eyes don’t move from the screen, from his young, lithe, carefree self.
“Of course! You’re Ryan Chalker!” I say, trying to impress this on him. “You know, just the name Ryan Chalker used to give me goosebumps. I used to see you coming down the corridor and nearly faint. And not only me. Every girl in the school felt the same. Every person in the school. You must know everyone had a crush on you, even the teachers.”
Ryan’s brow has relaxed as I’ve been speaking, and his hand wanders toward my thigh again.
“So what did you think about me?” he asks idly. “I mean, what was it you liked?”
“Oh God, everything! Like, your hair and your laugh, and you were so fit …”
“Not as fit as I am now. I didn’t even work out back then.” He starts kissing me again, with more purpose, then murmurs into my ear, “What else did you think?”
“I thought you were like a rock star. I thought if you asked me out I would die,” I say honestly, and Ryan gives a soft laugh.
“What else?” he says, pulling me toward him.
This is turning him on, I suddenly realize. OK, quick, say some more.
“I used to think, Oh my God, it’s Ryan! He’s the sexiest guy in the school! And all I wanted to do was kiss you, but you never even noticed me because you were, like, Ryan the Sex God.”
“What else?” His breath is coming quicker now. He’s pulling off my underwear. I can tell he means business.
“I used to hitch up my school skirt whenever you were nearby,” I improvise hastily. “And I used to watch you play basketball and … er … you were so gorgeous, I wished you were bouncing me, not the ball.…”
No, wait. What am I saying? This is gibberish. But Ryan doesn’t seem to mind.
“What else?” he gasps as he enters me.
OK, it’s nearly impossible, trying to summon up sexy stuff to say while Ryan is driving rhythmically into me. My mind doesn’t want to work; it wants to surrender to sensation. But I must keep talking.
“That time we all went to the beach,” I manage, “you looked so hot, everyone fancied you.…”
“What else?”
“You were so sexy … everything about you was amazing.…” My mind goes blank. “Er … you had really cool sunglasses.…”
“What about my car?” he pants, his face contorted.
“Yes!” I exclaim, grateful for the idea. “Your car! Of course. I used to love your car. It was so hot and sleek and … and long. And hot,” I repeat for good measure. “And … and hard …” I’m racking my brains for another good word. “And throbbing,” I say in sudden inspiration. “It was such a … a throbbing car.”
“Oh my God!” Ryan explodes with a roar and collapses on me like a deadweight.
I don’t dare to move for what feels like half an hour.
“Bloody hell,” says Ryan at last, and heaves off me.
“Yes,” I say faintly, because I’m fairly sure I agree with “Bloody hell,” whatever he meant by it.
For a few moments we’re both quiet. Ryan is staring up at the ceiling and he suddenly sighs.
“You’re good for me, Fixie,” he says. “Have I ever told you that before?”
“Yes.” I can’t help smiling. “A couple of times.”
“There’s been too much bullshit in my life. I need you to get me through the craziness. You know?” He turns to face me directly. “That’s what I need. You.”
His blue eyes are unguarded. His face is earnest. He’s playing lovingly with a strand of my hair. And I feel myself melting all over again, because Ryan needs me. Not a girl in L.A. with a perfect figure, but me.
“The world’s a hard place,” I say, groping for something meaningful to say. “But we can get through it together.”
“Amen to that,” says Ryan.
He leans over to kiss me on the nose, then gets up, wraps a towel around himself, and heads out to our family bathroom, while I lie on the bed, still a bit stunned.
It’s happened! We’ve had sex. We’re together! (I think.) I’m good for him. And he’s definitely good for me.
OK. So now we need to stay together.
And, yes, I know I’m overthinking. I should enjoy the moment. I should lie here and relax and savor the fact that Ryan and I have got together. Nothing more, nothing less.
But I’m me. I’m Fixie. I can’t help it: Already my mind is roaming ahead with urgency.