Deeper Than Desire

Finn

Honestly? I expected Libby to be more embarrassed. Not that I wanted her to be. It's just that I've heard stories from other girls about buying condoms—the looks they get from other customers, the judgment they get from cashiers. I would've run into the drugstore and bought them myself, but she came with me.

And now she's turning it into some sort of foreplay/dare/joke that makes my dick half-hard while the rest of me wants to laugh.

And kiss her.

And...everything because when she smiles up at me like she's doing right now, it's like the whole world has swung to a stop.

"Um, hello?" If anything that smile of hers widens. She brandishes two fistfuls of condoms and her eyes promise me mayhem. "I'm assuming you're a large, yes? Or is it a medium? Do these things come in mediums?"

There's a suburban-type mom—blond, pretty, gym clothes—buying some sort of cream behind us, and at Libby's words, she stiffens, totally eavesdropping. I watch her pick up one tube of cream and put it down, pick up another and stare at it.

I nearly laugh. It's taking everything she has not to turn around and I get that. It's taking everything I have not to kiss Libby right now—and I'm pretty sure she knows it because she just licked her lower lip.

"I have no idea which to buy," she continues, all innocence and sexiness and...Libby. "They didn't cover that in health class. The only thing I was told was pretty much to not have sex so I'm out of my element."

Suburban Mom stiffens even more. She's been holding onto the same box of foot cream for the last forty-five seconds. I know it. She knows it. Libby definitely knows it because those dark eyes of hers are growing brighter by the second. Inside, she's dying of laughter.

"You're such a fucking liar," I tell her, grinning. "And you know damn well medium and large won't fit."

"I do?" But she's grinning like she absolutely does—and she would. I ground against her until I was damn near frantic. She makes me frantic.

The idea gives me a serious pause.

She. Makes me. Frantic.

Holy shit. I'm in deeper with this girl than I ever realized.

Suburban Mom scurries away, muttering something about how we should know better than to act like this in public and Libby falters. Worry darkens her eyes.

"Are you okay?" she asks, fists (and accompanying condoms) lowering. She glances to either side like she's worried other customers are listening in too. They probably are. We're doing in this in a Walgreens for fuck's sake. Eavesdropping on us will probably be the most excitement these people will have all day.

So why does it feel like I'm having a full-blown fucking Moment with this girl?

"Finn?"

I shake myself, concentrating on how the overhead lights turn everything a sickly yellow (except for Libby who is still gorgeous) and how the Musak is cheesy (except it might not be because U2's "With or Without You" suddenly feels like it's choking me).

"I'm fantastic," I finally manage.

Which is true even if she's looking at me like she's searching for the lie. I am fantastic. In fact, I am fantastic because she's fantastic. I'm about to bed the girl I've wanted since high school, since middle school.

My dick stirs at the same time I think: Holy fuck I hope I don't embarrass myself.

"If you're 'fantastic,' why are you so pale?" Libby asks, dark eyes going huge and intent like they always do when she thinks I'm about to have some sort of panic attack. She knows me. Maybe too well.