The Lunacy Fringe

Seventy-Three

The next day, after school, I was eating a snack when Felix stopped by. Technically we'd come home at the same time, but Quinn was being dumb about it. So he decided to come by after Quinn left.

"What are you watching?" he asked, plopping down onto the couch beside me.

"I dunno, but it just got intense," I explained. He nodded, and we both watched quietly. We were leaning deeply on the couch, only touching where our hands brushed together, wholly absorbed in the TV. When the commercials finally came on, he turned to me.

"Can I talk now?" he asked.

"I suppose. Unless it's a really good commercial."

"Right. I wouldn't want to interrupt your very important commercial break."

"Shh, I haven't seen this one." I stuck my hand on his face to stop him from kissing me. He just laughed and pulled it away. Then his lips found mine, and neither of us cared about the TV anymore. He let me go, and I wrapped my arms around him until both of us were slowly sinking into the couch.

"When does your dad get home?" he asked, voice going low.

"Sixish?"

"Good." We went back to kissing, completely ignoring the TV when the show came back on.

"Come here," I finally said, wiggling out from under him. "I have something for you." I led him upstairs to my room. Then I closed us up inside and found the package I set on my dresser.

"Guitar strings?" he asked when I handed it over.

"Yes, but they're blue. Electric blue. I don't know how well they'll play, but I thought they'd look cool on your white Fender." His eyebrows rose as he looked at me.

"You are a fantastic woman." I put my hand on my hip.

"Obviously."

He smiled and set the guitar strings back on the dresser. He cupped my face, and we inched toward the bed, only breaking apart long enough for him to settle on top of me.

We'd only done it a few times. And only over winter break. I was nervous about how it was supposed to happen. Afraid he'd get bored with me now that he'd gotten it. Or afraid of the opposite. That he'd want it so much, we'd never do anything else. But he never made me feel uncomfortable. Never pushed me. He'd been gentle with me, uncertain. And the only time he'd actively just gone for it was when we mutually decided we were going to hours before getting drunk on New Year's.

Now we spent hours alone together without even getting close to it. Most of the time, there was a guitar involved. And more often than not, we'd still end up attached at the lips. But we were still trying to figure out each other's boundaries and needs.

Right now—I wanted him. And with the way his hands were moving up my shirt and trailing lines of fire along my ribs, I was guessing he wanted me too. So I slid my hands up the back of his shirt until he got the hint and sat back to yank it over his head. Then he was helping me get my shirt off, my bra quickly followed, and he rolled onto his back so I could take my place on top of him. Or at least so he had more room to unbutton my jeans.

"Are you positive your dad won't be home until six?" he asked, moving his hands up my sides.

"Pretty sure. His lunch break is already over, and six has been pretty standard for him for the past few months."

"And he doesn't worry? About us—doing exactly what we're doing right now?" I shrugged.

"I don't know. It's not exactly like he can call off work to chaperone his adult daughter." He blinked a few times.

"Right. We are adults now, aren't we?"

"For the most part." I leaned down to kiss him, and his hands slid up my back.

"If he takes my fingers," he whispered as I moved back to unbutton his jeans. "I'll be mad at you." I laughed and stood up so we could finish undressing.

"Sounds reasonable. But if we hear the door open, we'll just hide in the closet and pretend we aren't home." His eyes went wide, and he nodded while yanking his jeans down.

"Right, because my clothes scattered all over your bedroom floor won't be a dead giveaway." I got my jeans down and hooked my fingers into my underwear.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," I suggested. He took a moment to think it through. Only a moment. Then he reached for me, yanked me back onto the bed, and got rid of my underwear for me. But instead of getting right to it, he covered my skin in kisses and then moved down, leaving a trail of them from my belly button to parts of me that had never been kissed before.

Later, we were breathing hard onto each other's shoulders, and neither of us attempted to move. I could barely breathe. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest even though he was dead weight.

"What the hell?" I whispered breathlessly.

"That was incredible," he replied, voice muffled, head not moving from its position in my pillow.

"I think I died." He laughed and finally turned his head, dragging his lips over my cheek and to the corner of my mouth.

"Give me like—a half-hour," he decided. He groaned and rolled over. And then we both embraced our mutual death by not moving for the next thirty minutes.