If you asked me a few months ago what I thought of Valerie Williams, I would probably have said that I didn't think about her at all.
I didn't know anything about her, really, except that she was hot, and generally had poor taste in friends and boyfriend, with the exception of Cora. She was a semi-silent shadow at Sydney Collins' side, or, even worse, at Tommy Aster's. Despite Cora vouching for her, those two facts had almost sealed my opinion of her. That was as much as I'd bothered to find out—or particularly cared to know—about her.
It was almost laughable, in retrospect. There were very few things I thought about now that weren't related to her. It didn't matter what I was doing—looking after Mum, helping Isabelle with homework, working with Will at the garage—Valerie Williams was always a niggling thought at the back of my mind. She was the kind of person who grew on you, because all of the best things about her were subtle, traits she held back with a sort of reserve, as if the best sides of her had to be earned.
Like this side; nervous and rambling, anxiety prompting a ceaseless tirade of words, each more endearing than the last. "I was talking to Seb yesterday," she said. "And he said that Lucy Combs is going around telling people she saw us doing it in the back row of the cinemas on Wednesday night. I mean, god, if we're trying to convince people that we—" she didn't take her eyes off the road as she wiggled a finger between us "—are an item, or whatever, then I suppose it helps, but I don't love the information getting out without my express permission and direction. I am the director, producer and screenwriter of this movie, and I refuse to relinquish any control over the production whatsoever."
She was fucking cute when she rambled. Her eyes went a little wide—though I still wasn't sure if it was from the force of all those words, or just a symptom of the anxiety that prompted them—and her nose scrunched just slightly, and I was mildly obsessed with the whole thing.
In a suave and casual way, of course.
"Gotta love Lucy Combs," I said. "Ever the optimist. I love her version of events, if you wanted to work it into the itinerary."
Valerie laughed. It was probably my favourite thing about her; no matter how shamelessly I flirted with her, even though we were strictly friends, she was always amused by it. And threw it back tenfold.
It was maybe the sexiest thing about her, as well. Although, there were many other factors with an equally competitive edge.
"Anytime you like, darling," she said, breezily, and I really hoped she was only half joking. "Though, to listen to Lucy, we were hooking up through the ending of Bridge to Terabithia, so we really just come across as psychopaths."
I frowned. "Why would Bridge to Terabithia be on at the cinema? It came out years ago."
"There are some major flaws to her story."
I shook my head. "A damn shame. It ruins the whole visualisation process for me."
Valerie shrugged. "We can just pretend it was a different movie? That's what I did."
"You what?"
Valerie shot me a furtive grin. "Lucy came and asked me about it. I told her we were actually watching Ratatouille."
I burst out laughing. "Why didn't you just tell her we didn't actually hook up at the movies? And why Ratatouille?"
The smile Valerie wore was a little bit smug. She did that now; it was like she was suddenly confident in her ability to make me laugh, and now she took some secret pride in eliciting such a reaction from me. At first, she had almost seemed surprised even time I barked out an involuntary laugh. I could never help it; she was so unexpectedly funny, even when she wasn't trying to be, and I spent all of our time together lingering somewhere between amused and outright uproarious, with the occasional sidelong detour into turned on that I valiantly attempted to ignore (it was not working).
"I panicked," she admitted. "I didn't want people to think the death of small children got me going."
I leaned back in my seat and grinned at her. "Good to know it is the culinary skills of a cartoon rat, instead."
"Shh," she admonished, reaching over to clap her hand over my mouth. Even though she was only teasing, the feeling of her hand touching me tightened my gut. "Don't make fun of me."
"I would never," I promised. That wasn't true; I loved making fun of her. It lit a spark behind her eyes, an expression of pure delight, and I would do almost anything to have her look at me like that. "I was just expressing a friendly curiosity for your proclivities."
She rolled her eyes at the unguarded desire on my face. "Yeah, okay, well. Train a rat to cook and I'll do you, Delaney."
I was so gone for this girl.
I snorted a laugh. I also weighed my chances of succeeding in that field, and judged them to be tragically slim. Shit.
Thank God our plan for today was what it was. There was no chance I was keeping my hands to myself—not when she was like this, so unguarded and rambly and goddamn fucking funny—and I was glad to have an excuse for it. Because, as much as I might wish otherwise, she was both literally and metaphorically in the driver's seat for this relationship. I was simply along for the ride.
It was hardly a secret that I was practically obsessed with her. Will and Isabelle were already giving me enough shit for it; so was Jamie, but that wasn't irregular enough to take any stock in. But Valerie... it was hard to know how she felt, really. She flirted with me incessantly, but it was hard to read how much she actually meant it.
She was only newly single from two messy relationships. Even if she did like me, she probably wasn't ready to date again so soon. If I thought for a moment that she was, I would have asked her out weeks ago. Probably from that first sober conversation, where she had joked about the ranking of her boobs, and I had thought in a startled daze that she was perhaps the biggest surprise of my life, in the best way possible. Definitely from that party, where she had kissed me and erased every thought from my mind that was not immediately related to her, until I was practically saluting the party with my dick.
That was fucking awesome.
Valerie glanced over at me again.
"Why am I driving again?" she asked, tapping her fingers habitually on the wheel. When she was nervous, she fiddled with useless things in the car. The knob of the volume button, even though there was no music playing, the temperature settings, even though there was no air whose temperature could be adjusted.
I liked to flirt, and I really liked to flirt with Valerie. She was funny, and she was a good sparring partner when it came to shameless come-ons, but in moments like this—when it felt serious, when it felt real—she shed the layers of unabridged confidence and tell-tale signs of stress began to appear. She was a master of light-hearted, meaningless flirting.
I'd been the same, before her. Flirting because it was fun, because it was easy, with no real intention behind it. I might pretend it was the same with her—because I could tell she found that easier, almost, to consider that I was simply doing her a favour because I hated Tommy, and not because I genuinely liked her—but it was not the same. Flirting with Valerie was all intention.
I wasn't particularly fussed with timing. I would wait as long as she needed. Especially when all of her plans seemed to involve hooking up.
"Oh, you'll see," I said, because it felt creepy to tell her that I was really just hoping she climbed over me.
"If you say so," she said, biting her lip. I hoped she would let me do that later. Fuck.
That was basically the only thought in my mind for the rest of the drive there. I know we had a conversation, but it was hard to think about anything when I was so fixated on what was to come. I wasn't like this, usually. I mean, sure, I enjoyed hooking up with girls, but it had never before been tinged with a sort of desperation. Had never before been about anything other than the interaction itself.
With Valerie? It was the only way I could show her all the things I couldn't say to her. Give me a chance, Valerie Williams. I promise I will do everything I can with it.
"So," Valerie said, when we pulled into the spot. I enjoyed watching her drive—the opportunity to watch her unselfconsciously, to commit her to memory—but I liked this even more. The full force of her attention on me. Those fucking eyes, which could ask anything of me and I would oblige, doe-like and blessed with some gravitational pull. "The weather is nice."
I let my gaze travel over her, revelling in the moment. Her hair was tucked nervously behind her ears, lips slightly parted, and thank fuck for her ridiculous plans, because they were the better than anything I could ever come up with. When she was nervous, she didn't know how to shut up. Which I didn't mind, because I never wanted her to stop talking. "I'm sensing another ramble."
She looked affronted. "Why?"
"You always ramble when you're nervous."
I didn't want her to be nervous. I wanted her to want this moment as much as I did. I needed her to, because I wanted us to be for the long haul, and even though she could hardly be ready for anything like commitment yet, I wanted her to at least feel some inkling of it.
"Nervous?" she squeaked. "I'm not nervous. I've kissed you before. This isn't the kind of thing I'd be nervous about. You know, once I went cliff jumping, and Sydney totally shoved me off, but that made me nervous because, you know, cliff. And remember that guy in Isabelle's year who paralysed himself when he went cliff jumping? Anyway, my point is, cliff jumping makes me nervous, but this definitely does not. Because I don't want to be paralysed."
"Oh, I love it when you talk dirty," I said, my voice low. She poked me in the arm. Hard. If that was the only contact we had today, I could live with that. Miserably, with a shower this evening that would probably drain the house of hot water. But I wanted her to want me, and I did not want to force her into it. I wanted to show her that we could be it. "But I get it. You're not nervous. Why don't we talk for a little bit first though? There's still 40 minutes until school starts, and people will probably start walking past soon, but there will be stragglers until the bell. Let's give it some time."
She swallowed then, nervous perhaps. I didn't blame her. The last guy she had kissed was Tommy Aster, and that hadn't panned out particularly well for her. I didn't know how to show her that I was different, that I would never do to her what that fuckwit had done.
It was hard, when I had my reputation. If Golden Boy had betrayed her, why would she trust me?
I wanted to show her that she could trust me.
"I know this was your idea, but we don't have to go through with it if you don't want to." I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging surreptitiously on the root until I felt a jolt of pain that reminded my dick that he had to be on the same page as my brain. She was looking at me as if I were some foreign alien species. She looked really hot while doing so. All tiny features and smooth skin that I had no right to run my hands all over if she was nervous. "Valerie, it's oka—"
But then she kissed me.
My mouth was already half-open with reassurance, but I decided to thank some higher power for that win, because it was the perfect angle to pull her closer, as close as I could have her over the console, and I was so fucking desperate for this girl. I cupped her jaw, my thumb stroking that smooth skin that I had been so desperate to touch, my other hand buried in her silky blonde hair.
I felt like I was teetering on some sort of precipice, my heart hurtling to the ground as I was forced to helplessly follow it.
I wanted to fold her into me, to press her as close to my body as I could have her. I did not have the capacity for gentleness. In that moment, it took every thought in my mind to make sure I was still practised in the way I kissed her. I wanted her fingernails digging into my back, I wanted to touch every inch of her skin, I wanted...
She banged her elbow, swearing slightly, and I grabbed her hand. "Get over here," I mumbled, kissing her again.
She climbed over me, and I was maybe the smartest man alive.
"I understand—" she kissed me again, and I was thankful, because this was maybe the first time since she drunkenly told me about Tommy and Sydney's escapades that I was happy for her to shut up. "Why I was driving."
She kissed her way down my neck, giving me a moment to respond. I wasn't sure I knew any words. Maybe I learned them once, but they were suddenly escaping me. "When it comes to get you on top of me, I am excellent at forethought."
She grinned at me, and I almost groaned. That fucking smile. I wanted it tattooed into my skin. I pulled her closer to me, feeling every soft curve pressed against me.
She touched me everywhere, the leverage of sitting on top of me allowing her more freedom to move. I was very content to be pinned down by the light weight of her hips. She kissed down the line of my neck, nipped at my shoulder, and it still wasn't enough. More than I had ever had, more than I had any right to, but still not enough.
I wanted her in my bed for days, weeks. I wanted to forget anything that wasn't this. I wanted to forget that she was not mine, that she kept insisting this was not real, and drown in the feeling of her groan when I wrapped her hair around my fist.
"Valerie—" I said against her lips, more of a gasp then any real word, and then I kissed her below the jaw, just a small nip of teeth when she tugged me closer, and then she rolled her hips.
I was so turned on I could die.
I groaned her name again, and she moved once more, and I was so fucking hard it almost hurt.
It was also proof that maybe she did want me. This was all just for show. This wasn't supposed to be anything more than revenge on Tommy and Sydney. And yet, no one but us would know about the involuntary rock of her hips against mine. Whether or not she could ever like me the way I liked her, at least I would always have this. The knowledge that, for a time at least, she wanted me.
My arms were wound around her, so tight we were almost one person. She was still rolling against me, and I wasn't even embarrassed that she could feel exactly how much I wanted her. Because the desperate rock of her hips told me the same back.
I couldn't even say how long I had been kissing her—minutes, hours, years—but I didn't particularly care. I had so many things I wanted to say to her, and I told her with every press of our lips.
I kissed her jawline. Please, Valerie. Pretend it wasn't too soon. Would you have me?
I clutched at her back. You are the funniest person I have ever met, and I want you to keep making me laugh forever.
You're so caring, so beautiful, so in tune with everything I say. It's as if you were conjured from a description of my dream girl. I brushed my hand up her side, daringly close to that self-proclaimed superior breast.
Tell me you feel it too, plea— The bell clanged a harsh, discordant sound that tore me from my reverie.
Fuck my whole entire life.
Valerie tore away from me, her eyes wide and gorgeous, and I just wanted to kiss her again. Fuck. Ing. Hell.
"School doesn't start for—" she turned around in my lap, moving over my dick, and it took every ounce of energy that I had to not grind into her again. She looked back at me. "Now."
"Uh huh," I said, because that was about how far my current coherence allowed. "Look, I'm not going to hurry."
"But we'll be—" she looked down, and then rapidly back up at me, suddenly nervous again, as if she hadn't bit the juncture of my shoulder fifteen minutes ago. "Oh."
"We need to stop making out in places where it's unacceptable to be hard." Or where it was unacceptable for me to take her pants off, ideally. You know, if she was up for it. If there was any conceivable way I could work that into the plan, I would have done it by now. I winced again at the weight on my dick, because I really really wanted to press up into her, and that didn't seem like a great way to convince Valerie I was not trying to take advantage of her. Though, if I thought she would let me, I would probably consider it. "And if you want to make it to class in the next... ever, you might have to get off my lap."
"Oh, shit," she said, scrambling off my lap and into the driver's seat. If my dick could talk, he would swear profusely at me right now. I know, bro, I am a fucking idiot, but we want this for the long haul.
She did not look comfortable, legs half-splayed over the console, muttering something rambly and awkward, and it was so fucking cute that I couldn't help but smile. I also couldn't help the piquing interest of my cock, again.
I reached down to adjust myself, because otherwise, I was maybe never going into school again.
"What are you doing?" she screeched, looking pointedly at the roof.
"Adjusting," I said. "Unless you thought I needed to use it as a battering ram in the near future?"
She looked upward, as if examining the roof. "A battering ram? You think highly of yourself, Delaney."
"Well," I said, thinking of every inch of my pressed against her stomach. Then I thought of things that were disgusting and decidedly unsexy, because I really did need to get to class; wrinkled grandparents, Valerie kissing Tommy Aster, the consistent and inevitable march to death. "Yes."
She looked at me then, searching for some topic that was not specifically my penis. She was so charmingly awkward about the situation. It made me want to kiss her, again. "So, do you think it worked? Do you think someone saw us."
"We made out for 40 minutes," I said, eyeing the clock behind her. I didn't really care if someone saw us; I hoped they hadn't. Maybe I could convince her a repeat was required. "I would say that it is statistically likely, yeah."
She nodded. "Well. Good. We achieved then."
That might be an understatement. I felt as if I had achieved something monumental. That was why my voice was a little unsteady when I replied. "You know me. I love achieving goals."
"I mean, it wasn't the worst way to achieve goals," she said. My heart thumped against my chest. She leaned back against her chair, in some display of not-nervousness. "Objectively speaking. I had a relatively good time."
My jaw clenched when I looked at her. It was maybe the best forty minutes of my life, and her assessment is relatively good? "Relatively good?"
She grinned at the look on my face. Shit stirrer. "Perhaps that's a slight understatement. You're gifted in your craft, Delaney."
"I'm diligent in my studies," I said solemnly. "Want to be my tutor?"
I was only half joking. The thought increased the discomfort at my crotch.
She grimaced sympathetically. "Still struggling."
I looked at her, wondering if I would ever again not struggle in her presence. She was so fucking pretty, and now I knew what it felt like when she bracketed my hips with her thighs. "Just a bit."
I was too close to her again—not helping anyone, especially not myself, but I could not help it—as if I were a moon in her fucking orbit, drawing closer to her gravity. I was going to kiss her again, fuck the consequences. How could I resist, when she was staring at me as if she wanted me to. I would never refuse to oblige anything she asked of me.
Not when she was like something drawn from my imagination. "You are the greatest revelation," I told her, just before I pressed my lips to hers.
And then the bell had the audacity to fucking ring.
I swore, glaring at the school as I pulled back. "I'm going to have some fucking words—"
But Valerie interrupted me. "We're going to be so late."
That did not bother me, but I was here on a scholarship. I should probably care more. I didn't. But I set my haw, because this was what she wanted. "Yeah. Shit. Okay, I'm just going to tie a jacket around my waist and think of grandma."
She smiled at me, a knowing twinkle in her eye, bold and flirtatious. "So you're not thinking about what would've happened if that bell didn't happen to chime? Because I am."
Holy. Fucking Shit. This girl was going to be the fucking death of me. "Oh," I said. "I hate you."
Because I would never recover from those words. I had never wanted anyone more badly in my life, and suddenly, I felt something like hope. What would she have let me do to her? And could I convince her to let it happen again?
I reached for her arm, but she just giggled and opened the door, tumbling out of my way with a teasing grin. She was so light and warm and beautiful. "No, you don't!" she called out.
I sighed, because I was so fucking gone for this girl. Surely she could see it; that precipice, the one that stood between me and falling in love, the one that I had never even had the curiosity to peer over before, had entirely crumbled beneath me. I was going to do everything I could to convince her that we could be something real.
But I just shook my head. "I really don't."