Forever & Always: The Ever Trilogy (Book 1) (16 page)

I shook my head and shrugged as I tugged my T-shirt over my head. “No, I let you do it. Now I’m just not sure…I don’t know….I don’t even know what I’m saying. You didn’t rush me, and you gave me plenty of opportunity to stop you, and I didn’t. But now I’m—I don’t know.”

Will found his shirt and pulled it on. “I get it. That’s how I felt my first time, too. During, it was great. Afterward, I was all mixed up.”

“That wasn’t even my first time, not really. Not—not all the way.”

Will shrugged, fiddling with a loose thread on one of his belt loops. “No, but I was just saying I know how you’re feeling. To some degree, anyway.”

I decided to just go for it, tell him what I was feeling and see how he reacted. I could sense a lie pretty well, I thought. “I’m just wondering…have you done this a lot? With a lot of different people?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes and no. It’s complicated. See, number one, I’m seventeen. I missed a year of school. Well, I didn’t miss it, I was just out of the country getting tutored privately, and the U.S. school system wouldn’t count some of what I did, so I had take junior year all over again, even though I should be a senior, age-wise and according to what I’ve studied. And…while I was over there, in Germany, with my parents, I had a girlfriend. We…were together for almost a year and a half, and we did…well, it was like with you and me. She was my first, but I wasn’t hers. She was older than me. Eighteen when we met, and I wasn’t quite sixteen. And Elsa…she taught me a lot. So I’ve done it a lot, but not with a lot of different people.”

“Were you around when everything happened with Ellie Myers and Brian Washington?” I asked.

Will nodded. “Yeah. That was shitty. He’s a douchebag. I heard him talking about her the day before I guess she actually slept with him. He was just…bragging. About how she was following along like a little puppy. Telling the guys in detail what she looked like naked, how he’d gotten her clothes off, how he’d gotten her to go down on him, and all that. How she was a brown-bagger.”

“A what?”

He didn’t answer right away. “The kind of girl you put a bag over her head when you’re banging her. It’s a shitty-ass phrase, and I hate it. I’m not like that, Ever. I swear.”
 

“I guess I just don’t want to be like her. Everyone knew his rep, knew that’s what he did. Even I knew he was a player, and that he was playing her. But…with you, I don’t know. You don’t have that same kind of rep, but—”

“Look, Ever, I like you. I really do. I’m not gonna tell you I love you to get you sleep with me. I’m not in love with you, not—not in a forever kind of way. Just honestly. I’m attracted to you, and I like you, and I like spending time with you. If you want this with me, great, awesome, but if you don’t, tell me. And don’t think that just because you’re not ready that I’m gonna ditch you. If you need time, that’s fine. I’m not rushing you or pushing you. At least, I’m not trying to.” He turned to look at me, and I saw nothing but honesty in his features.”

“So then what is this, between us?”

“I don’t know. We’re dating? We’re just…I don’t know. Does it have to be something defined? Does it have to be one true love to do what we want to do together? If we both want it, and we both agree, what’s the problem?”

“Nothing, I guess.” I watched clouds drift across the face of the moon. “I just never thought about it, but now I am. I don’t know what I want. When we’re…making out and whatever, I’m all into it. I like it, and don’t want to stop. But then after, I wonder if it should mean something. I mean, like you said, I like you, and I’m definitely attracted to you, but am
in love
with you? I don’t know. I don’t think so. Should I be? Or what if, like you said, we just do what we want to do, because it feels good? It does, too. But shouldn’t it mean something?”

Will took my hand, twined our fingers. “But—why doesn’t it mean something, just because we’re not, like, star-crossed lovers or whatever? We don’t have to be in love for it to mean something. Right?” He squeezed my hand and gazed at me intently. “And we don’t have to do anything. I like going out with you. I have fun with you. Just…it’s up to you, okay?”

I nodded, and Will put the car in drive, pulled out of the parking lot of the park that had become our usual spot, and drove me home. We didn’t talk on the way, just listened to fun. and held hands and watched the Bloomfield Hills mansions whisk past us in the midnight darkness.
 

After he dropped me off, I tiptoed past Eden’s studio door, not wanting to explain what I’d been doing, knowing she’d sense it on me, and closed my bedroom door behind me. I stripped off my clothes and stared at my naked body in the full-length mirror in my walk-in closet. What did I want? Should I go all the way with Will?

No answer came to me from the mirror, from my reflection. Only my pale white skin and heavy breasts with their wide, dark areolae and thick pink nipples. My privates. I touched myself, remembering how Will’s fingers had felt.

I took a shower, dried off, put my hair into curlers for the next day. I got into bed and found myself unable to fall asleep. I kept going over what I’d done with Will, how it had felt, what we’d talked about. When I finally drifted into the twilight of almost-sleep, I dreamed of hands touching me, lips on my skin.
 

In the dream, even though my eyes were closed and I couldn’t see, I knew I was naked. I was bare to the air, to his touch, his kiss. I knew, too, that he was naked as well. In the dream, I was nervous. I was going to make love to him. With him. But somehow I knew it wasn’t my first time, or his. It was dream-knowledge, there without source or memory. Yet we were both still nervous, scared, trembling together. His touch wasn’t sure and knowledgeable and skilled. He was hesitant, hungry and needy but seeking, wondering. Wondrous. As was my touch, my hands on his body, my lips on his skin.
 

In the dream, darkness faded. Eyesight returned, as if floating upward from the bottom of a pool, no, from the deepest depths of a fathomless ocean, and I saw him beside me. Not above or beneath, but beside. Touching, kissing, holding, together.

And it wasn’t Billy. Awareness hit, the strange way it does in dreams. Before I was able to make out his features, I knew, instinctively, inside myself, that it wasn’t Billy—and my dream-brain thought of him as Billy, not Will.

It was Caden in my dream.
 

There were no doubts with us, only tender needing aching dreaming perfect wonder. And meaning. Deep significance in each touch, each kiss.
 

His eyes were blazing bright and clearest sunlit amber, fixed on mine, serious and sad, yet hot with desire and need. His mouth opened and his lips moved, and he said my name in a whisper that echoed throughout time, out of sync with the motion of his lips.

“
EVER
…”

The dream faded, and I was left aching with emptiness. I wanted to hold on to the dream, to the comforting swell of belonging I’d felt in Caden’s dream-arms.
 

~ ~ ~ ~

Caden

Henry was restless. He was a huge young stallion, over seventeen hands high, black with three white socks and a thick mane. Powerful, spirited, and eager to please, Henry was often difficult to keep under rein because he simply wanted to run,
run
until sky met land in a permanently unrolling horizon. Gramps hadn’t been sure I was ready to ride Henry—whose full name was Henry V, an homage by Grams to Shakespeare—but I’d convinced him to let me try. So over the last few weeks I’d been learning to ride Henry and to make him understand that I was boss. I’d been thrown twice, and nearly broke my arm the last time, but now he was finally getting the picture.

I’d finished moving the herd of green-broke mares to the hilly pastures at the northern edge of the property, near the river, when I saw her. She was sitting by the bank with an open book on her lap and a sleek dun gelding I recognized as belonging to Miguel tethered to a stake not far away.

I let the herd drift and reined Henry to a stop, wondering who she was. Thick black hair loose around her shoulders, fluttering in the slow breeze, dark-tanned arms bare, wearing a sleeveless white shirt printed with purple flowers and a pair of faded jeans, well-worn feminine cowboy boots crossed at the ankles.
 

I swung off Henry and held his reins in my fist as I approached her. She turned the page of her book, and then after a moment stuck a ribbon in her place and shut it. When she turned to face me, I recognized her. Or rather, I saw the immediate resemblance to Miguel and figured she had to be his daughter.
 

She was beautiful, and I was tongue-tied.
 

“
Hola
—I mean, hello.” She was soft-spoken, with a thick Hispanic accent.
 

“Hi.” I stood a few feet away from her, holding on to Henry’s lead, letting him browse the grass.

“You are Caden,
sí
?” She stood up and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “Mister Monroe’s
nieto
? Son of his son? I do not know the word.”

“Grandson. Yeah. You’re Miguel’s daughter?”

She shook her head. “No, not daughter. He is my
tio
. Uncle? My name is Luisa.”
 

“Oh, okay.” I held out my hand, and she took it. Her hand was tiny, soft, and warm. “Nice to meet you, Luisa.”

“Nice to meet you.” She said the phrase as if repeating what I’d said.

“So, did you move up here, then? Or…”

Luisa nodded. “I come here to live with
Tio
Miguel. To go to school in America.” She pulled up the tethering stake and we walked along the riverbank together, leading our horses.

“So how long have you been here?”

She gazed out at the hills, and the herd of mares nosing at the green grass. “Um…since two weeks. Your
abuelo
, he will hire my papa in the spring,
tio
says. Until then, I live with
tio.
”

I nodded. “Yeah, I heard Gramps talking about hiring some hands for foaling season.”

“Foaling…season?” Luisa glanced at me in confusion, her expression asking for clarification.

“When mama horses have their babies. It’s usually between February and April.”

“Oh. This. Yes.” She nodded as if familiar.

“You ride a lot? Back home?”

Luisa shrugged. “Oh,
sí
. My family, Miguel, Papa, my
abuelo
, we work on the same
rancho
for many
generaciones.
I grow up there, ride the
caballos
, bring the
potros
, the baby horses. Foals, you say it?”

 
“Yeah, foals. Baby horses. So you know horse ranches, then?”

She nodded. “All of my living,
sí
. This is much like my home in Mexico.”

We’d walked quite a ways as we talked, and I realized I had to get back to where my herd was. “Ride with me? I’ve got to go back thataway.” I jerked my thumb toward the cluster of horses.

Luisa swung gracefully into the saddle, and I followed suit. Together, we kept the herd bunched as they grazed, and talked about horses, and riding, and life on a ranch. I told her about having just moved to Casper full-time, which of course led to telling her about my mom and dad dying.

Luisa’s gaze went sad as I spoke, and when I was finished, she toyed with the reins, not looking at me. “My mama was from Mexico City. Met my papa when he was there for a holiday. They fall in love, and she come pregnant with me. She only very young. Mama and Papa marry, and go together back to where Papa live, to
el rancho
. Only, she never want to live there, so far from the city. From all the people and the…busy-ness. When I am only five years old, she run away. Back to Mexico City. Find another man. Send Papa the papers for breaking the marriage, for the
divorcio
. I no see her again, after then. Papa, he sad. All the time, so sad. She is not dead, like your mama, but she is gone.”

“That sucks.”

Luisa laughed, suddenly brightening. “Sucks? I hear this before, but…I do not understand. What is sucking?”

I furrowed my brow, realizing I had no idea how to explain the phrase, since I wasn’t sure what it really meant in any literal sense, or where the phrase had come from. “Um…I guess it just means…like, ‘wow, that’s horrible.’ I guess I don’t really know how to explain what it means. It’s not, like, sucking on a straw, you know? More, just…some people say ‘sucks ass,’ if that helps you any.”

“That is gross. But I think I understand.”

We rode some more, and I found myself talking easily, laughing, even, for the first time in months. I was so caught up in conversation with Luisa that I didn’t notice the clouds coming in until it was too late. By the time I realized that the sunlight had been replaced by heavy gray thunderheads, the first drops were pattering on our heads.

“Uh-oh,” I said, “We’re gonna get rained on.”
 

“Is only rain. It will not hurt us.”

At that moment thunder growled overhead and a bolt of lightning flashed, striking a few miles away. “No, the rain won’t,” I said, pointing at the second flash of lightning that struck closer to where we were, “but the lightning will. We’re out in the open, and we’re liable to get struck.”

The rain picked up, going from a few scattered drops on our head to a steady downpour. By the time we’d gotten the horses heading back toward the north paddocks, we were both soaked the skin, and the rain was only getting harder. I tried to keep my gaze on the horses around us, on Henry’s bobbing head, on the sky and the lightning, but it was hard. Luisa was wearing a white shirt, thin cotton that went completely see-through, sticking to her skin. If she noticed my gaze being constantly drawn to her chest, she didn’t let on. I really did try not to stare. It was nearly impossible, though. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her small, high breasts were outlined in perfect detail, the dark circles surrounding her hardened nipples showing clearly.
 

I thought about offering her my shirt, which was just as wet but was black and so would cover her, but then realized that to do so might make it obvious I’d been staring at her boobs. So instead I kept quiet and did my best to not be too blatant about stealing glances.