though it seemed like he spent hours on the phone trying to figure out what was going on, no one could give him a straight answer.
We were all over the news. There were editorials about us. Camera crews surrounded the house at all hours, though by the time we moved back in much of the hype had begun to dissipate. There were calls for interviews, weird looks on the street, the whole deal. This wasn’t the sort of fame anyone asked for or wanted, and it was wearing on me, to say the least. Between not knowing what was happening to Boon and being pestered by journalists all the time, I was still experiencing intense anxiety.
Which was normal, and to be expected. So said my new therapist, at least, who I’d agree to see only upon my parent’s urging. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t totally scarred from the experience. My mother was also seeing someone. It helped to talk to someone, but the one thing I really wanted, more than anything, was to talk to Boon.
So you can imagine what happened to my little heart when I got a text on that third day.
Tag, you’re it.
From Boon’s phone. And of course it was him. The picture attached was almost similar to the first time he’d ever texted me that challenge: a city skyline. This time, though, I knew exactly where he was. It was someplace I’d been before, many times.
When you live in the mountains, there’s no shortage of scenic overlooks. I nudged my little car slowly up the mountain, wary of the dips and sharp turns that made the drive harrowing during the day, never mind at night. As I pulled up to the overlook area, I saw the glint of metal as a motorcycle came into view in my headlights.
Shutting the engine and getting out, my heart was pounding in my ears. I was excited and nervous all at once. I looked around, feeling my heightened emotions playing with my mind, searching for him. I didn’t see him anywhere.
And then I felt him. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me backwards. I twisted in his embrace, our eyes meeting. And then it was gone: the nervousness, the anxiety, everything that I’d been feeling since my life had crashed so spectacularly to the ground. He was here. He was holding me.
“ Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
“ Hello, stranger,” I whispered back. “When’d they let you out?”
“ Couple hours. Thank your dad for me. I got community service, parole. I gotta stay in this dumpy city for a few years, I guess. Don’t know what I’ll do with myself,” he said, leaning in close, his stubble tickling my cheek. I pulled away, wanting to see him from head to toe. When I did, he grew concerned. “How are you? Are you…okay?”
I could only nod and fight back more tears. Happy tears.
“ I’m fantastic, now,” I said, choking on my words. “What about your…your dad…?”
Boon held out his hand and I took it. He led me back to my car, sitting me on the hood. I’d worn a short summer dress, and the metal under my legs felt warm.
“ Let’s not talk about my dad right now,” he said, brushing my hair away from my face. I bit my lip, naughty thoughts already percolating in my mind.
“ Well, what do you want to talk about, then?” I asked, aware of the slight teasing in my voice. When did I become such a little sex kitten? And why did I like it so much?
Because he makes you feel sexy, and brave, I thought, answering my own question. It was true. There, that night, I felt like Boon was a pillar of courage, and that every moment we were close to each other a little more of his courage spilled into me.
“ Well, maybe we could finish that conversation we started all those days ago, in your room,” he said, leaning in and gingerly lowering the straps of my dress. I hadn’t worn a bra; it was hot, the middle of summer, and too many layers only made you hotter. I watched him roll my dress down, revealing my milky-white breasts, full and curving in the darkness.
“ Yeah, that sounds
We were all over the news. There were editorials about us. Camera crews surrounded the house at all hours, though by the time we moved back in much of the hype had begun to dissipate. There were calls for interviews, weird looks on the street, the whole deal. This wasn’t the sort of fame anyone asked for or wanted, and it was wearing on me, to say the least. Between not knowing what was happening to Boon and being pestered by journalists all the time, I was still experiencing intense anxiety.
Which was normal, and to be expected. So said my new therapist, at least, who I’d agree to see only upon my parent’s urging. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t totally scarred from the experience. My mother was also seeing someone. It helped to talk to someone, but the one thing I really wanted, more than anything, was to talk to Boon.
So you can imagine what happened to my little heart when I got a text on that third day.
Tag, you’re it.
From Boon’s phone. And of course it was him. The picture attached was almost similar to the first time he’d ever texted me that challenge: a city skyline. This time, though, I knew exactly where he was. It was someplace I’d been before, many times.
When you live in the mountains, there’s no shortage of scenic overlooks. I nudged my little car slowly up the mountain, wary of the dips and sharp turns that made the drive harrowing during the day, never mind at night. As I pulled up to the overlook area, I saw the glint of metal as a motorcycle came into view in my headlights.
Shutting the engine and getting out, my heart was pounding in my ears. I was excited and nervous all at once. I looked around, feeling my heightened emotions playing with my mind, searching for him. I didn’t see him anywhere.
And then I felt him. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me backwards. I twisted in his embrace, our eyes meeting. And then it was gone: the nervousness, the anxiety, everything that I’d been feeling since my life had crashed so spectacularly to the ground. He was here. He was holding me.
“ Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
“ Hello, stranger,” I whispered back. “When’d they let you out?”
“ Couple hours. Thank your dad for me. I got community service, parole. I gotta stay in this dumpy city for a few years, I guess. Don’t know what I’ll do with myself,” he said, leaning in close, his stubble tickling my cheek. I pulled away, wanting to see him from head to toe. When I did, he grew concerned. “How are you? Are you…okay?”
I could only nod and fight back more tears. Happy tears.
“ I’m fantastic, now,” I said, choking on my words. “What about your…your dad…?”
Boon held out his hand and I took it. He led me back to my car, sitting me on the hood. I’d worn a short summer dress, and the metal under my legs felt warm.
“ Let’s not talk about my dad right now,” he said, brushing my hair away from my face. I bit my lip, naughty thoughts already percolating in my mind.
“ Well, what do you want to talk about, then?” I asked, aware of the slight teasing in my voice. When did I become such a little sex kitten? And why did I like it so much?
Because he makes you feel sexy, and brave, I thought, answering my own question. It was true. There, that night, I felt like Boon was a pillar of courage, and that every moment we were close to each other a little more of his courage spilled into me.
“ Well, maybe we could finish that conversation we started all those days ago, in your room,” he said, leaning in and gingerly lowering the straps of my dress. I hadn’t worn a bra; it was hot, the middle of summer, and too many layers only made you hotter. I watched him roll my dress down, revealing my milky-white breasts, full and curving in the darkness.
“ Yeah, that sounds
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