Knee Deep
KNEE DEEP
JOLENE PERRY
Copyright © 2012 Jolene Perry Except for the use of short passages for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced, in part or in whole, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording, or any information or storage retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover design: Bokheim Media
ISBN: 978-0-9837418-8-6
Tribute Books
PO Box 95
Archbald, Pennsylvania 18403
(570) 876-2416
Email:
[email protected]
Website:
www.tribute-books.com
Visit the book’s web site at www.Knee-Deep-Book.com and email Jolene Perry at [email protected].
For Jordin Barton who is always looking for a “girl” book and has a smile for everyone.
Guilt pricks at my chest as I lie in bed and listen for Shawn’s motorcycle. Why does he wind me up like this? Why do I let him? Part of me is filled with irritation over lying awake and waiting, while another part of me can’t wait to spend time with him in the middle of the night. He’s running late, and if he’s much later, my morning’s really going to suck.
Getting up at five to manage my wild, curly hair before school isn’t easy. Just as I’m about to give up and allow my body to relax into sleep, I hear his bike roar past my house, filling the neighborhood with the sound of his new muffler. I sit up and rub my hands up and down my stomach a few times, trying to dispel some of the nervous tingling that’s always part of sneaking out—no matter how many times I do it.
The problem is that it throws me off when we argue, even when it’s minor. How am I supposed to go to sleep with weirdness between us? One little comment about him and his dad being total workaholics made him all quiet. I know he’s not
mad
—it’s just that there’s this thing hanging between us, and I want it gone before I try to go to sleep.
I slide out of bed, and don’t bother changing from my plaid pajama pants and tank top. It also seems silly to bother with a bra. One, I barely need it anyway and, two, I’m hoping to be back under my covers as soon as we get our little argument straightened out.
Shawn is a much more sensitive guy than he ever lets on. And even though it can be irritating, it’s also part of what makes him so sweet. It’s like I’ve known him long enough to know that all the good parts of Shawn outweigh his occasional moodiness.
I tiptoe down the hall, grab my flip-flops, stuff my massive amount of red hair into a ponytail, and walk quietly out the front door. No crawling through windows required—not with my parents, who sleep like the dead. Which actually begs the question of why doesn’t he come this way more often?
I’m out of the house, into the cool California night air. One step down. I drop my sandals, slide my feet in and start walking. Only a few more minutes.
“Ronnie,” someone whispers.
I jump, bringing both hands to my pounding chest, which suddenly feels very bra-less, even though I’m covered in a black tank.
“Luke.” I breathe a sigh of relief, my heart slowly returning to normal. “What are you doing out here?” Not that I’m surprised, Luke’s always up to something…or
someone
.
“I could ask you the same thing.” He smirks as I step next to him. His shaggy blond hair hangs down over his eyes. He’s in flip-flops, a SpongeBob t-shirt, and tattered shorts—like
always
. We slowly start up the sidewalk together.
Luke, Shawn and I have been close for years. Being close to Luke backfires when girls in my classes want to get to know him and annoy the crap out of me; but aside from that, he’s easy to be around…to joke with…to make fun of…
When Shawn moved back last year, he and Luke picked up where they left off, as best friends. And Shawn and I picked up where
we
left off—as something a lot more than friends. The thought that we finally came together still warms me, but it also gives me the twinge of a reminder that he’s annoyed.
“I kinda screwed up today and made Shawn feel bad.” I wrinkle my nose.
“So now you’re going to feel him up to make it all better?” he teases.
My cheeks turn hot—sex falls under ‘topics I tease Luke about,’ but he’s never teased me before. Not on this.
“Oh, come on, you guys have been together forever. Does that really embarrass you?” He wings his elbow out to softly bump my arm.
Of course it does, but I’m not sure I want to tell him that. I think everyone assumes that Shawn and I sleep together, but we don’t. Bringing it up makes me feel stupid, a bit juvenile, and I’m not sure what else, but it’s definitely uncomfortable.
“Wait.” Luke rests his hand on my arm stopping us on the sidewalk. “You two haven’t…?” His head is low, trying to catch my gaze.
It’s just Luke, right? I shake my head, but still don’t make eye contact.
We stand in silence for so long I start to worry I just messed up somehow.
His hand drops, and he sighs. “Cris and I split.”
My head snaps up. “You really liked her, huh?” I ask.
“I did.” He nods. When he exhales, there’s a hint of frustration. “She was right. My attention was divided.”
I slide my arm through his as we slowly start to walk again. Luke’s attention is probably always divided.
“With who?” I bump him with my hip. “I’m curious to know which girl I have to make myself like before we’re all hanging out together.”
“It’s not important.” His voice is still low and quiet.
“Hey. Are you okay?” I use my arm in his to pull us together, and I love that he feels good like this. Walking, talking, easy…it makes me realize how tense I was just getting out of my house. Guess that, too, has become part of my routine.
“I’m fine. And someone—” He gestures with his chin toward Shawn’s house. How did we get here so fast? “—is waiting for you.”
Now, even though I planned on talking to Luke about Shawn ‘cause they’re so tight, I’m suddenly afraid. I suck in a breath as the tension builds back up.
“Spit it out, Ronnie.” Even in the dark I can see him rolling his brown eyes, but I can also see his dimples. He’s teasing.
Now I’m not sure how to say it, or if it’ll all come out weird. It should be easy, right? This is Luke. We can talk. Even about Shawn. “Has Shawn seemed…”
“Stressed?” he offers.
“Yeah.” The word comes out in a rush of breath and my shoulders fall. Luke’s noticed the added tension in Shawn too. It’s not just my imagination, and this brings me hope that it’s just a temporary thing.
“He works too hard—like his dad. I know it’s been rough since they moved back. Shawn’s mom is the one that really wanted the move. I think it’s causing problems, but Shawn doesn’t talk about it much.”
“To me either.” And I want to say that it’s more than that, but it’s not even something I can put into words. He’s tighter than he’s ever been—tighter with words, with time, body language—it feels like something’s different, but he just keeps avoiding the subject.
You’re a girl
, he says,
and are probably seeing things that aren’t there
. Then we start kissing and our conversation is forgotten.
But it’s like, how am I supposed to help him if he won’t talk about what’s going on?
Guess there’s nothing left to say about Shawn. “Sorry about Cris.” I put my arms around him and hug him tightly.
Luke smells like coconut and sandalwood; all things that bring me straight back to the beach house Mom and Dad rent every year. I breathe in deep and wonder if he smells like this on purpose, or if it’s just part of being Luke.
My hands run over the effects of hours of surfing over the summer as I pull away from our hug. “When did you start feeling so good?” I tease.
He rubs his palms up and down his abs and grins. “It’s how I get the ladies.”
We stare at one another. My chest tightens, a totally new feeling around Luke, and I wonder if he has something else to say.
Silence. One beat. Two beats. My breathing stops.
“Night, Ronnie.” He gives me a half wave before continuing down the sidewalk.
“Night.” And I can’t bring my feet to move. I just stand and watch him go.
Silence with Luke? Tingly, and weird.
I suck in a breath as I turn to Shawn’s. Okay. I can do this. Easy. There’s a routine for coming here late at night. I move quietly around the left side of the house, take the key from the bird feeder, and unlock the gate. Then I put the key back just where I found it. There’s no easy way to go in through Shawn’s window, even though their house is only one floor. I tap a few times on the corner of his window and wait.
As stressful as this routine can be, I love that we have it. His return tap hits me in the chest, and pulls my face into a smile. Just like every time.
Now I sit and wait. He’ll either open the back door and let me in, or if his parents are awake, he’ll join me in the backyard.
I slump down in one of the soft, cushioned lawn chairs.
The surface of the pool ripples with the breeze, spreading goose bumps up my legs and arms.
My heart does the same little flip-thump it always does as the glass door slides open and Shawn’s broad form fills the doorway. He’s still in his work polo and khakis, and runs a hand through his short, dark hair as he strolls into the backyard.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he says. His voice is low and smooth, and his skin is dark from the sun—all things that are such a part of my life that I sometimes forget how hot he is.
Wait. He was beginning to think I wasn’t coming? “What?” I’m confused. We hadn’t talked about me coming over. I just knew he was upset. I start to tell him I ran into Luke, but something stops me.
“You’re so predictable, Ronnie.” His white smile spreads, accentuating his straight jaw. “If there’s any weirdness, you have this need to fix it. It usually takes you about five minutes after my garage door closes.” He sits next to me, pressing our sides together. Which feels really great until I remember that I feel totally played.
Does he cause little arguments on purpose so I’ll come over? Lose sleep? It suddenly seems completely unfair. Why isn’t
he
the one coming to
my
house?
“Don’t do that face.” His fingers smooth out my brow and run down my cheek, sending shivers across my back and down my spine. “I love you, Ronnie. I rely on you. I
know
you. That’s a good thing.”
My body relaxes again with his words. He’s right. We know each other. We rely on each other. It
is
a good thing. It’s the one thing that brings me more comfort than anything else. We’ve known each other since we were kids. There’s history, memories, and a lot to look forward to.
“You’re still pouting. That’s cute.” His lips touch the corner of my mouth. “I love your brown eyes in the dark,” he whispers.
I ignore his last comment because I really think he’s just trying to suck up. “I’m pouting because I feel stupid. Why don’t you come to my house?”
“Because my parents are up until all hours and would notice my absence. Yours won’t.” His lips slide across my cheek…under my ear.
I know this and really should stop bringing it up. But when I’m leaving my house and it’s all dark and quiet, it feels like he should be there. His lips continue to move across my skin. My chest flutters, making it hard to breathe in such an amazing way—like the feeling of near suffocation would be the best thing ever.
Now his fingers trace my collarbone. Yet another thing that makes my body shiver every time. This is when I
love
how well he knows me.
“See?” He chuckles quietly. “Your
body
wants me.”
Even if you don’t
. I know that’s how he wants to finish the sentence.
I pull away. Does
every
conversation have to be like this? Just when we’re all back to perfect and normal? His eyes aren’t on me; they’re on my chest. He slides his arm around my side and reclines the chair we’re sitting in. “You’re not wearing a bra,” he whispers in my ear.
“Because I was trying to go to sleep.” I try to keep annoyance in my voice, but as he touches me, lying so close, I’m smiling. I love feeling wanted this way—quietly, softly. This is all the things I love about Shawn. I let my leg rest over his as our kiss deepens. On the lounge chair, with the sound of palm fronds clacking in the breeze, everything disappears but us.
***
WHEN I WAS TWELVE…
…
Shawn built a dam in our creek after watching that old Stephen King movie,
IT. It made our picnic spot even more magical. He went all out. Or his mom did, one of the two. We each had a peanut butter and banana sandwich (both our favorite), apple slices (my favorite), and colored mini-marshmallows (his favorite). He even brought his mom’s checkered blanket.
I loved every teeny tiny bit of it. It was the first year I’d noticed him as more than a friend. The first year I watched his lips and wondered what it would be like to feel them against mine. The first year I noticed how other girls looked at him. It was also the first year that when I screamed about boys having cooties, I didn’t really mean it.
It was the year of my first kiss. He tasted like marshmallows. He saved the kiss for last. He was about to leave for the summerhouse with his parents, and said he would miss me a lot and wanted to do something special. He thought the coolest girl in the world needed the best day and the most perfect spot for her first kiss.
I will never forget that day.
