The Boys of Summer (32 page)

I took a swig of beer and fought not to choke
on the vile taste of it. Seriously, how did people drink this
stuff?

Toby increased the music’s volume this time,
and I was plunged into blackness as the back porch light switched
off. Toby skimmed through the sliding glass door and moved towards
the couch again.

I had an idea of what the darkness meant; it
was a ‘do not disturb’ sign. I swallowed deeply. I could just make
out Toby as a light from the kitchen window shrouded the couch in a
light orange glow through the mottled glass.

“Do you like this song?” I asked.

It’s his tape, he put it on, of COURSE he
likes this song.

“It’s my absolute favourite,” he said in a
low, dreamy voice. He sat back down on the couch and slowly patted
the space next to him.

Why is it that people take a long swig of
alcohol before they do something they need courage for? One sip
could hardly give me enough to conquer my nerves and fears, so I
took two big ones and sat next to Toby.

“What’s it called?” I asked, trying not to
cringe at the disgusting taste, to keep the conversation flowing
casually.

Toby’s arm lay carelessly across the back of
the couch, my neck pressed against it. The couch seemed a lot
smaller than it looked. It was cosy; I relaxed into the dip in the
middle so that I leaned in to Toby. He ran his fingers through my
hair in a slow, comforting motion. I closed my eyes and rested my
head on his shoulder.

“It’s called, ‘A Change is Gonna Come’,” he
whispered into my temple.

Toby leaned forward and rested his beer on
the floor with a delicate thud; my eyes opened, breaking my
dream-like state as he took the beer out of my hand and placed it
on the floor next to his. All of a sudden finding a place for my
hands didn’t matter as Toby closed the distance between us. My
tummy tingled with the gentle, lingering touch of his lips to mine.
I reached up, my fingers entangled through his thick, dark hair as
our bodies pressed closer, melting into each other as the music
played and the darkness hid our roaming hands. Toby broke away
first, leaving me breathless and fearful that he had decided to
stop, but his eyes met mine in a silent question, and I gripped his
singlet and pressed my forehead to his.

Toby’s breath drew in a long shudder. “Are
you sure?”

I answered only in trailing light kisses
along his jaw leading to his mouth. I could feel Toby’s Adam’s
apple swallow hard, his breath laboured as I playfully hovered over
his lips, deliberately looking into his eyes as if memorising the
moment. I captured his beautiful mouth with a sweet, teasing
caress, and that was all the invitation he needed.

The couch creaked with each movement as the
weight of Toby’s body pressed down on me, and we desperately
maneuvered into place. I could taste the remnants of beer on Toby’s
tongue, but it was strangely intoxicating on him: I liked it, as
opposed to when drinking it myself. His hands moved, skimming up my
thighs, bunching my skirt to my waist. Each movement was slow and
deliberate at first, as if with each bold unraveling he expected me
to stop, push him away, but every touch only caused my stomach to
twist in excitement. A heated look of understanding flashed in
Toby’s eyes as he knelt back and looked down at me. I sat up,
peeling my top over my head, and we lay down again. The heat of our
bodies melted together, his strong assured hands grabbed at the
elastic of my knickers and dumped me out of them. Panic jolted
through me in the swift movement as Toby’s dark form hovered over
me, blocking out the moon. It was then I heard the confident fumble
and flick of his jean button and then the zip.

This is really happening, this is really
happening.

Toby lowered my bra strap, then paused.
“You’re shaking.”

Was I?

I fought to keep my breath steady. “I don’t
mean to, I just …”

Toby’s voice was low, soft near my cheek.

“We don’t have to …”

“I want to!”

If he stopped looking down at me and just
kissed me that was all I would need. Instead, he kept his concerned
gaze focused on me, his beautiful face highlighted by the tinted,
mottled glass from the kitchen. It shone a warm glow across us.

Toby’s lips tilted, forming a coy, lopsided
smile. His fingers traced lazy, comforting circles against my
skin.

“It’s only me, Tess,” he whispered.

It was all I needed to hear. I pushed myself
up to sit before him and gathered the fabric of Toby’s singlet,
slowly peeling it over his head.

I knew this face.

I knew this boy.

My fingers traced a line over his smooth,
bronzed skin, from his shoulder, across his collarbone; they
trailed a long, teasing line down to his jeans. His breath hitched
as my fingers rested on the parted buttons of his Levis, and I
couldn’t help but smile.

Did I know what I was doing? Did I have any
idea of what I was getting myself into?

He snaked his arm behind my back and lowered
me onto the couch again. In that very moment, there was only one
thing I knew for certain: I wanted Toby to block out the moon.

We lay on the couch in silence for the
longest time.

The music had long since stopped and a warm,
gentle breeze swept over the deck, cool against my dampened skin as
I lay in Toby’s arms.

A deep chuckle vibrated against my cheek.

I tilted my head up. “What?”

“Nothing. I just thought I was in for a quiet
night, and then you showed up at my door.”

I leaned on my side and looked down at his
flushed face. “Do you wish I hadn’t?”

He ran his fingers through my hair. “No, I’m
glad you did.” He smiled. “You lunatic.”

I frowned and went to hit him but he caught
my wrist, dragged me down into a heated kiss, and I crumbled into
him. Toby pulled down the rug draped over the back of the couch and
arranged it over us. We lay in a twisted cocoon until the first
rays of light pierced the sky. I managed to doze in short bursts,
but even though I was sore and exhausted I couldn’t still my
mind.

Wow. So that was sex.

I lay on my side and watched Toby’s peaceful,
sleeping profile; the rise and fall of his chest; his arm curved
over his forehead, and his perfect bow shaped lips slightly swollen
from our kisses. He looked so young, and I smiled as I pushed a
wayward strand of hair off his brow. He rolled toward me, blindly
moved my wrist away from his face, snaking an arm around me.

“Get some sleep, McGee,” he mumbled.

I giggled. “I can’t.”

He peeked one eye open. “You’re going to kill
me, go to sleep.”

“Oh that’s right. I’m much younger than you,
I keep forgetting,” I teased.

He poked me in the ribs, and I squirmed with
laughter. His eyes were still closed but a broad smile spread
across his face.

“Get some sleep, Tess.”

I nestled into Toby’s warmth and closed my
eyes, but sleep did not follow easily.

Hours must have passed as the sounds of bird
calls in the surrounding bushland greeted the morning. Toby stirred
next to me, and I knew what he wanted. I wanted it, too. This time
it was easier. His movements were slower, his mouth captured my
gasps and moans. He pushed me to new points of madness, a blinding
intense place, a place I never knew I could belong, but Toby took
me there.

I was still sore, but I was able to immerse
myself in his warmth. There was nothing else in that moment except
Toby and me as he gathered me against his chest, both breathless;
his thumb stroked my bottom lip as he tilted my head up, to look
into my eyes.

“You’re shaking,” I whispered.

He kissed the top of my hair, and I listened
to the frantic beat of his heart; I smiled, revelling in the fact
that I was the one responsible for it.

Sleep must have found me eventually, as I
jolted awake when the blanket shifted. Toby sat up stretching, his
bones clicking and popping as he stifled a yawn. I smiled, shifting
towards him, squinting; I shielded my eyes against the morning
sun’s rays. As Toby shuffled his jeans on, I watched the muscles
contort in his back. He glanced back down at me with a coy
smirk.

He leaned back on his elbow, his eyes
studying mine and we watched each other openly, comfortably. Toby’s
hand rested on my stomach and as he began to sit up he froze as his
gaze dropped towards my crumpled skirt pushed high above my
waist.

He sat upright, swearing under his
breath.

“Jesus, Tess!” Frantic, apologetic eyes met
mine.

I sat up to see dried blood smeared against
my thighs.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I just
thought that … oh, Christ, did I hurt you?”

I shifted the skirt downwards as I sat up and
gave him a reassuring smile.

“Only a little.” I grabbed his hand, but he
flinched away which hurt more than anything that happened last
night.

“I’m so sorry, Tess. I thought, if I had
known …”

Suddenly all the wonder and beauty of the
languid, lazy affection we had shared moments before was gone,
overcome by shame and guilt. As I searched for my shirt and undies,
wanting to quickly cover myself, I hardly noticed that Toby had
moved away from me. The sliding door was shoved open, and Toby
appeared with a washcloth. He knelt down and wiped at my legs, his
gaze intense, focused, as if erasing the blood would erase what
happened last night.

I stilled his hand and took the cloth from
him.

“Thanks.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, and he left
to let me clean myself up. I stood up and wiped my legs clean, then
redressed. I found the empty condom wrapper at my feet, which I
discreetly tucked into my shoe. I flamed crimson, in the heat of
the moment I hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t even realised
Toby had used a condom. I was silently thankful that he had.

Toby came back outside, this time in a clean
T-shirt and holding a glass of juice.

I held the cloth awkwardly, my cheeks burning
with embarrassment. He handed me the juice and took the cloth from
me.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll sort it.” He
ducked back inside and quickly disposed of it before returning with
his own glass of juice. I wanted to die.

I gulped on my pineapple juice in an effort
to distract myself from the awkward silence that loomed over
us.

After a moment, Toby took my glass and set it
aside. He lifted my chin to meet his eyes.

“You okay?”

I tried to smile and nodded, but it wasn’t
very convincing.

“You’re a bloody lunatic, you know that?” he
said, lips tilting into a lopsided smile as he shook his head.

I relaxed slightly as his fingers brushed
against my cheek to tuck a sleep-tousled strand of hair behind my
ear.

“So I’ve been told.”

He bent down and kissed my forehead, and then
my lips, but they didn’t linger.

“I better get home,” I said, “I don’t want
anyone to file a missing person’s report.”

He walked me round the front, his hands
plunged into his pockets, neither one of us looking at each
other.

I grabbed my bike and we stopped at the end
of the drive, in silence.

What do you say in times like this? “Thanks
for last night”? “You were great”? “We should really do this again
sometime”? “Thanks for taking my virginity”?

Not that one.

Instead, I settled for, “Okay, well … see
ya.”

I didn’t look back as I started wheeling my
bike down the street, knowing I couldn’t hide my cringing face,
knowing the dull ache between my thighs.

“Tess?”

I paused, my heart stopping at the sound of
my name. He watched me thoughtfully, blinked, and it was once again
broken by a smile.

“See you on the weekend?”

I wanted to cry with relief at such a minor
semblance of normality. I smiled back.

“Sure,” I nodded.

Once I walked around the corner, I straddled
my bike with a deep breath against the pain and rode home with the
sun in my eyes, a thousand memories swimming through my mind and a
dumb, dreamy smile on my face.

I did it … twice! No, I had done it
twice
with Toby Morrison.

I stood in front of my bedroom mirror with a
towel wrapped around me, wondering if anything had changed; if I
were to walk down the street, would people look at me differently?
Could they tell? I towel dried my hair in the same daze I had been
walking around in all morning.

I crept into the laundry to put my stained
and rumpled clothes in the wash myself. Mum and Dad didn’t need to
see this. I checked my pockets as my mum always did, in case of
coinage and wayward chapsticks. I had lost far too many to the
washing machine; it wasn’t funny. And when my Cherry Bliss
chapstick had worked its way through Dad’s work whites, well the
parentals were not happy.

I praised small mercies as I reached into my
skirt pocket and fumbled against not a lip smacker, but the
crinkling of a foil packet. I quickly pulled it out and revealed
the torn, empty condom wrapper. In my haste this morning, as I had
kicked off my shoes, the foil packet had stuck to my foot. I’d
scooped it up and shoved it in my pocket in a desperate attempt to
hide all evidence.

Now, I held it, in my home. Thank God I’d
decided to wash my
own
clothes. I had a horrific flash of my
mum emptying my pockets and finding it.

I dumped my clothes in the washer, piled in
ample detergent and high-tailed it to my room, only to be stopped
by Mum in the hall.

“Are you doing your washing?” She looked at
me with surprise.

“You don’t have to look so horrified.” I
clenched my fist tighter, holding onto its contents. Panic prickled
down my spine.

Mum shook her head. “You never cease to amaze
me, Tess.”