I know this is short, but I wanted to separate it from the next part, a big big Halloween special, yall! I'm so excited for it. And for this. LOVE YOU ALL. PS If you can't see that Bedford Danes is an absolute babe, then please seek professional help immediately.
{Play "Sunday Morning" by The Velvet Underground, "Crimson and Clover" by Tommy James and The Shondells,}
{Claire's POV}
I had just said goodbye to Nick and left our favorite coffee shop next to the library. He and I had been spending countless hours together, and had quickly bonded though we hadn't known each other long. He was so kind, friendly, and animated. We shared a love for all things pumpkin spice, Joani Mitchell, and platonic kisses and hugs. Plus, he looked gorgeous with a beard and had offered multiple cudle-fucking sessions when Matty went on our this spring.
Already. A tour.
I was so over the moon for them, but everything was moving so fast. Matty assured me, over and over, that they'd only be gone for two months. But the dread had embedded its way into my heart; that was basically as long as he and I had been together. The excitement was consuming him, and I hoped the favors of the road (the drug, the girls, the celebrities, the girls, the girls) wouln't overtake him.
Not until March, I reminded myself, swalloing my nerves in a lump.
It was Sunday morning, and Matty had skipped the Daniels' family brunch to go to the record shop, a job he still found himself in and out of, though he'd been paid a handsome advance by the record company. He didn't want to let it go: the lessons with Ollie, the old vinyls, Gary not knowing how to use the computer.
Things were a little awkward between us, and I hated it.
He was bound to ask; it was just a matter of time. And I had a feeling Harper's sudden presence was pushing the issue. She hated me, from the moment she saw me. Matty had touched me, in ways I'd never been touched: mentally, physically, spiritually. If she felt half of for what I felt for him, I knew I was in for trouble.
I'd been (partially) honest with Matty, and I'd simply told him that George and I had awkwardly kissed, chucking it up to missing him and mixed feelings. He wasn't exactly happy about it, but was more understanding that I'd expected. He said that I was gorgeous, this deluded George and I's friendship. He also said he'd preferred I stop spending so much time alone with George.
Not that I spent a ton of time with him alone, lately. It wasn't really fair for Matty to be that way; I knew he and Harper were rekindling their bizarre friendship via posts she'd made about him on social media, the two of them eating pizza together and her taking picture after picture of him in the recording studio.
Bedford and I were friends. Best friends.
And for the life of me I didn't know why I couldn't peel my eyes away from his mouth right now, his handsome face so focused on devouring a cream puff.
I turned my gaze away from him as I helped his mother finish the dishes. Margaret and I dried plates, champagnge glasses, and I stocked them back in their respective places. She pecked me on the cheek and joined her husband to watch some boring program on TV.
For obvious reasons, I'd kept my little revelation to Matty a secret from George. It was awkward enough Matty knowing, and I didn't want two members of the band to lose focus as they were continuing the recording process of their first album.
I hopped on the kitchen counter and George stood in front of me, continuing to eat the cream puffs his mother had made.
"What?" he asked me, his tongue circling the filling out of the dessert.
My heart was skipping beats. Who in God's earth had to eat cream puffs like that?
"You have whipped cream on your mouth," I informed him.
George smirked at me, stepping closer to where my knees were now parting, enveloping his pelvis that was nearly resting at my navel.
I swiped the whipped cream from his lips, and he blew a raspberry against my fingers as I did so, making me giggle.
"You're twelve," I laughed, moving his hand away from my mouth.
"And you're cute when you laugh," George's brown eyes glistened.
I scoffed, way too dramatically, and playfully pushed his broad chest, adorned by a simple white tank. He was reading me so well, and I hated it.
George yawned. "I'm tired."
The yawn was contagious, and one escaped from my mouth as well. "Same."
"Come take a nap with me?" George invited me.
Bad idea, Claire. Bad idea.
"Alright," I said anyways. "Just a quick one, though. I have an essay to look over."
George moved his snapback backwards, the ends of his hair sticking out adorably, as he brought his forearm around my lower back and pulled me close to him, helping me off the counter.
My body slid down his tall, lean but so muscular frame, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as both of us stood there for a moment, bodies pressed together tightly. When my eyes met his, he bit the corner of his lip immediately, and backed away.
"You want me to roll a spliff first?" he asked, cocking his head to the direction of his room upstairs.
"Yes," I said, despite myself.
=
Lou Reed's voice was humming on the record player, drowning the atmosphere of George's bedroom with "Walk on the Wild Side" as George and I shared a joint. I was scrolling through Pinterest, looking at Halloween costumes.
"What about Matty and I as Danny and Sandy?" I asked George, still trying to hold the smoke in my lungs.
Halloween was in five days and my type-A personality was raging. I'd executed zero plans, and Matty's passive-agressiveness and uninterest in the subject wasn't really helping. He was still so focused on his music. I understood.
George took the joint from me. "That wouldn't even look like a costume on Matty."
"Hmmph," I mumbled.
That was pretty true.
The band had been invited to a big Halloween party at a posh club, and I wanted our costumes to be on point. I'm sure Harper would be attending as well, so I had to bring my A-game.
"What about Aladdin and Jasmine?" I suggested.
Matty would look really cute in the little hat and purple vest.
George exhaled in a supple laugh. "Mmm, I don't wanna picture that."
My eyes narrowed at him, the blurry, giddy feeling settling in my limbs, my body welcoming the effects of George's top-notch weed.
"What does that mean?" I asked him.
George's eyes were focused on a Reservoir Dogs poster, and he crossed one of his long legs over the other. I was lying down fully, my hair all fanned out across his flannel bedspread, enjoying my little high.
"You'd just look really, really nice in a Jasmine costume," he sighed, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he put the end of the joint out in an ashtray.
I blushed, then thought about what kind of God-awful costume Harper would wear as I texted Matty that I'd probably home before he was.
"Wonder what Harper will be," I mumbled, placing my phone on George's nightstand, knowing it would be a while before I got a text back from Matty.
George yawned, "Maybe she'll finally show the world her true self, horns, tail and all."
He laid down next to me, my head gently resting on his shoulders.
"Ugh. She will probably look good in anything," I groaned. "She's got one of those little waif bodies that I wish I had. Her weight is probably barely three figures."
I looked up to see George's eyes roll. "Yeah, she has pancake ass and the tits of a ten-year old boy. She's a real dime."
A giggle came from my lips and I yawned a little. feeling very sleepy and very high.
"I dunno, Georgie. I think she's cute, even though she's awful. Matty probably could lift her with a finger," I rambled, rolling over to face George.
His pretty brown eyes were crinkled up in a smile and glassy from the effects of the marijuana.
"She could probably lift Matty with a finger," George chuckled, his chest heaving in and out.
Ugh. He smelled like some kind of deep woodsy deodorant or cologne or something.
"Quit hating," I mumured. "You're not even that strong anyways," I lied.
My best friend raised a brow. "I coud bench-press you and you know it."
I rolled my eyes. "Weak."
George sat up a little, resting on his elbow. "You're not graceful enough to keep still, anyways."
Ha! Who did he think he was, anyways? My parents made me take ballet for six years, and he knew it because he made fun of my recital pictures for years.
"Try me, Danes," I eyed him.
Georgie was completely up for the challenge, immediately sliding my legs across his body to where my butt was on his chest. He brought his arms along my body, one hand resting at the back of my thighs, the other in the middle of my back.
Turns out, he could indeed bench-press my fat ass. He made it to eight before I was giggling so much that my legs were starting to wobble, and I slid down into his arms in a fit of laughter. He welcomed me against him, my legs draped over his body, arms wrapped around his neck, face resting against his broad chest.
The two of us laughed together, our bodies warm and cozy next to each other, mine half-way on top of his. He was so handsome and sweet, and his body made me feel so safe.
"Told you," he bragged, his arms bringing me closer to him.
"Golly Gee, those muscles," I said in a goofy voice, my lips brushing against his collarbone as I giggled.
Georgie yanked at my hair playfully, then ran his hands through it tenderly, twisting his fingers around the waves, his eyes looking sleepy as his face became a little softer.
"God damn, your hair smells so good," he murmored, his fingertips beginning to trace the pattern of a star on the skin of my lower back underneath the fabric of my sweater. "You always smell like a fucking bakery."
"Quit flirting with me, you big perv," I laughed at him.
"You like it," he said, his eyes locking on mine as I looked up at him.
Ugh.
He knew me too well.
The both of us yawned in unison, and I rolled over to my side, George's big lanky body behind me in a tight embrace. The blanket was draped over our bodies perfectly, warm and cozy and stoned and completely at peace underneath this flannel, wrapped up in the arms of this man.
We were breathing in unison, and that always seemed to happen. That also always seemed to make me nervous, my breathing quickening a little. George's stayed the same, slow, deep melody it always was. Both of his arms were cradling me comfortably, gently. One was caressing my up my side, the other was planeted across my chest, his forearm in the crook of my breasts, his fingertips tracing the half-moon tattoo on my collarbone that matched his.
Matty hadn't texted me back.
I knew this was wrong.
Why didn't I want to move?
George maneuvered his body a little, pressing himself against me. His breathing was deep, slow, hungry. I gulped as my breathing quickened even more, my heart fluttering out of my chest. His lips were grazing my temple, my cheeks, my jaw. Subconsciously, I pressed my bottom against his crotch, and felt he was sporting a little something in those jeans that fit him so well.
His breath was in my ear now, his nose nuzzling my hairline. I whimpered a little.
I felt his lips smile against the flesh of my jaw and he he grazed the skin of my neck with his soft mouth. His hand was a little lower now, fingertips caressing the tops of my breasts. The fingertips of his other hand were dangerously close to the waistband of my jeans, toying with the elastic of my panties underneath.
The music had stopped, and my erratic, nervous breathing was filling the room.
"Am I making you nervous?" his deep voice penetrated into my ears, and I felt the depth of his soul in all of my body.
"Georgie..." I trailed off, my mouth dry, my nipples hardening and a dampness growing just beneath his reach.
I arched my neck against his mouth, begging for him to carress my flesh with a kiss, a lick, a bite, whatever he wanted.
But George had moved his mouth away, and instead kissed me softly on the temple.
"'Go to sleep, kid," he said.
A few moments later, my best friend was quietly asleep, his snores permeating my ear drums. My body was still tingling, warm, nervous, but I soon fell victim to the mid-day nap as well.
When I woke, it was hours later, and George was naturlly still asleep behind me. I groaned, not wanting to have taken that long of a nap. When I reached for my phone I realized I'd had three missed calls from Matty. And two texts.
Matty: Where the fuck are you?
Matty: Alright, Claire. I'm coming over there.
Immediately, I darted up in the bed, rolling over to shake George awake. He needed to get up and take me home, now.
He was dead asleep, the weed and sugar putting him into the most handsome coma.
"George," I said loudly, shaking his shoulders. "Get up."
He was still snoring, his face so peaceful and far away. I shook him harder, with no avail.
I crawled on top of him, then, shaking his shoulders and bouncing on him a little to wake him.
And George opened his pretty brown eyes in unison as the door to his bedroom was opening as well.