We went to my house.
It wasn’t original, but it made sense. My parents were both in the city at their jobs. They’d be gone till seven or even eight in the evening, and there was no Robbie during the week anymore.
Ryan didn’t have the same emptiness at his place with his mom in and out, Peach coming home after school, and the staff.
So my house it was.
Going into the kitchen, I dropped my bag onto the counter and picked up a delivery menu. “We could order food since it’s technically lunchtime.”
Ryan smirked, jumping up to sit on the counter next to my bag. His feet almost touched the floor. “Whatever you want. You guys have food here?”
I opened the fridge.
Lettuce. Milk. Cheese. Two cartons of yogurt and some apples. The freezer wasn’t any better: some diet ice cream bars for Mom.
I closed both doors and picked up the menu again. “Ordering it is.”
He nodded. “Sounds good to me. Order whatever. I’ll pay.”
I grinned over the top of the menu, reaching for the landline phone. “Are we on a skip date?”
“We’re on a skip day, and you can pay next time if you want.”
I laughed, the sound a little hollow. “Deal.”
After ordering pizza, we grabbed some drinks and headed into the theater room. I kept the door open and my phone close by so I could hear when the food arrived.
Ryan followed me in, lying on one of the couches and resting his arm up over the back. He kicked his legs up on the chair in front of him. I started to perch next to him, but he grunted and reached for me, hauling me almost onto his lap.
“What are you doing?” he grumbled. “After last night, you’re shy?”
I felt the back of my neck heating up and looked at my hands in my lap. “Yeah, actually.”
“What?” He pulled back so he could better see my face. “Really?”
I looked up. “I don’t really know what I’m doing day to day,” I admitted. “Hell, even hour to hour.”
I kept to myself how I could almost see Willow sitting on the far end of the couch. She was everywhere.
“I’m going a little nuts.”
He shrugged, taking the remote from me. His hand brushed against mine, leaving a tingle in its wake.
“I think if you weren’t, something would be wrong.”
I leaned my head back, watching him as he turned on the large screen and began scrolling through the channels.
“You think?”
His eyes found mine again, holding them a moment before softening. “Yeah. My friend died, and I wanted to rail at everyone. They acted like I was supposed to be over it and done by the time school started again. I got a four-day weekend to mourn. My parents didn’t understand why I wasn’t so interested in doing things afterward.”
“What do you mean?” I sat up next to him, but he grabbed my legs and pulled them onto his lap. His thumb rubbed the inside of my calf.
He leaned back, turning toward the screen again, but he wasn’t watching it. A mask settled over his face, one I was starting to recognize—it fell into place any time he talked to someone who wasn’t one of his friends or me. Even his sister got the mask.
“I don’t know.” His chest rose silently and then fell again. “He died during the winter, at the end of our holiday break, so football was done by then. But I probably would’ve quit that. I played basketball, kinda had to. The whole town would have erupted if I hadn’t, but I quit everything else. Baseball. Anything extra I was supposed to do. My parents were having a crisis. They didn’t know what was going on with me. I stopped giving a shit about anything they did.” He laughed quietly. “I smoked a lot of pot that year with Kirk. Drank a lot too.”
“How old were you?”
“It was two years ago.”
My chest ached. I looked over, and Willow seemed to have moved closer to us, but she was fading. I almost couldn’t see her. I tuned her out and tuned into Ryan.
“I’m sorry.”
His hand began to move again, caressing my leg, moving a little farther down the inside and back up.
My throat felt like it was closing in. “You and Kirk partied together that year?” I rasped.
“No. Well, yes, but that isn’t why we became friends. Derek was Kirk’s cousin. He was as messed up as I was. He says I was worse. I say he was worse, but yeah, we did a lot of stupid shit together that year.”
“And he’s been gone?”
“Yeah. He moved to L.A. last winter. His mom got transferred or something, but I guess he’s back.”
“You didn’t know?”
He didn’t answer. A few beats passed before he looked at me again, his eyes haunted. “He called the last couple weeks, but I didn’t call back. I was distracted.”
Me. I happened.
“Maybe he can come over later?”
Ryan laughed quietly, moving to face me more fully. Letting go of my hand, he slid his hands up the outside of my legs, grabbed my waist, and pulled me onto his lap.
I gasped and then moaned as his hands slid around to my ass. His mouth hovered over mine, his eyes darting from my lips to my eyes as he murmured, “I don’t think so.”
He dipped down, and I closed my eyes, already lifting to meet him halfway.
His lips touched mine at the same time the doorbell rang.
“Fuck.” He pulled back, panting a little.
He deposited me gently onto the couch and then headed for the door.
I heard it open, and a second later, “Thanks.”
The door slammed shut, and Ryan hurried back downstairs. He strode into the room, deposited the pizza on one of the other chairs, and lifted me once again. He sat and pulled me to straddle him. I smiled, feeling lazy and sensual as I looped my arms around his neck. My hands slid into his hair, grabbing fistfuls as I bent down to him. He tugged me the last inch separating us.
A thrill burned in me as I felt him plastered against every part of me.
God.
We’d kissed for the first time Saturday night. That was two days ago. He’d come over, and we’d fooled around more on Sunday and again that night, but those times were nothing compared to how this made me feel.
I was breathless as his mouth opened over mine, as I felt his tongue slide inside. His hand went to my waist and slid underneath my shirt. He paused there, waiting for me to let him know what was okay and what was not. It’d been the same way Sunday night. He’d asked before touching me then, and he was asking again. And like that night, I answered by touching him the way I wanted to be touched. My hand went under his shirt and slid up his torso, over his stomach muscles and chest as I pushed his shirt the rest of the way.
I began inching up my own shirt.
He pulled back. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, my mouth finding his again. I couldn’t stop touching him, kissing him, tasting him. My shirt went up, and his hands were on my bare stomach, smoothing to my back, then down to my ass as he anchored me more firmly against him. I couldn’t get enough.
I wanted more of him, more of this.
I wanted anything that helped me forget I was starting to feel like a ghost.
We kept kissing long past when the pizza had gone cold.
The sound of the garage woke me up.
The room was dark. The big screen was off, and an arm curled around me.
Ryan had fallen asleep behind me. We were tangled up together on the couch in the theater room.
I bolted upright. “Shit!” I shook Ryan’s shoulder, but his eyes had opened as soon as I moved.
“Wha—”
We both heard the garage door going back down.
He repeated my sentiment, “Shit.”
Groaning, he swung around from behind me, pulling his shirt on. I grabbed for my shirt and then looked down. Yes, my pants were fine. I glanced at his; they weren’t. He was searching around, his hand raking through his hair.
I pointed. “Crotch.”
“Huh?” He looked down, another curse leaving him. He quickly buttoned his jeans.
We hadn’t had sex, but we went a little further than last night. Grinding 101. I’d definitely felt him against me, and I’d definitely strained to get closer to him, which was a reality that was hitting me like a sledgehammer, I was glad that was all we’d done.
“What if the school called them already?”
He grabbed for his phone, scrolling through his messages. “Tell them the truth. You thought you could handle it, and then you couldn’t. You lost your sister, Mac. Your parents should be sympathetic to that.”
He was right. I felt a little better, the old Mackenzie’s guilt lessening over skipping half a day.
They would come inside. I could hear my parents talking to each other.
They would call my name.
When I didn’t answer, they would go in search of me.
I wouldn’t be in my room, so they’d call again.
They would come down because this was the obvious place I’d be. If I wasn’t in my room or in the living room, then check the theater room.
So, I waited, my heart pounding against my chest, listening . . .
The fridge opened. I heard glasses clinking. My dad walked to his office.
The microwave started in the kitchen.
Plates clanked as someone pulled them out of the cabinet.
And then . . . nothing.
They never called for me. They never went up to my room to see if I was in there. My mom went down the hallway to their bedroom. The microwave beeped and then the oven. My dad walked from his office back to the kitchen.
“Food’s done,” he called.
My mom’s soft tread came back to the kitchen.
Chairs were pulled out, moving against the floor.
I heard utensils hitting the plates, scraping.
I couldn’t move.
Ryan’s phone was flashing as texts came in, but he silenced it. Wait—I grabbed for my phone. I’d put it on silent too. There’d be a text from my parents, something to check in with me. They would’ve asked where I was, how school was, told me they were eating without me. They probably thought I was with friends. But when I looked?
The screen was blank. No calls. No texts. Nothing.
My parents weren’t going to look for me.
Ryan scooted over and showed me his phone. He typed out: Want to sneak over to my place? Rose made spaghetti.
Did I?
A numb cold settled in. I saw the pizza we’d ordered and had never eaten. It was still on the chair, but I had no appetite. I ran through the scenarios in my head: go upstairs and pretend my parents hadn’t forgotten me or go to Ryan’s place. Peach would be there, but so would other people.
I nodded, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else.