“Oh, I’ve never had a Christmas tree either,” I admitted, which made him gape at me only longer. “What? She thinks that the pine needles on real ones are too messy and artificial ones are too tacky.”
Later that night, he’d given me an entire box of them. He didn’t wrap them or anything, just dropped them on my lap when I’d been sitting on his sofa in the living room of his parents’ house.
“There you go.” He’d said it like it was such an inconvenience for him as he flopped down in the recliner.
I’d smiled, then leaned over and gave him a hug before I unwrapped one. As I started sucking on it, I told him it was delicious and he’d made a dirty remark about my lips. I made a comeback about the zipper on his pants being undone and that I could see his special man parts bulging out. He’d rolled his eyes, but then checked his zipper anyway. I started to giggle and ended up dropping the candy cane on my leg. I was wearing a dress and the candy stuck to my thigh.
“Okay, maybe I don’t like them,” I’d said, pulling a disgusted face as I picked it up from my leg. I tried to wipe off the stickiness with my hand, but that only made everything stickier.
“Here, let me help you,” Ethan muttered, his eyes locked on my leg. I thought he was going to go get me a paper towel or something, but instead he got up from the recliner and dropped down on his knees in front of me. His dark hair hung in his eyes as he peered over my knees, smirking at me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, intrigued but slightly nervous. I mean he was super hot and everything, but I was fully sober and could feel everything going on, like my accelerating pulse and the weird flip my stomach did.
His eyes darkened as he ran his hand up my leg and it made my skin instantly ignite with stifling, overwhelmingly passionate heat. It was a new sensation for me since foreplay was pretty much absent with any of the people I’d hooked up with. The feeling was piquing my curiosity so I let my legs fall open just a little and suddenly he seemed like the nervous one. I kept thinking about how much I wanted another pill because I could feel way too much, but then I’d have to get up and break the moment.
Ethan had paused with his hand resting on the top of my thigh. I traced the lines of the tattoos on his arms, biting my lip as my heart leaped inside my chest. His breathing became ragged and his palms were starting to sweat the longer we sat there, unmoving in the silence and glow from the twinkly lights on the Christmas tree. Then he did it. He angled his face down, his lips parted, and his tongue slipped out as he licked the candy cane stickiness off my skin.
I dug my fingernails into the arm of the chair and moaned, a loud, blissful moan that surprised me, along with the burst of warmth that flashed through my body. He responded with a sharp intake of his breath and I quivered uncontrollably. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, touch him, push his face up just a little bit farther, and make him lick me in places that would send me into a euphoric, uncontrolled spiral. But then he quickly sucked my skin, nipping at it before pulling away.
I frowned disappointedly up at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugged, dropping down into the chair. “What?” He eyed me over, like he was waiting for me to announce that he’d gotten me all hot and bothered. “Is something wrong?” He’d pressed back a smirk, like he was the funniest person in the world. “I’m just waiting around for my Christmas present.”
Most guys would have grinned or said some dirty comment, but Ethan just flicked the little red bow on my bra, then shrugged and set it down on the armrest of the chair. “I’ve seen sexier,” he said, his grin shining through his eyes.
With my mouth hanging open, I tossed a candy cane at him and it hit him in the head. He laughed, picked it up and unwrapped it, and then popped it into his mouth. “Damn, these are good,” he said, smiling as he rolled the candy along his tongue.
I think that’s when I realized how much I liked him. Not because he was being an ass or because he gave me candy canes, but because he’d stopped kissing my thigh. He knew enough about me—how easy I was—to know that he could have pretty much gotten me to do whatever he wanted, yet he didn’t. Even if it was because he didn’t like me, I still kind of liked that he stopped, even if it left me sexually frustrated. I’d had sex with guys before who later made it clear they didn’t even like me, yet they still had sex with me because I was an “easy lay.” And I was left with self-hatred stirring inside me because deep down I knew they were right. I’m good for only one thing. A one-night stand, a good lay, a moment of distraction, and I’ll pretty much do whatever they ask, even when I don’t want to.
But now the good thing I had with Ethan is gone, thanks to my fucked-up head. It makes me loathe myself even more, knowing just how good of a guy Ethan is. He’d stopped it, refusing to have sex with the numb version of me. I’m still baffled over it.
Sighing, I force myself out of the memory and return my attention to what’s under the pile of candy canes and pick up the orange bottle. I take a couple, then lay down on the bed, on my back with my legs and arms out to my side, just like they were that day my life changed for the worst six years ago, when
Alone.
And I desperately want to find someone to fill the void.
I’m way too out of it to be out here, but I can’t find my way back to my apartment. So I keep wandering aimlessly around the parking lot with no real destination, and I can’t even remember why I came outside in the first place. I think it might have been the fear of being compressed between the shrinking walls in my house that made me go outside, but I’m not sure.
This older guy comes up to me as I make my way over to a carport and he tells me about this party up the street. I mutter something about not really wanting to go with him, but then he takes ahold of my arm and kind of guides me along, or forces me (I sometimes have a hard time distinguishing between the two) toward the street.
He keeps talking about swimming or hitting or something, but the grogginess in my head barely allows me to decipher half of the words he’s saying. His lips keep moving and he has nice, soft, full-looking lips, and there’s this scar on the bottom one. I thought his eyes were green, but when we step into the house, underneath the light, I realize they’re blue. His hair is way too long for my taste and he’s wearing this ratty-looking T-shirt that makes me crinkle my nose with distaste.
“I think I have to…” I try to say
“You look really beautiful tonight,” the guy whispers in my ear and I’m relieved I caught the whole sentence.
“Thanks…” I trail off as the stereo is cranked up and the floor starts to vibrate beneath us. Everyone starts dancing and shouting as they drink beers and grind against each other.
There are people crammed into a small living room and the furniture has been pushed out of the way. The kitchen to my right is lined with empty beer bottles and there’s a large bucket filled with ice and drinks on the table. The loudness and chaos kind of reminds me of being at Ella’s, where everyone could just roam free and do whatever they wanted. The first time I witnessed it I thought it was insane, but now it kind of feels like maybe this is the kind of place I belonged the whole time.
“Do you want a drink?” the guy shouts over the music as he holds on to my arm.
I nod, relaxing.
Then he smiles and it’s a dark smile, one masked with an alternate meaning. I’ve seen this smile before right before
