I climb backward onto the bed.

My body is shaking. I close my eyes. My skin is shaking independently from my muscles, which are also shaking. It’s like they are shaking in different directions. It’s an earthquake—tectonic plates shifting. I’m both chilled and hot. I open my eyes to pull the thin sheet over the front of me.

“Don’t.”

I tug it back down. And I’m shaking.

I open my eyes and watch as he undresses and my eyes roll over every inch of him. His body stands strong and straight. His stance is confident as lean muscles stretch and writhe under light olive-colored skin. His curly brown hair falls into his eyes and he doesn’t push it away. I stare at his naked hips and shoulders and lean abs. He’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, even if I don’t have anything to compare it to.

After he climbs onto the bed, I close my eyes again. It’s all too much, just too much. If I don’t tell him to stop, I might burst. I am
so
not going to tell him to stop. This is what I want. Old Liv be damned. She is forgotten and I’m going to do this.

This will be my first time. My very first time. Wyatt’s first time.

His body slides over mine. All of my skin touches all of his skin.

I force my eyes open. His gaze is fixed on mine. And I’m still shaking.

He kisses me and his hands move all over my body and my good hand is all over him. My broken arm keeps trying to jump in on the action, but every time it does, it aches and has to take a rest after a few seconds. I grip his hair in my good hand, pull it to the side so I can kiss his neck. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. He groans into my ear.

His kisses taste like coffee. I can’t get enough of him. I’m kissing him everywhere, tasting everything. I feel his kisses on my shoulders, my neck, my jaw. He still hasn’t pushed into me and I’m so nervous for when he does, but so eager. I spread my legs and—

He jumps up suddenly and vaults off me backward, crawling off the bed. “Oh, God.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I sit up. “Don’t. Come back.” I try to grab his arm, but he’s too quick. I’m scared he’ll run away again. “Don’t worry about any of that religious stuff. Please. I want this.”

He shakes his head, not looking at me. Tugs his underwear on. His pants. Finally his shirt.

I wrap the sheet around myself, tightly. “Please,” I say again. “Don’t run away. You’re always running away. Don’t go. At least talk to me. Please.” He still won’t look at me. “Look at me, dammit!”

He does. His eyes are hard and red. Is he angry?

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, but I need you to know that I want this. I’m ready.”