Breathe, Annie, Breathe
Page 75
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Dude had cojones,” Jeremiah jokes, and I smack his arm. He sets his hands on my waist and pulls me close, as if he’s scared I’m going to get away. “Tell me more.”
“I liked silence and he always had to fill it. He was a terrible backseat driver—he would stomp an imaginary brake when I was going too fast. He smacked his cereal and it drove me nuts. He proposed to me…and I said no, but I would’ve eventually said yes. He was mine and I was his.”
I choke up, and Jeremiah pulls me into a long hug. “Thank you for telling me about him.”
I wipe tears off my cheeks. “I miss him.”
“I know you do, darlin’.” His voice is soft and sweet. I press my palms to his chest, and my own feels lighter. He can wait for me.
“I know a game I can beat you at,” I say, gently sweeping my fingers across his T-shirt.
“What’s that?” he asks, peering down at my hands.
“The first person to kiss the other wins.”
I quickly press my lips to his. A short peck. A short peck that feels like a supernova. When he opens his pretty blue eyes that pierce mine, his breaths are short and shallow. He wraps his hands around my waist. Lifts me onto his desk. Parts my knees and slips between my legs.
His mouth dips to my ear, his breath tickling me. “You won.”
Our lips meet again, and it’s slow, and sweet, and nothing at all like our rushed number down by the river this past June.
And then his lips tell me not to think anymore, to just do what I want to do, and I whisper okay. I cup his cheeks with my hands, enjoying the way his stubble scratches me, and his hands move up and down my back, softly exploring and making me warm.
He lifts me and slips his hands under my bottom to carry me to his bed. I wrap my legs around his waist and we plop down on his quilt together, continuing to kiss. I pull his knit cap off his head and toss it to the floor.
I discover he’s chatty in bed. He talks about everything, from how he likes the taste of my lips to how he wishes the guys would shut up downstairs to how he wishes I’d stay the night and go running with him in the morning.
“But you’re so much faster,” I say between kisses. “You said in your text that it’ll mess up your training.”
“Who cares?” He pulls me on top so I’m straddling him, and I can feel his hardness pressing against me through his jeans. He can’t take his eyes off my black halter top.
I haven’t just made out like this in years. Sure, I’ve already seen Jeremiah without any clothes on, but there’s something exciting about just kissing and not knowing what’s next.
“I care about you so much,” he says breathily. “I’ve wanted you since the moment we met—when you yelled at me for running backwards.”
“I was scared you couldn’t forgive me,” I reply, running a fingertip around his crop circle tattoos. “I was worried our friendship was over.”
“All that matters is that you came back.”
We kiss until our lips are raw and my clothes are twisted around my body. He rolls off me, smiling lazily. His light brown hair is a disaster: I ran my hands through it while we were kissing and now it’s sticking up everywhere.
He gently drums his fingers on my stomach. “So you kissed me first. That means you finally won fair and square.”
“I did,” I say with a laugh.
“Will you stay the night?” he asks quietly, nervous and wanting. When I don’t immediately respond, he adds, “I’ll take you to Bacon N’Oatmeal in the morning after we run.”
I laugh, sticking my tongue out. I may be new to college, but there are some things everybody knows about. Bacon N’Oatmeal is this total dive diner right off campus. Kids go there to nurse their hangovers with greasy eggs and sausage.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to go there without a hangover, are you?” I ask. “I bet the food is terrible sober.”
He props himself up on an elbow and flirts, “But I will have a hangover. An Annie hangover. I’m drunk off you, baby.”
“Oh my God, you did not just say that!”
Jeremiah collapses into a giggle fit worthy of his ten-year-old sister. “You should’ve seen the look on your face!”
I hit him over the head with his pillow, and then it’s time for bed. He turns his back while I change into one of his T-shirts. He changes into a pair of Nike mesh shorts and a tee that says Bell Buckle Ten Miler 2005. I’m shaking as we crawl under the covers. What would Mom say if she knew I was spending the night in his bed?
“I liked silence and he always had to fill it. He was a terrible backseat driver—he would stomp an imaginary brake when I was going too fast. He smacked his cereal and it drove me nuts. He proposed to me…and I said no, but I would’ve eventually said yes. He was mine and I was his.”
I choke up, and Jeremiah pulls me into a long hug. “Thank you for telling me about him.”
I wipe tears off my cheeks. “I miss him.”
“I know you do, darlin’.” His voice is soft and sweet. I press my palms to his chest, and my own feels lighter. He can wait for me.
“I know a game I can beat you at,” I say, gently sweeping my fingers across his T-shirt.
“What’s that?” he asks, peering down at my hands.
“The first person to kiss the other wins.”
I quickly press my lips to his. A short peck. A short peck that feels like a supernova. When he opens his pretty blue eyes that pierce mine, his breaths are short and shallow. He wraps his hands around my waist. Lifts me onto his desk. Parts my knees and slips between my legs.
His mouth dips to my ear, his breath tickling me. “You won.”
Our lips meet again, and it’s slow, and sweet, and nothing at all like our rushed number down by the river this past June.
And then his lips tell me not to think anymore, to just do what I want to do, and I whisper okay. I cup his cheeks with my hands, enjoying the way his stubble scratches me, and his hands move up and down my back, softly exploring and making me warm.
He lifts me and slips his hands under my bottom to carry me to his bed. I wrap my legs around his waist and we plop down on his quilt together, continuing to kiss. I pull his knit cap off his head and toss it to the floor.
I discover he’s chatty in bed. He talks about everything, from how he likes the taste of my lips to how he wishes the guys would shut up downstairs to how he wishes I’d stay the night and go running with him in the morning.
“But you’re so much faster,” I say between kisses. “You said in your text that it’ll mess up your training.”
“Who cares?” He pulls me on top so I’m straddling him, and I can feel his hardness pressing against me through his jeans. He can’t take his eyes off my black halter top.
I haven’t just made out like this in years. Sure, I’ve already seen Jeremiah without any clothes on, but there’s something exciting about just kissing and not knowing what’s next.
“I care about you so much,” he says breathily. “I’ve wanted you since the moment we met—when you yelled at me for running backwards.”
“I was scared you couldn’t forgive me,” I reply, running a fingertip around his crop circle tattoos. “I was worried our friendship was over.”
“All that matters is that you came back.”
We kiss until our lips are raw and my clothes are twisted around my body. He rolls off me, smiling lazily. His light brown hair is a disaster: I ran my hands through it while we were kissing and now it’s sticking up everywhere.
He gently drums his fingers on my stomach. “So you kissed me first. That means you finally won fair and square.”
“I did,” I say with a laugh.
“Will you stay the night?” he asks quietly, nervous and wanting. When I don’t immediately respond, he adds, “I’ll take you to Bacon N’Oatmeal in the morning after we run.”
I laugh, sticking my tongue out. I may be new to college, but there are some things everybody knows about. Bacon N’Oatmeal is this total dive diner right off campus. Kids go there to nurse their hangovers with greasy eggs and sausage.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to go there without a hangover, are you?” I ask. “I bet the food is terrible sober.”
He props himself up on an elbow and flirts, “But I will have a hangover. An Annie hangover. I’m drunk off you, baby.”
“Oh my God, you did not just say that!”
Jeremiah collapses into a giggle fit worthy of his ten-year-old sister. “You should’ve seen the look on your face!”
I hit him over the head with his pillow, and then it’s time for bed. He turns his back while I change into one of his T-shirts. He changes into a pair of Nike mesh shorts and a tee that says Bell Buckle Ten Miler 2005. I’m shaking as we crawl under the covers. What would Mom say if she knew I was spending the night in his bed?
