Crescendo
Mia
I can hear Ian trying to make his way through the growing crowd behind me, but I don’t stop walking.
Abs had been acting funny for a little while now, but I never thought she’d do something like that. Not to me.
My hands are shaking as I pull the keys out of my pocket and unlock the door. I don’t get in, though.
Really, I shouldn’t be mad at Ian: I saw what happened, and he didn’t seem to have anything to do with it, except to pull away. It’s not even like we’re still together or anything.
Not that we’ve had that talk.
Still, he should have known she’d try something like that at some point from the way she went after him at that party. I should have known.
How did I not know?
“Mia!” Ian shouts as he jogs toward me, his skateboard nowhere in sight.
That breaks the back and forth, and I get in my car and lock the doors.
My phone’s ringing, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to talk to whoever’s on the other end. I just need to get out of here.
I throw the car in reverse and go to pull out, but Ian steps behind me.
Cracking the window, I’m telling him to get out of the way.
“Just let me talk to you for a second,” he says. “That wasn’t what it looked like. I mean, yeah, she kissed me, but I didn’t—”
I close my window and just wait for him to move. At some point, he’s going to come up to my window, and when he does that, I can back out.
I think he’s figured out what I’m thinking, though, because he’s hesitating at the back of the car. Finally, though, he starts coming around the driver’s side and I start to pull out.
He presses himself against the car next to me to avoid my mirror, and I’m out of the parking spot. Just as I’ve gotten the car into drive and am starting to move forward, though, Ian jumps in front of me, rather melodramatically and I stop.
“Move,” I tell him through the windshield.
He doesn’t move.
I roll down my window and repeat, “Move!”
“No,” he says. “Not until you talk to me.”
I roll the window back up and throw the car in reverse, but apparently I’m not speed demon enough because Ian’s made his way around the car and is now blocking me from the back.
“Rookie move,” I mutter, putting the car in drive and hitting the gas.
I try not to look in the rearview mirror. I try, but I fail, and as soon as I see his shoulders slump as he watches me drive off, suddenly, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing.
The fact of the matter is, whether I listen to his explanation or not, I can’t just up and leave.
I pull into a parking spot toward the edge of the lot, and I just sit for a minute, my hands on the steering wheel, head against the headrest.
What am I supposed to do now? Any move I make feels like a bad decision.
I know what happened was Abby’s fault, and that Ian and I split up, but that doesn’t change the sick feeling in my stomach after seeing it. It’s jealousy, stupid jealousy, but knowing that doesn’t magically make it go away.
There’s no way this won’t look pretty stupid, but I pull back out of my new parking spot and drive back to the old one, putting the car in park and my head back once more, my eyes closed.
There’s a knock on my window and, even though I was expecting it, I still jump a little.
I roll down the window.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say back.
“Listen,” he says, “what happened back there—I didn’t want that. I’m not attracted to her, and as soon as I realized what was happening, I—”
“Just save it,” I tell him. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like we’re a thing.”
“I know,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like that.”
“Like what?” I ask stupidly.
“For us to be a thing,” he answers. “I know I’m the one that screwed this up, but what happened today, that wasn’t my fault. She kicked a board in front of me as I was going past, and I thought she was just kidding around, wanting to talk to me because you’re her friend and you and I used to date, but—”
“I think I told you to save it,” I tell him.
“Will you just get out and talk to me?” he asks. “You’re obviously not leaving.”
He’s baiting me. I know he’s baiting me. It doesn’t matter.
I throw my door open, the car still idling, and I get out of the car and up in his face as people file past us as they make their way through the parking lot.
“You’ve got excuses for everything,” I tell him. “That’s why we’re not together anymore. Rather than realize that you were on a vert ramp for the first time ever and just chalk it up to experience, you had to take it out on me, and I had nothing to do with your crappy performance! I didn’t even think it was crappy. I didn’t care that you came in last on vert, I was just proud of you for having the courage to do it. Why do you think I came today?”
“Why did you come today?” he asks.
“I just told you,” I tell him.
“Because you’re proud of me?” he asks.
“No,” I answer. “Well, yeah, that’s what I said, but—”
“Then what is it?” he asks. “If you were just going to come and storm off, what’s the point?”
“Well, I didn’t expect to see you standing there with my best friend on your face,” I retort.
“You know what your problem is?” he asks and doesn’t even take a breath before continuing. “You want things to go just the way you expect them to, and at the first indication that something might not be going according to plan, you just bail on it. I may be the reason we split up this last time, but how many times did you go back and forth about us before we were even together?”
“That just shows that I should have listened to my intuition in the first place,” I tell him.
“That’s bullshit!” he says, his eyes narrowing. “You call it intuition, I call it fear. You never intended to give us a fair shot, so when I flew off the handle, that was your cue to leave.”
“Yeah,” I shout, “that was my cue to leave because you were acting like a world-class asshole!”
“Wow, now it actually starts coming out,” he says. “Your entire personality is based on you not wanting to really engage with anyone, not in a real way, not in a vulnerable way. You hardly ever swear because you’re afraid of offending somebody and offending people draws attention. You kept acting like you wanted something to happen with us until it started to, then you just cut and run. Yeah, Mia, we’re not together right now because of something that I did. It was fucked up, I was fucked up and I am truly, very sorry that I did that, and I have no excuse. All I’m saying is that you don’t have a good excuse for how you’re acting, either.”
“You know what your problem is?” I ask.
“Oh, this should be good.”
“Your problem is that you try to wrap every little experience up in a tiny little bow, but things are more complicated than that,” I tell him.
“You’re twenty,” he says.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I yell.
“Well,” he says in an irritatingly calm voice, “I get that life is complicated, but I mean, it’s not like you have a job or anything to worry about. Your dad takes care of all of that, so you can carry on, floating through life, avoiding anything that might just get a little too real. I don’t think it’s all that complicated.”
“Really?” I ask. “You’re going to open the dad door?”
“Hey, I freely admit that my dad’s an asshole,” he says. “Anyway, that’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“The point,” he starts. “The point is…”
“Really not a strong moment for your argument, is it?” I ask.
“The point is…” he tries again, but gives up. Instead, he’s trying Abby’s move, kissing me when that’s about the last thing I expect.
I pull back and my hand is already cocked back, ready to slap him in the face.
“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I shouldn’t have—”
My hand goes, but it’s not a slap across his face, but my arms around his shoulders as I kiss him back.
He’s surprised a moment, but his arms are around me and whatever this is, it’s leaving me short of breath already.
I’m so mad at him, so completely frustrated with his point of view. I don’t even know if he’s right or not or if that even matters right now.
We slowly pull away from each other, and I can see his Adam’s apple dip and return as he swallows.
“What was—” he starts, but I’m sick of trying to pick this apart.
He’s kissing my neck, and the cars are still going by, dropping most of their occupants off at the front.
I pull away, and I’m telling him, “Not here.”
I’m ready to give an explanation, but he just nods and we’re walking now.
“Where?” I ask as I hit the lock button on my dad’s door after taking the keys out of the ignition.
“Do you have anything?” he asks.
“I always keep a couple in my purse if that’s what you’re asking,” I tell him.
“What changed your—” he starts.
“Oh, you’d probably better shut up before I start thinking this through,” I warn and he’s smart enough not to finish the question.
“I think I know a place, but I have no idea whether we can get in or not,” he says, and he takes my hand, leading me around to the side of the building. “We need to find a way in,” he says.
I, rather cleverly, decide to just walk up to the first side door we come to and pull. To be honest, though, I wasn’t really expecting it to actually give way.
We’re through the door and we try to stay behind things as much as possible, as there are a number of people doing various work around the inside of the skate park.
I stopped him before he finished his question, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an answer.
What changed my mind is that I figured out what he was trying to say when he was stammering about what he thought the point of his argument was.
Figuring that out may or may not change things in the long run, but for now at least, I’m just walking behind him as he leads me by the hand along the inside perimeter of the building.
We pass a couple of people as we’re going, but they’re far too rushed to either notice or care that we’re in there when we shouldn’t be.
“It’s back here,” Ian says quietly as we come to the rear of the building.
When we reach the back wall, we take a right and Ian lets go of my hand a moment to try the door to a janitor’s closet, opening it easily and gesturing for me to go in.
I take a quick look around. There are plenty of people in eyeshot if any of them were looking over here.
None of them are.
I quickly make my way into the janitor’s closet and Ian comes in after me, closing the door and leaving us in near-total darkness.
“You sure?” he asks. “I know you told me not to ask questions, but—”
“I’m sure,” I tell him and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel his lips on mine.
He may not understand why I changed my mind so quickly, but he’s not taking anything for granted. I can’t see him, but I can feel him as his hands move over my body while mine are much more direct.
I feel for the top of his pants and unbutton them while Ian’s mouth moves from my mouth, over my cheek and jaw to the curve where my shoulder meets my neck, and I think I finally understand the thrill of knowing we could get caught at any time.
Ian’s pulling up my shirt and kissing my breasts as I pull his pants halfway down, then his boxers and now I’m stroking him, feeling him flex at my touch.
I’m starting to wonder how much foreplay Ian really thinks we have time for when his hands finally settle over the top of my pants, and he undresses me from the waist down.
The cool air on my bare skin is titillating as its quickly contrasted by the warmth of his lips on my knees, my upper thigh. When his mouth and tongue reach my pussy, I have to feel around for something to hang onto so I don’t lose my balance.
“Oh my god,” I say, just above a whisper.
His mouth leaves my skin, but his fingers take over as he asks, “Where’s your purse?”
“Shit,” I mutter. “It’s in the car.”
For a second, his hand stops and although I can hear him breathing, when he removes his touch, I start feeling the vertigo of near-darkness.
“What should we do?” he asks.
“I’m not going back out there right now,” I tell him. “Just don’t come inside me.”
I feel two hands, one on the back of each of my legs, and they’re moving upward. His touch is warm, comforting and a little disorienting until he stands up, keeping his hands right where they ended up, and he’s whispering, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
One of his hands moves up my body, settling between my shoulder blades while the other moves down the back of my left leg. As the hand moves closer toward the back of my knee, I get the idea and I lift the leg for him to cradle, and I reach forward to find just where his body begins.
My hand falls on his chest and I move it down, telling him to keep me steady; telling him I’d rather not end up slipping, cracking my head and ending up being carted out of here on a stretcher, naked from the waist down in front of hundreds of spectators. He’s holding me firmly, but I know how my knees go weak with Ian.
My hand finally comes to his skin once more, and I take him in my hand a moment, feeling his pulse under my fingers, and then I bring his tip to my entrance and let my knee bend just enough to feel him as he parts my folds, entering me.
Now inside, Ian takes over, slowly pushing into me before pulling back out most of the way, going just a little deeper each time, and I’m just glad he’s holding me up.
Given our height difference and the lack of available light in the room, finding his lips is difficult when they’re not kissing me or running over my body, but my hands are free enough that I finally just pull his head toward me and move my mouth where it feels like he’s going to be.
My lips make contact with him, but it’s not his mouth they find.
He’s stifling laughter, saying, “Kind of got my eye, there.”
I smile, not that he’s going to see it, and we’re able to find each other’s mouths before much longer.
Ian only seems to grow harder inside me as I reach for his hand that’s holding up my leg, and I give it a slight tug, trying to let him know I want him to let go for a second, and he does. Free now, I wrap my leg the rest of the way around his body, using it as leverage to pull him toward me, to pull more of him into me.
The feeling of his skin is a bit more intense than I’d anticipated, but every time I feel my standing knee start to weaken or like I’m beginning to lose my balance, I just clutch Ian a little tighter and he pulls me a bit closer, making sure I’m steady, secure.
“You’re so wet,” he utters.
I kiss for his lips again, though from the feel of it, I end up somewhere along his jawline, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the feel of him on my lips, against my body, inside my body.
His breath starts to quicken, and I’m beginning to feel that building heat right until the moment a knock lands on the door. I should be startled, but no, that’s just the final piece of the puzzle before I’m coming, holding Ian so tight.
I know I need to be quiet, so I try to bury my face in Ian’s chest, but it doesn’t seem to be working as whoever’s standing on the other side of the door knocks again, only louder this time.
Ian’s arms are firm around me, and I’m grateful. Otherwise, there’s no way I would have managed to stay on my feet this long.
I’m sweating and this room suddenly feels so small, confining, but it’s okay because Ian and I are still holding each other.
“We should probably get out there,” Ian whispers.
“Not yet,” I respond.
“Why?” he asks. “Everything all right?”
“Do you remember how you were telling me about your pre-competition ritual?” I ask. “If I’m not mistaken, you went as far as to say that getting blue balls ruins your ability to skate. I’m not done until you’re done.”
“Just a second then,” he says, and I have no idea what he’s doing when he eases his grip on me, but doesn’t pull out of me as he cracks the door open. “Yeah,” Ian says, “any way you could just give us a couple more minutes?”
“Oh god,” I groan.
The man on the other side of the barely-cracked door just laughs and says, “Sure thing, buddy. Just remember: You’re in a janitor’s closet. There’s no reason to not clean up after yourselves.”
With that, Ian closes the door again and this time, I hear him fumbling with the doorknob before a second latching sound comes.
“I think we’ve got about two minutes before that guy brings all of his buddies over here to stand outside the door and listen in on us,” he says.
“Think we’ve got the time?” I ask.
“We’ll see,” he says.
The feeling of him inside of me is so comfortable, so natural, that I almost don’t even realize he’s still inside of me until he starts slowly pulling back before easing in again. With the first millimeter of motion, I feel every bit of him that’s in between my legs and inside of me, and I’ve all but forgotten about the guy that knocked on the door.
“That’s not going to do it,” I whisper to Ian, and I’m rocking my hips and gripping him tight with my kegel muscles.
“Fu-uck,” he mutters, and he’s holding my hips now, using the leverage to enter me so fast, so hard.
“Come for me,” I whisper to him, and his grip on me tightens.
He’s breathing heavily, his erection so slick with the wet in me and one of his hands comes up to pull my upper body tight against his.
Ian’s breath is jagged, and as I glance down toward the tiny space under the door, the gap through which all light in this little room enters, and see two foot-width shadows just on the other side, and suddenly my body’s quivering and I’m clutching Ian again, just hoping he can keep his balance when he comes.
Wait.
With my hand closest to the door, I feel against the wall until I find a light switch, and I tell Ian to close his eyes just before I flip the switch.
Now, with my first real look at the room, I find it’s not nearly as cramped as I’d thought, but that couldn’t matter less right now.
The diversion pulled me back from the brink, but Ian’s eyelids are squeezed shut and I can tell that he’s trying to quiet the sound of his own breathing as his moment draws near.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Where—”
I lift myself off of him and put both legs on the ground before lowering myself between his knees and taking him into my mouth.
I’m looking up at him and his eyes are wide open as he matches my gaze for what feels like almost no time at all before his eyes close and, with a stifled grunt, his salty warmth spreads throughout my mouth.
I swallow as he comes, and his body shudders as the orgasm begins to recede.
A few seconds later, and we’re embracing each other, breathing heavily.
“Tell me,” he says, kissing my forehead.
“Tell you what?” I whisper back, blindly wrapping my arms around the back of his neck.
“What changed your mind?” he asks.
“I got the point,” I tell him. “When I asked you earlier what your point was, what you were trying to prove by arguing with me,” I breathe, “I know what you were trying to say.”
“You do?” he asks.
“I think so,” I tell him. “Otherwise, I may have just made a huge mistake.”
He’s quiet for a moment.
Maybe I misread what he was saying. Maybe he wasn’t trying to say anything at all. Maybe he was just stalling while he tried to think of something clever to say.
I should have known.
That’s what I’m thinking right until he says it. “The point is,” he tells me, “that I think I’m in love with you.”