Boy on a Train: The All American Boy Series Read online

  “That sounds wonderful. You’re going to have the best time. Well, we must be off,” Mrs. Sanchez said. “Lovely to see you both.”

  She turned, and I exhaled, then tugged Audrey with me further down the garden, away from the tasting room and art exhibit and our health teacher and her wife.

  “God, that was embarrassing,” I muttered.

  “No kidding,” Audrey agreed, and I squeezed her hand.

  Her getting me on a deep level was one of the myriad reasons why I liked her and why nothing was going to change after I kissed her.

  We looked at the world the same way.

  I could do this.

  I swiveled my head around searching for lurking parents, teachers, administrators, coaches, or classmates. “Anyone else going to sneak up on us?”

  She chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

  “Good,” I said, and crashed my mouth to hers.

  Seven

  Game Changer

  Audrey

  On a normal day when I sucked on my usual blow pop, I put off getting to the center because I loved the anticipation. The waiting. While the bubblegum flavor didn’t last long, and it was a lot of work for little reward, each time I’d work for that magical moment when I broke through to the drool-inducing gum.

  With bigger events in my life like Christmas or birthdays, I’d almost set myself afire with excitement as the dates got closer and closer and the delicious tension mounted. I’d count down the days on my Cillian Murphy calendar. When the event finally came, I often mused afterwards that the waiting had been so much better than the real thing.

  Perhaps I lived too much in my imagination. I often found it hard to stay in the moment and really enjoy whatever it was I’d been desperately waiting for.

  But I’d been waiting for Tate Lemieux to kiss me like this—a real, passionate kiss, with tongue and feeling—for years, and unlike an event on my calendar or the gum in the middle of the blow pop, there’d never been any reasonable certainty it’d happen. I couldn’t count on it like my birthday. It was just a dream in the middle of the night, or something to imagine while reading very dirty things in Cosmo.

  At least I’d had no hope until he’d pecked me on the lips a few days ago. After that, I’d allowed wings to flutter in my chest.

  But the experience of receiving a real kiss from Tate? Feeling his soft lips pressed to mine? Overwhelming me? Cradling me?

  I combusted.

  Tate’s kiss was exponentially better than I’d ever imagined—and I’d imagined it quite a bit, in vivid detail. Whatever the opposite of disappointed was, I was that. Buzzing, elated, turned on.

  Seconds ago, with a gentle groan, Tate had urged my lips apart, his tongue touched mine, and I tasted the spearmint on his breath. I loved his taste. I loved the sexy feel of his wet tongue inside my mouth. I adored everything about him.

  I felt alive.

  And I wanted to pinch myself because we were finally kissing.

  How did I ever get so lucky?

  My body trembled as he held me and while I, well, sucked his face back.

  Because he was Tate—the most romantic guy, the consummate planner, the supremely thoughtful person—he’d taken me to the best view in the valley, on the prettiest day of the year, and kissed me passionately in a gorgeous garden after feeding me my favorite lunch and giving me the gift of a day of art.

  Oh, and he gave me the gift of possibility, by taking me to get passport photos.

  It couldn’t get any better than this.

  Here, right now, was my birthday wish come true.

  But as he kissed me, my knees gave way and he held me up tighter, clutching me while our surroundings swirled about us—or at least it felt that way.

  Tate gave me a game changer kiss. One that turned us from dancing around each other to dancing with each other. One that changed us from being friends to being a couple. A pair.

  True boyfriend and girlfriend.

  Finally.

  My arms wrapped around his neck as I gave him back everything he gave me and more, which was hard to match since he was damn good at kissing. His hands clutched my waist tight. I expected him to move them down to my butt and do sexy-naughty moves from Cosmo, but he didn’t.

  Because he was Tate.

  Sweet and hot and sensitive to my needs. Not one to press to his advantage. The best boy I’d ever known.

  But maybe a little too sweet.

  I wanted him to touch me, squeeze my ass, do something, so I wiggled into him, and he smiled against my mouth, and I loved that too.

  We broke apart for a moment and panted, staring at each other with matching goofy grins on our faces.

  “Wow,” I whispered, and I chided myself for not coming up with something more memorable to say.

  “I could kiss you again,” he said quietly, and I nodded and tilted my lips up to meet his.

  Then our mouths found each other once more, this time more careful and exploratory. He smelled like Tate, the tall, handsome boy he was, and tasted minty fresh, and his presence assaulted my senses—his body was so alive, and his warmth enveloped me. And I didn’t think I’d ever stop kissing him. I’d never want to.

  Forget Cosmo’s tips. Tate knew what he was doing, which surprised me. I thought he didn’t have much experience. Maybe he was a natural.

  But the kiss turned into a bruising ache for me because at this moment, even if I hadn’t said anything to my parents about their request, I had to stay home. And this boy who I’ve wanted to kiss forever wasn’t gonna be mine forever, because the right thing to do was to let him go to college without me. I couldn’t hold him back from his dreams.

  So, a decision must be made.

  Did I stop this?

  Or did I do everything we could do before he left?

  That was a no-brainer. I couldn’t help myself.

  I wanted him. All of him.

  And my body wanted him, too. I’d touch any part of him and let him touch any part of mine. Full stop, I wanted to be a virgin no more. And I wanted him to be the one to change that for me.

  Because doing it with anyone else wasn’t acceptable. How could it be, when all I ever wanted—who I ever wanted—stood right here with me, holding me, kissing me?

  I didn’t know how I’d eventually give him up, but I’d have to do it. And that made me more and more desperate for his touch.

  We kissed and kissed and kissed, and when he pressed closer, I felt a stiffness against my belly, which took me a moment to realize what it was.

  He had an erection, and that gave me a whole other set of tingly emotions and desires. I loved it. It was the first time I’d ever been close to a guy’s hard dick—one I lusted after. I wanted to see it. I wanted to know more about it.

  “I think we need to go,” I whispered when I was so wound up I couldn’t take it anymore. The sun inched lower on the horizon. If we stayed put, we’d be arrested for public indecency at the rate my brain was going. “At least we can’t stay here. But I don’t want to leave.”

  “Me neither. Wanna go home?”

  I nodded, then came to my senses and shook my head. “Can we just get in your truck?” And I licked my lips.

  His dark blue eyes went comically wide, and he grabbed my hand. “C’mon.” Then we walked so fast I laughed.

  He dragged me to the driver’s side and opened that door first, which was the first time he’d ever done that. “Here,” he said. For a moment, I questioned his actions, not because I was some sort of princess who needed him to open the passenger side, but because he confused me.

  Then I figured out what he wanted, and I was so on board. “Okay,” I whispered.

  I climbed up the seat, and he followed me into the Mobile Living Room. After he placed his butt behind the wheel, he closed the door. I kneeled next to him and leaned into his body, and conversation ceased.

  Immediately, Tate’s mouth seared mine, kissing me with a hunger that took my breath away. He started to press me backward into
the passenger side of the bench seat, my legs splaying on either side of his waist so he was almost on top of me, until I pushed him back on his shoulders. He went upright in his seat rather willingly, although there was a grumble of protest in the back of his throat that did things to me.

  I loved the grumble, and I loved that he did what I asked.

  I loved that he wanted me and that I could trust him.

  I loved that I could have him now. While we’d been orbiting around each other for years, and I didn’t want to look desperate, I still wanted madly to throw myself at him.

  When else was I going to get the chance?

  So, here goes nothing.

  With one hand on each of his shoulders, I crawled into his lap to straddle him, and my ass made the horn honk. “Oh, shit,” he cursed. We both ducked instinctively, then giggled into each other, collapsing into each other’s arms with laughter.

  Our noses brushed together, and we giggled, holding each other.

  I loved that we could laugh together, even now. Even while exploring being together as more than friends. Even when we were both nervous and out of our leagues. Even though this was new.

  Because we could support each other. Because we were made for each other. Because he was, quite simply, mine.

  I straddled him as we kissed. He made a low noise in the back of his throat because now we had some friction between us. His hard boy parts filled the space against my damp girl parts, and you bet I liked the way it felt. My shorts weren’t thick, and I could feel his bulge, and it felt better than anything Cosmo ever told me.

  Dry humping for the win.

  “If you keep rubbing like that, I’m going to come in my pants,” he warned.

  “Sorry.” I stiffened my shoulders and pulled back. “I don’t. I haven’t—”

  He cut me off. “It’s new for me too. Don’t worry.” His hand held my lower back toward him, and his voice was sexy deep. “And it’s fine, but I wanted you to know what you’re doing to me. Also, the zipper hurts,” he admitted, adjusting himself beneath me.

  “Sorry,” I said again.

  “Don’t be.” He sighed, having moved his dick. “That’s better.”

  I reached a tentative hand down and stroked him through his jeans, and he grunted so loudly I thought I did something wrong.

  “Audrey,” he said, his tone reverent, his hands framing my face. “You’re beautiful. You really are my everything.”

  This guy. “I am?”

  He nodded. “You have been for a long time.”

  “It’s been that way for me too,” I acknowledged, and felt the soft skin under his T-shirt where I held him at his waist. I was dying to see him up close with his shirt off, because I knew from pool parties that it would be delectable. Very delectable.

  Tate kissed me a bit rougher than before, and I gave it back to him just the same, free from the friend-zone restrictions we had before. But still it wasn’t enough. I had to explore him, and I needed him to do the same to me. As far as I could tell, he wanted the same thing.

  He tugged on a tendril of my hair. “I love your hair.” He gestured down my body. “And fuck. You’re so hot.”

  “You can touch me,” I whispered, “I mean you can touch my body. Anywhere. I want you to.” And he smiled like I gave him the best present ever. The look of wonder on his face made my heart soar.

  “I want to,” he said. “But I don’t want to push you or hurt you—”

  I shut him up with a kiss, grabbed one of his big hands, and cupped it over my clothes on my breast.

  The tortured, hot noise he made drew a similar one out of me.

  He squeezed gently, taking his time, but again, I didn’t want him to. So I took matters into my own hands, so to speak. I fell backward into the front seat, drawing him with me, and pulled up my striped sailor shirt past my chest so he could see my white lacy bra underneath. It was of the see-through variety. The kind where they airbrushed out the nipples on advertising images. In other words, it wasn’t a prudish bra.

  Tate seemed to like it, based on his whispered, “Fuck.” He bent down and placed a kiss between my breasts. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he said in awe. “After all this time.” Kissed above my breast. “I’ve wanted you so damn much.”

  Before I could do it, he tugged down the cup of my bra and sucked my nipple into his mouth, his warm tongue caressing me. I gasped at the touch, because I was super sensitive there.

  “When I, um, take care of myself, I always play with my nipples.” I blurted out somewhat stupidly, but it wasn’t like we had any more secrets between each other.

  Well, maybe we had one. But I’d talk to him about that. Later. Now was not the time.

  He groaned loudly and lunged up to kiss me, his hand kneading my boob in a way I discovered I really liked—rough and tender at the same time.

  “I only think of you,” he said, and that admission made me even more aroused. He kissed me again, with so much heat, and his hand started to make its way to the waist of my shorts.

  But then we heard tires crunch on the gravel and remembered that we were in public in daylight. Anyone could catch us.

  He quickly rearranged my shirt and bra and pulled me up. He tried to smooth my clothes out, but he couldn’t do that great of a job, so I took over. Still, we managed to get both of us put back together.

  Although, to be fair, he looked like he’d been making out, and I was surely the same. Since his hair was usually tousled, it took very little for him to get back to normal, but kissing had plumped his lips. And he was still very, very hard. I glanced down at his jeans and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice strangled. “Well, no, I don’t think I’m ever going to be okay after today, but not every erection needs a release.”

  I laughed and kissed him again, this time sweetly on the cheek. We both sighed, and he put his finger on the ignition. “Where to?”

  “I told my parents I’d be home for dinner. You want to join us?”

  “No, thanks,” he said, almost automatically. “But I’ll drive you home.”

  And we drove home listening to his music and talking like we always did.

  Only now, for the first time, we’d broken in the Mobile Living Room. I couldn’t wait to see what more we could do on this secret list I was creating in my mind.

  When I arrived home, kiss-stung and rumpled, I beelined into my room and plopped on the bed. I let out a breath, and my thoughts scattered everywhere like debris from a derailed train.

  Our relationship—this one I’d wanted for four years—was just starting, and now I feared it’d be over before it even began.

  And I was scared to bring it up with Tate because talking about it wouldn’t fix anything.

  I faced an impossible decision. If I chose my family and stayed home, I’d be doing what was right. What I should do. I’d honor my mom and help my dad. Given what I’d read on MS and the progress of her disease, soon enough she’d need help with basic things like eating, plus I’d need to take her to therapy when Dad was on shift. He could still continue working until he reached his full retirement age.

  If I stayed home, I wasn’t necessarily giving up college. I could get an Associate’s degree from Merlot Community College or maybe see if I could get into Sonoma State. Later, perhaps I could go to the Fashion Institute of Technology. My goal of being a fashion designer would just be a dream deferred.

  My other choice was to follow my dreams to become a fashion designer, travel around the world, eat all the candy, and somehow have Tate in my life—this really special, wonderful guy. But freedom and fun would have major consequences. In that circumstance, I abandoned my parents, letting them fend for themselves, and cut off supporting them emotionally and physically.

  So my choices? Be with my family. Or go to the college I wanted and have Tate.

  I couldn’t have both—not at once and not in the way I’d hoped for—because my parents needed me
now and college could wait.

  Problem was, I didn’t know if my heart could wait. Or rather, if Tate would wait for me.

  I couldn’t be selfish and follow my dreams, and yet dammit, they were my dreams. There was a reason why I wanted to go to school to learn how to do the designs I loved, to travel and explore the world, and to be with the guy who I’d always … liked a whole lot.

  But leaving felt wrong. How could I choose anything other than what was right for my family—people who’d given me everything and who asked for me to do one simple thing in return?

  Not liking the direction my thoughts had gone, after checking the mirror and making sure I was presentable, I entered the living room where my parents were watching TV. My mom held up the remote and fumbled to press the mute button so we could talk, since as usual they had the volume up to some huge decibel level.

  “Let me do that, Mom,” I said. I took the remote from her, muted the television, and sat down beside her on the couch. I took her hand in mine and stroked it.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “The usual.” She sighed, giving me a wan smile. “I’m tired and frustrated. I want to have more energy, and I don’t. And I don’t want to be complaining about my ailments to my daughter. It’s much more interesting to find out how you’re doing.”

  I looked her over. She seemed normal, other than the visible fatigue that had seemed to plague her for months—tired eyes and graying hair. She certainly didn’t seem any worse. “I’m excited to graduate,” I said, which was true. “I’ve decided I’m going to apply to work on the wine train for the summer.”

  “That’s a good idea, kiddo,” Dad said approvingly. “Save up some money.”

  “That’s my plan. Wren says they’re hiring.”

  “How was it this afternoon with Tate?” she asked.

  “Fun. We went to Black Bishop.” I told her about the art, but I didn’t mention the kissing. Or the fact that we were now boyfriend and girlfriend. I didn’t want Dad to hang around in the hallway any more than he already did, since he was practically on patrol the last time.