1986: Why Can't This Be Love (Love in the 80s #7) (5 page)

His free hand gripped my hip, using my belt loop for leverage, his body swaying with mine in a primal dance that didn’t need music.

Pulling back, he glanced at the ground, at the bomber jacket splayed out on the grass. “Hold on,” he whispered.

He stole my world, pulling my denim skirt up just enough to lift me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he lowered me to the ground, my back resting on the jacket.

His lips reclaimed my mouth, sweet and soft, his tongue stroking mine, hot and insistent. The hard ridge of him rested between the apex of my thighs, rubbing me through my panties. He thrust forward over and over again, the friction causing my back to arch, my hips growing as frantic as his.

Sensation built between us, a tension I’d never felt before building between my legs, bigger and bigger until it was too much.

I squirmed with the hugeness of it, gasping into Dylan’s mouth when my body finally broke. I felt like a live wire, hot and electrifying, but not painful. Waves of pleasure shot through me, one after the other, and I cried out, my body so full of wonderful, confusing feelings I didn’t know where to put them all.

Dylan jerked away, giving me his back, his zipper loud in the night when he undid his pants. “Shit,” he groaned, his hips bucking, unashamed. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I had the general idea.

“Holy shit,” he uttered when he was finished, the tension in his shoulders easing.

Straightening his jeans, he zipped them up and turned my way, lowering himself onto the grass next to me.

“That was … big,” I breathed because I didn’t know what else to say. “It felt big, I mean,” I added, face flaming.

Propping his head on his hand, Dylan peered down at me, grinning. “It felt huge,” he agreed.

His words reassured me because, deep down, I was worried about my inexperience, worried about him being upset because I hadn’t wanted to go all of the way. I was still stunned it could feel that good just rubbing someone over their clothes.

“It was enough, then?” I asked.

He ran a finger across my collarbone, tracing it. “It was plenty.” His eyes found mine. “That was your first orgasm, wasn’t it?”

“Oh my God!” I covered my face with my hands. “You didn’t just ask me that.”

“Actually I’m really hoping you’ll say yes. You know, boost to my ego and all that.”

I peered at him through my fingers. “Yes.” The answer came out all muffled.

“Aha! I thought so! Now admit it, I was your first kiss, too.”

“Nope,” I answered, my voice still muffled by my fingers. “I’ve been kissed. Sort of.”

He grinned too widely, and I rolled my eyes, dropping my hands, my gaze going to the sky, the stars sprinkled across the black expanse. “It makes me feel so small looking at it,” I whispered.

The world had its own music, an ageless beauty that defied all logic, the way the trees spoke, the wind whispered, and the stars smiled. All of it. The birds, and the way they sang during the day to be replaced by the crickets at night. The changing seasons, the sun and the moon, and the way they danced past each other, never touching.

Dylan reclined, his head resting next to mine, his gaze on the heavens. “All of this space exploration stuff. The programs, the innovations … we keep trying to touch heaven, to make sense of it all.”

I inhaled the night. “I like the mystery better.”

Dylan didn’t respond, and after a moment, I let my head fall to the side, my gaze finding his profile. He was studying the sky, a strange look on his face. A reverent, curious look. Like he wanted to be there among the stars. The look spoke more than words ever could.

“You want to touch it, don’t you?” I breathed.

His eyes fell closed, his face a war zone of conflicting emotions, before he re-opened them, his head falling to the side, his gaze meeting mine. “I want to be a part of it,” he admitted.

I stared, astounded and captivated all at the same time. “Is that your dream? To fly among the stars? To be a part of NASA?”

He exhaled. “One day. If I ever make it out of this life and into that one.”

In his face, I saw the man he was going to be one day, the fearless explorer he wanted to be, and I wondered if he would remember me. If he’d think back and wonder about the girl who trampled him in his uncle’s photo booth. If he’d remember asking me to stay, the ride on his motorcycle, the dance under the stars, and … the other.

“And you?” he asked. “What do you want to do?”

My heart swelled. “I want to change the world somehow. To find a way to make things better. I’ve been looking into economics because I can do a lot with that I think.”

His lips twitched. “Let me guess, I bet you have your spot reserved for the Hands Across America thing.”

“In Columbus,” I admitted.

He chuckled. “Why Columbus? Cleveland is closer.”

“Would it be very teenage girl of me to admit it’s because Michael J. Fox is going to be in Columbus?”

Laughter rolled out of Dylan’s mouth, loud and clear, soaring straight up to the stars. “And now I’m jealous.”

My head fell against his arm. He lifted it, drawing me into his embrace, my head falling against his chest. My heart hurt, a physical pain that wasn’t medical. It just
was
. Like my heart was trying to grow bigger, and my body couldn’t accommodate it. I gasped.

Dylan rubbed my back. “Are you okay?”

A confusing web of emotions crashed down on top of me. This boy, this moment, and the way it had to end.

It had been past midnight when we left the bowling alley, and I was supposed to be home by three.

I shot up. “It’s late! It has to be late.”

Dylan, spurred on by the anxiety in my voice, rose quickly, bringing me with him. “I forgot about the time.”

“It must be close to three,” I gasped.

“It’ll be fine,” Dylan reassured me. “I’ll just drop you off at home.”

Urgently, we dressed, each of us sneaking looks at the other. My too big heart was about to explode.

All dressed, Dylan straddled the bike and offered me his hand. I joined him, the roar of the motorcycle destroying what was left of our romantic scene, the sound drowning out the music in my head.

Why, after such a beautiful moment, did I want to cry?

“Because,”
I answered myself,
“you don’t want to leave.”

O
n the ride home
, I clutched Dylan, bear hugging him so tight I knew he felt my desperation. I wasn’t afraid of being late. I should have been, but I wasn’t.

I feared leaving Dylan, feared walking away from a guy I’d just started to get to know. It felt wrong leaving at the beginning of something before we had a chance to talk about what tonight was.

Thing was, I didn’t think Dylan was just any guy, some random tryst with no strings attached. He was a great person, his hidden potential buried deep, covered by an AC/DC shirt and acid washed jeans. He was the kind of guy I could see myself with, someone I’d want to date if he was inclined to ask.

His bike roared onto my street, and I knew even before we reached the house, that I was in deep shit.

Dylan went rigid in front of me, his muscles tightening.

A police cruiser, its lights flashing, sat parked inside my driveway. My parents stood in the lawn, their housecoats on, yelling at the top of their lungs.

“I don’t care if it hasn’t been twenty-four hours!” Dad cried. “She’s almost two hours late, and the friend she was supposed to be with was home just after midnight.”

He started for the officer, face red and raging, but then stopped, chest heaving.

Neighbors gathered in their yards, watching the show.

Guilt bloomed inside of me, a hungry parasite invading my system.

I expected Dylan to panic, to dump me off his bike at the end of the road and leave, but he didn’t.

Slowing, he cruised to the end of my driveway and cut the engine.

It was like someone pressed the pause button on a VCR. The whole scene stopped dead, the edges fuzzy, the same way a VHS would look when frozen on screen.

Slowly, I pulled off Dylan’s helmet, my gaze meeting my parents, the crushing disappointment in their eyes a knife to my heart.

Taking the helmet from me, Dylan hung it on the handlebar, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Is that her?” the police officer, a middle-aged man with a mustache, asked.

My mother covered her mouth with her hand, her gaze passing between Dylan and me.

“I’m sorr—” I began.

Dad rushed the bike, jerking me off of the seat, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to get him in trouble. Dad wasn’t the abusive type. He’d never hit me or my sister, so I knew when I felt the restrained anger in his touch, that he was livid.

“Dad, listen to me—”

“You lied!” he hissed, his gaze roaming the neighborhood, sliding over the extra eyes watching us, before landing on Dylan. “Who is that, Tori?”

I glanced at the bike. “That’s Dylan Black.”

“Dylan,” Dad repeated, his lips thinning, the skin around his mouth turning white.

“We didn’t do anything,” I defended before he could ask, my cheeks on fire.

“I want him arrested!” Dad fumed.

Dylan ran a hand over his face, the gesture weary.

The police officer approached us, face stern. “I can’t press any charges unless your daughter makes an allegation.”

Dad stared at me.

I recoiled. He had to be kidding! “I’m not charging him with anything! You’re overreacting.” My gaze slid to the yard, to Mom. “Mom, help me here. Can we talk about this inside?”

Dylan left his bike, head high, shoulders back. “It was my fault, sir—”

“Damn straight it was!” Dad interrupted.

Anger rode me, wild and vicious. “Dad, you’ve got to chill. Like seriously. Give us a chance to ex—”

“You lied,” my mother inserted, her voice quiet. I preferred her yelling at me, the quiet voice she used now was way more effective than a scream. It dampened my anger.

“Mom.” I swallowed. “You wouldn’t have let me stay otherwise.”

“No,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t have. That’s my choice to make.”

A tear slid down my cheek. “I’m not my sister.”

“Tonight, you are,” she responded coldly.

My hand flew to my stomach, clutching it.

“Look,” Dylan said, fury marring his features. “This is my fault. Not hers. You want someone to blame, blame me. What I know of your daughter, or what I’ve gotten the chance to know … well, she’s brilliant. Completely brilliant and—”

“What you know of my daughter?” Dad yelled. “What could you have possibly learned in a night?” He glanced at me, horrified. “Dear Lord, I’m afraid to ask!”

I stared at Dylan, everyone else forgotten. “You really think I’m brilliant?”

His gaze found mine, lips twitching. “Yeah, I do.”

Dad could keep yelling, and I wouldn’t care. All I cared about was the way Dylan looked at me now, a reverence I’d never seen before from anyone. Strange how it came from a guy I’d only just met. Strange how a few hours could teach us so much about each other.

“What the hell do you think you know about my daughter?” Dad hollered, growing angrier each time he had to repeat himself.

Dylan’s gaze left mine, fists clenching at his sides. “She’s got a big heart, sir. She’s smart, beautiful, and open-minded. She’s … she’s going to change the world and break a lot of hearts.”

Break hearts?

Wow! I couldn’t breathe. He thought I was rad enough to break hearts? Me?

A smile bloomed on my lips, a silly grin I couldn’t wipe away even if I wanted to.

Dad took me by the arm, dragging me away. “I want that boy off of my property! Do you understand? I do have that right!” he demanded.

The police officer’s gaze passed from me to Dylan, his gaze softening, filling with sympathy. “I’ll have to escort you off of the property, son.”

Dylan nodded, his eyes on mine.

“Where are you from, kid?” the officer asked, tugging him away.

“Cleveland,” he answered absently.

“No shit.” The officer smiled. “I thought you looked like a Cleveland boy. I’m from there, too.” He nodded at the bike. “Come on, son.”

I yanked my arm loose, tears rushing down my face. I wasn’t sad. I was disappointed. “Hey!” I cried.

Dylan froze, our gazes glued.

“I think you’re brilliant, too. NASA won’t know what’s coming,” I called.

Dad’s hand closed around my arm again, and by the grip, I knew I’d pushed him too far. “Get inside, Tori.”

Despite everything, I smiled at Dylan, hoping it would reassure him, hoping it would erase the regret and guilt I suddenly saw flash on his face. He was blaming himself for this.

He smiled back, but it didn’t chase away the stark pain in his eyes.

Mom had grown eerily quiet, her narrowed gaze on Dylan’s bike as it roared to life. The police officer climbed into his cruiser, nodding at Dylan before pulling out of the drive, hanging back so that he could precede him down the road. I watched them go, disappearing into the distance.

The neighbors drifted back to their houses.

My parents and I went inside.

“I don’t even know what to say!” Dad yelled. He stood in the living room, his back to me.

Mom switched on a lamp, the glow filling the space, highlighting our brown couch. A country design covered the cushions, the back of it sprinkled with wagon wheels and strands of wheat. The armrests were wooden, the cushions stiff. Clunky coffee tables flanked the sofa, the lamps resting on them glass and round, the lamp shades thick plastic covered in tan fabric. Our feet rested on dark brown carpet, the wood-paneled walls surrounding us covered in gold framed pictures. A boxy television, the screen flashing and the sound turned down, rested on a table across the room. A Maxwell House commercial featuring a smiling Justine Bateman played. Right now, I hated that smile.

Mom, her curly brown hair pulled off of her face, her bangs teased, glanced at me, hurt filling her gaze. “Why?”

I tugged the sleeve of my shirt up, over my shoulder, hiding the tank top, which, I realized suddenly, was inside out. “Because you wouldn’t have let me stay otherwise. I’m seventeen, Mom, and no matter what I say or do, you won’t allow me to date.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said hoarsely. “You owed us the truth. We trusted you.”

My heart broke, the words that slipped out of my mouth cold and harsh. “But what do you do, Mom, when it gets so bad that lying is the only way to do something? I’m tired of being punished for Stephanie’s mistakes. I’m not my sister.”

“You have no right!” Dad cried.

“Don’t I!” I yelled back.

“That boy—” Mom began.

I cut her off. “I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Oh, God!” Dad groaned, raking his hands over his face, pushing his large glasses up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. Dad was tall and thin, his hair dark and balding, his eyes big behind thick-framed spectacles. “What did we do wrong with you girls?”

That wasn’t fair. Stephanie, even after everything, had done okay for herself. She’d given up school because she’d decided to keep her baby, but the father had married her, and the two of them had found a way to make it work. In the beginning, she’d borrowed money from Mom and Dad a lot, but over the past year, she’d called less and less.

“Dylan Black,” Dad grumbled, brows furrowed, anger tightening his lips. “Is that Philip Stuart’s nephew? The bowling alley owner?”

Of course, Dad would know. He was the loan officer at the bank in town, and most of the local businesses had an account with him.

“That boy’s a thug!” Dad roared, his anger renewed. “He’ll be lucky if he makes it to college, and you want to hang out with something like that? Even your sister had better taste.”

The words hurt so bad, I staggered backward.

“James!” Mom hissed. “You’re angry!”

She said it for my benefit as much as for his, a reminder that rage had blinded him, making him say things he might regret later. But that’s the thing about anger. Whether we regret it or not, we wouldn’t say it if we didn’t mean it just a little.

“That
boy
helped me out of a sticky situation tonight, Dad!” I cried, tears wetting my cheeks. “I do have poor taste. You know how I know? Because I was crushing on this guy who turned out to be a total jerk. He tried things with me, and when I got away, Dylan fought him. Not only that, but in one night,
one freaking night
, Dylan did something no other person outside this family has ever done. He made me feel beautiful and different in a good way. He showed me respect, and he listened. He made me feel like I could conquer the world. How is that bad?”

With that, I left the room, clattering up the stairs.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Dad yelled.

I slammed my bedroom door, stomped to my dresser, grabbed a cassette, and plunged it into my boom box.

Van Halen poured out of the speakers, and I cried to the song ‘Why Can’t this be Love’ until my pillow was soaked, my heart a bleeding mess.

It wasn’t that I was in love with Dylan. I’d just met him, for God’s sake. I cried because I wanted the
chance
to fall in love with him, the chance to get to know him better, and the chance to figure out whether or not we would have clicked.

My door creaked open, and my mother peeked in, sighing when she saw me sprawled on the bed, my face red and puffy. “Why lie to us tonight?” she asked me. “Why now? Why him?”

Honesty hurt. “Because he was interested, Mom.” I shrugged and repeated, “Because he was interested, and he was nice about it.”

She leaned against the door. “The boys at school aren’t interested?”

I laughed, the sound harsh. “Have you looked at me? I’m not ugly, but I’m also not part of the in-crowd, the girls who get asked out a lot. That was totally Stephanie’s thing. Me? I’m a mega nerd, and that’s not so bad, right? Is it so bad that I’m different? Can you trust that I wouldn’t want to spend time with a guy that I didn’t think was worth it?”

Mom studied me. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“But I could learn more about him. If I had the chance. And what I have learned … he’s a great guy. I know it! He was a hundred percent respectful the entire night, never pushing me for anything.”

Coming into the room, Mom sat on the edge of my bed, reaching out to tweak my curls. “I’ll talk to your dad.” She glanced around the room, face softening. “I miss when all you cared about was your Rainbow Brite doll, and the dress grandma made for you out of your Rainbow Brite blanket. Do you remember that? Do you remember how you wore it so much, the colors started to fade? You didn’t care. You wore it anyway, telling everyone who asked why you wouldn’t take it off that it didn’t matter that the pictures were gone. It meant something that you knew they’d been there in the first place.”

Swiping at my cheeks, I nodded.

“I just want to protect you, Tori,” Mom whispered. “I want to protect that little girl, the one who saw pictures on faded fabric.”

“I know, Mama. Don’t you see, I’m still her. I’ve just traded the dress for a person. He has potential. I see it in him.”

Mom stood, walked to the door, and repeated, “I’ll talk to your father.”