Puddle Jumping(17)

He was stiff, as usual, but I didn’t mind. His hands didn’t really know where to go, so I placed them on my hips and rested my cheek against his chest, just closing my eyes and inhaling how amazing he smelled with his shirt starched and some kind of deodorant that smelled like lickable-boy.

He seemed too quiet and I wasn’t really sure what to do about it. I was just as nervous as he was, you know?

I lifted my head to see him staring down at me and I could only offer a shy smile and a laugh. “Colton?”

“Yes?”

I tightened my linked fingers around his neck. “Tell me about Monet.”

So he did and it was music to my ears. To my heart. He talked so passionately about the things he loved and I ended up resting my head against his chest to hear him speak through his sternum, all low and rumbling.

Bass and baritone laced between heartbeats and short breaths.

Suddenly . . . he stopped.

My head shot up and I looked at him, curious as to why he went silent. Of course I asked because that was how it had to be.

“Why’d you stop?” My throat was all dry because of the intensity between us. Like the air had suddenly gone thin and was replaced with pure energy.

He looked at me and then away a bunch of times and somehow I just knew what was about to happen, but my brain and hormones were off kilter and I just stood there like a moron waiting for him to speak.

Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned forward, his forehead kind of pushing mine back as he breathed quietly outward onto my face. I closed my eyes and just let it happen.

He kissed me.

Warm and soft. Gentle at first until his lips had acclimated to mine. It wasn’t like any kiss I’d ever experienced before because my knees felt nonexistent and I wanted to fall, taking him with me in a pile on the ground so I could curl into him and never let go.

He was shaking and then grew more confident as I parted my lips and caught his in between mine.

We both pulled away at the same time. I must have been bright red and he, I know, he was flushed, all hard breathing and starting to sweat a little from the tension. But I didn’t care. He’d totally kissed me. And it was amazing.

I didn’t even mention the fact he was pretty much feeling up my left boob with his thumb. I just moved a little and maneuvered it away so I didn’t draw attention.

“We should do that again,” he mumbled and looked away into the white lights above my head.

I just held him tighter while I whispered, “Any time.”

* * *

I’ve said it before but it bears repeating: Colton is very literal. I told him he could kiss me anytime. He did just that. It was cool on the one hand because he wasn’t one of those guys who was an * and had to look out for his appearance in front of others. It was a drawback on the other because sometimes he did it without warning, like in the middle of a conversation.

I often wonder if there’s judgment directed at me because of the physical relationship I have with him. If there’s a stigma attached to me that I’m taking advantage of him.

I’m not, if you’re wondering.

Like I said, no matter what a doctor once said about him, he’s still a teenage boy. And that’s pretty standard across the board, if you catch my drift.

What I’d like to really stress about this is when you love someone, their differences fall away. I don’t look at him and see anything but him, and how sweet he is. I know how my stomach erupts in excitement when he simply holds my hand. How my heart reacts when we kiss. I know, above anything else, that when we’re together, it’s because we both want it. Not because of any other reason.

The one thing I wish I could explain to people is he’s not what they think he is. Words he’s been branded with could never describe him. He’s not special. He’s extraordinary. To me.

And I feel like I am, too, when I’m with him.

* * *

I was glad we had gone to the dance together because it was basically a back to school thing, being only six weeks into the year. The next dance was Homecoming, and I’d learned Colton was going to be attending the opening of one of his shows that night, so he wouldn’t be able to make it at all. Mrs. Neely invited me to join them and the decision was easy to make.

One night after I ate dinner with his family, we went up to the art room and I took a look around at some of his newer pieces while he cleaned up from dinner and changed into some clothes that could be ruined if paint flew. I really loved the way he looked in his painting clothes. He was at ease. Comfortable.

The art room above the garage was his safe place and I still couldn’t believe he trusted me so much to let me in.

That he was going to trust me to watch him work.

I wandered through the room looking at the canvases when I remembered he had that one painting in the corner that had been trashed. It wasn’t there anymore so I continued to walk the outer walls and move the art around so I could see them more clearly. My attention was on some of the more abstract ones and I was flipping through them carefully when I stopped cold.

I was staring right into a perfect replica of my face.

“Holy shit on a stick.” I probably said it louder than intended because I heard Colton’s feet pause in the hall before they came to rest behind me a foot away.

“I couldn’t get the eyes right,” he’d said quietly and I turned around to look at his face, completely and utter flattered and breathless at what I held in my hands. “The other one. I couldn’t get the eyes right. That’s why I broke it.”