On the Run (Vagabonds #1) Read online

  He did too. To this day, I don’t know if Decker liked me because he thought I was the girl from the other side of the tracks and he wanted to get his ghetto on or if I’d surprised him so much from the show the night before that he wanted to check me out…or, a third possibility, maybe it was the first time he’d noticed me and I was his type.

  I didn’t question it. I just ran with it, excited to embrace this part of my youth.

  Looking back, I’m sure part of it was also the fact that I was trying to pretend that everything at home was normal. The best way to do that was to completely ignore what had happened with my parents the night before.

  I glanced over at my friends. I suspected that, were they given the same opportunity, they’d grab it with both hands. Even if not, I wasn’t going to pass this one by. Something about this boy got my juices flowing, my imagination boiling, my temperature rising. I felt inside myself something blooming and I didn’t know until later that it was the creative side in me. I don’t think I can give Decker all that credit. No, instead, I think it was the woman I was to become. Decker helped me spread my wings sexually but that was a mere metaphor for everything that was happening inside, and all that was spawned by everything that was happening—growing up in and of itself, having to deal with reality and learning that my parents were, well, human, and also realizing that I was a bit of an island. That didn’t bother me, but it was something I had to face, something I had to reckon with.

  So, I smiled and waved and told my friends I’d see them later in Spanish class, and I felt proud as hell when Decker Thompson draped his arm over my shoulders to lead me off campus toward his truck.

  When we got in and he started the engine, he glanced over and asked, “Wanna liquid lunch?”

  I was a bit naïve but I managed to figure out what he was suggesting before I looked or sounded stupid. I realized he was asking if I wanted to have a drink or two—alcoholic—during our short lunch period. I didn’t care, because I wasn’t completely invested in my education. It was more a social outlet, because I figured I was smart enough to learn anything I needed to know in life. My parents had already taught me so much as a homeschooled kid that I felt like I had a handle on learning. School? It was a place for me to meet people, not a place for learning…and it wasn’t a place for me to pursue interests either. That was what I did during my free time.

  So I shrugged. “Whatever.” He shifted his truck into drive, and I asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll get somethin’ to eat on the way back.”

  I had no idea where we were going, but he drove just a mile or two out of town and parked by the river. I could hear the rushing water with the window down and it made me think of a steady rhythm…to which I could form a song. I could hear a riff emerging in my head just as my ears heard the click of Decker’s seatbelt. He slid across the seat and shoved his fingers into my hair just over my ear before mashing his lips into mine.

  Ah, and there was that weird response again. Insta-wet panties. I wondered if I’d ever get used to that.

  But I didn’t care at that moment, because along with the wet panties came the tingling sensation that made me want to be touched. All over.

  I know. I can hear what you’re saying. I hadn’t even known this guy had existed twenty-four hours earlier. It was strange, but I blame it on my hormones. When he expressed an interest in me, my body responded. I had to explore what would naturally come next and I felt driven to.

  I grabbed his shirt in my fists and kissed him back. Hard. Fuck lunch. I wanted something else. We continued kissing for several long, heated minutes before he brought his lips to my neck, and somehow that upped the ante. I felt my body get tingly all over again, sending a surge through my veins of feeling charged and on the edge.

  I knew it was that I wanted and needed sex. But also in the back of my mind, I could hear that little birds-and-bees speech my mom had given me a year earlier, the one about protection. “It’s not just about not getting pregnant, Ky. It’s also about not getting any nasty diseases. Some of the things you can get from unprotected sex will haunt you your entire life—and some of them will kill you. Be smart.”

  That had seemed like decades ago, though, like ancient times, and when mom had talked to me about sex, it had seemed like some distant future. It was here, though, and now, and I wasn’t sure how to handle these emotions, these chemicals, these undeniable urges that had suddenly taken over me.

  She hadn’t warned me how desperate a few kisses would make me feel.

  Part of me wanted to stop, thinking of all those words mom had poured over me, but the part of me that was human, that needed to be touched and loved and ravished wanted nothing to do with abstinence.

  Still…I remembered the articles my mom had pulled up on herpes, chlamydia, and AIDS—and it made me wake up a little. I felt Decker’s hand exploring my back underneath my shirt and then he trailed it to my stomach. His touch made me suck in a deep breath and, oh, God, yes. I wanted him to touch my breast. I did. But I knew it would be a bad idea. I knew it would lead to the next step and the next and the next.

  And I wanted it. But I also knew I wasn’t ready.

  So I touched his hand. “Maybe we should stop.”

  I heard a slight moan form in his throat, but he didn’t stop kissing my neck, didn’t stop moving that hand up my belly closer to my breast. And, oh, inside, I really did want him to touch me, wanted him to do whatever he wanted with me.

  But I was also paranoid. And my senses were trying desperately to bring me to them. One last try. “I—I’m a virgin, Decker. I can’t just…you know…”

  That was when his lips relented their assault on me and I heard him suck in a tiny breath. He moved his head so that he could look me in the eye and then he nodded slowly. “So…you’re not ready?”

  I almost smiled. “I didn’t say that. I just, um…I’m not ready here or now. I mean…we have to be back to class in twenty minutes. I can’t imagine that—” I could see it on his face and had to stifle a laugh. I could see that twenty minutes would be more than enough time to get him off—but never having participated in the act before and knowing that the first time could be unpleasant for a girl, I didn’t want to engage in sex here or now. Besides, we were practically in public. What would stop someone from checking out the inside of his truck?

  “Oh.” I could hear the disappointment in his voice. “Man, Summers, I’m hurtin’ here.” I could only imagine what he meant, but he took one of my hands and placed it on his dick. Even through his jeans, I could feel how hard he was, and just based on the desperation I was feeling, I knew he wanted some kind of relief.

  I whispered, “But I’m not ready.”

  “That’s okay. Have you ever…” He paused. I raised my eyebrows in anticipation. “Um, given a blowjob?”

  I loved how direct he was—no beating around the bush, trying to make me guess what he was getting at. “No, but I could try.” And I wanted to. His lips turned up into a grin when I offered to give it a shot, and I looked down into the cramped space below. It was going to be tight…but I knew I wouldn’t be there all day.

  I was excited. I’d never seen a real penis before. I’d seen pictures—both still and video—so I at least knew what to expect, but I was still curious to see a live one—especially one that was fully erect.

  He was unbuttoning his jeans as I slid off the seat to crouch in the space on the floor just underneath the glovebox. After unzipping, he reached in and pulled his shorts down so he could fish out his cock. There it was, solid and thick and aching for my tongue. Decker slid down the seat a little so that his back was slouched against the seat but his cock was easier to reach. I pursed my lips, trying to stifle the big grin that was threatening to erupt, and then leaned forward.

  I simply stared for a few moments, and I know he was growing impatient with me, but this was brand new. I marveled at how the very tip glistened, a bead of moisture oozing out the eye, how the veins poppe
d out, throbbing, how the skin looked smooth. I was appreciating my first glance.

  But on to business. I couldn’t be tentative about this. That’s one thing no one will ever say about me—that I hesitate. No way. Once I make up my mind, I’m full throttle. I’ve been called reckless for that reason, and I think that’s why sometimes people label me as dangerous…but it’s who I am, and I don’t see any reason to just sit on something when I’ve made up my mind. Seems silly. I’d rather go down in flames because of a decision I made than dwindle into obscurity because I didn’t do anything.

  So Decker’s dick—it was staring at me, willing me to make him feel good. I knew the basic concepts. Having been kind of sheltered from a lot of shit my whole life, I don’t know why or how I knew the idea behind a blowjob, but I did. I knew I’d have to suck on his dick until he came, and I knew he’d ejaculate into my mouth—and I could choose to swallow…or not.

  I was gonna swallow. I knew it wouldn’t kill me. How bad could it be, really? And if it added to his experience, I was all for it. But I had to start. So I licked the tip, swiping off that clear bead of pre-cum as a way for me to get used to the whole idea. I couldn’t discern much of a taste, but that was probably because I pulled the entire tip of his cock into my mouth shortly after, and by then, my mouth was filled with a slight taste of him. It wasn’t good or bad, but the way he moaned when I sucked on his dick and the way he thrust his fingers into my hair in desperation made me forget about any sensation I might have been feeling.

  Yeah, this was fun.

  As I continued to draw it into my mouth, I loved how I could tell he was enjoying it. I didn’t have any finesse back then, and Decker didn’t seem to care. I didn’t tease him with licks and nips and tiny sucks before ending his torture. I just went to town. Our youth didn’t require much more than that. We were horny little shits, and it didn’t take much to get us off.

  That first time hardly took any time at all. It wasn’t long before Decker came into my mouth, and I swallowed it down like a pro. I didn’t even have to think about it.

  After, as I slid my mouth off his softening member, I noticed that his cum had a salty but slightly sweet taste. I hadn’t noted the texture and thought I might not want to dwell on that idea, because I was okay with it all.

  Decker finally opened his eyes and looked at me. He looked grateful and it made me smile all the more. Hell, I had to stop myself from laughing at his expression. “I’m gonna have a hell of a time staying awake in class.”

  Then I did laugh. “Are you saying that was good?”

  He loosened his fingers in my hair then and brushed his knuckles along my cheek. “Amazing.” Of all things I’d ever expected from this boy, affection and tenderness were not part of that potential equation. But here it was just the same.

  I had no idea what that meant…but I wasn’t going to question it.

  Chapter Seven

  THAT AFTERNOON AFTER school, Decker wanted to spend more time together. I didn’t know what he had in mind, but I knew I had to get one thing straight right away. We stood outside by my car, and I’d just tossed my books in the back. “Maybe we can hang later tonight.”

  “Why not now? I gotta do stuff with my family later.”

  I sucked down a deep breath. “This is guitar time.” He furrowed his brows just a little, enough to make him look extra cute. “Nobody messes with my guitar time.” I ran my tongue along my back teeth, trying to figure out how to communicate the importance of my guitar to him. It was clear from the look in his eyes that he didn’t get it—but he should have. My guitar is what made him sit up and notice me in the first place. “How the hell do you think I got so good? It wasn’t from dreaming, man. I practice every damn day, from the time I get out of school till dinner, and then a lot of times, I’ll do the dishes for mom, maybe crack open a school book, but most of the time, I’m playing again from then till bedtime.”

  “Obsessed?”

  I shrugged. “I guess. I’d prefer to think of it as a passion.” He nodded. “You play football, Decker. Did you just run on the field and play like a pro the first practice you had?” He inhaled, and that was when I could see the gears begin to turn. “You weren’t John Elway your first time on the turf. You had to practice, right?” He grinned and nodded again. “Mozart might have been a musical fuckin’ genius, but the rest of us, including some of my heroes on guitar, have to practice to be good.” My voice was quieter as I noticed kids walking by and marveling at Decker and me. “I just so happen to love it, so it’s not a chore. It’s something I want to do…so, much as I want to spend time with you, it will have to be after I spend time with my guitar.” And no way in hell was I going to invite him to hang with me while I played guitar. That was my time, my time to play around and fuck up if need be, but it was personal time.

  “I get it.”

  I saw two cheerleaders standing on the lawn by one of the big old trees in front of the high school building, and they were whispering and giggling—and staring right at me and Decker. I took a deep breath before I growled, “What the hell are you looking at?”

  Decker turned around just in time to see the shocked look on their faces. It was evident to me that these girls were rarely called out for their rude and nasty behavior, but I’d recently grown some balls—not that I’d ever been afraid of doing anything like that, but I’d never been given the opportunity nor the reason to.

  The dark-haired girl, a little snatch named Raven, said, “Trying to figure that out, Summers.”

  I stepped up on the sidewalk and said, “Why don’t you come here and I can help you out.”

  I felt Decker’s hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t even registered that he was right behind me. “Don’t worry about them, Kyle.”

  I saw Raven’s lips pucker up in anger, as if she were trying to stifle some words that were trying to push their way out of her mouth. “No, Decker. If these little bitches have something to say to me or about me, I want them to say it to my face.”

  The other cheerleader’s face had paled and she said, “No. We don’t have anything to say to you.” She coiled an arm through Raven’s and spoke more softly. “Come on, Raven.”

  I’ll give Raven credit. She had to save face, but she was smart. See, I thought I was pretty enough, but I wasn’t banking my whole life on my looks. I wouldn’t have had any issues scrapping with her if that was what she really wanted. And a scratch on my cheek or a black eye wouldn’t have ruined my day (other than, I was sure, the aches I’d feel afterwards that ibuprofen wouldn’t touch), but she would have wanted to miss a day or two of school if she couldn’t cover up the damage with concealer. I could see that. So I wasn’t surprised when Raven puffed out her chest and scowled but then allowed her brown-haired friend to walk her off campus away from me.

  I didn’t realize I’d jutted out my chin and squared my shoulders as if daring her to take me on—not until Decker’s hand squeezed my upper arm and I heard him say, “Relax. They’re leaving.”

  I turned to the side and looked up at him. I still didn’t really know him that well, but I could feel a burning for him. There wasn’t much in the way of conversation between the two of us—in fact, I suspected Decker was nice enough, competent enough, but I didn’t imagine he was a well-read fellow. I wasn’t gunning for a PhD myself, but Decker wasn’t known for his brains.

  That didn’t matter. There was something chemical between us, some magnetic attraction I’d never felt for anyone else before, and I suspected that once I got myself taken care of—that is, got on the pill and protected—that I would even eschew my guitar once or twice for a romp with him. But I wasn’t going to give that away—not yet. I nodded and smiled. “Already forgotten.” I inhaled a deep breath. “So, you wanna come over after dinner?”

  * * *

  The drive home made me remember how shitty my life there had turned, also in less than twenty-four hours. If this had been yesterday afternoon, I would have been excited to come home and tell my mom all
about my new boyfriend—or whatever he was. I would have asked if he could come over for dinner to meet her and dad.

  But no. I didn’t know what to expect when I walked through my front door and, I suppose, what I saw should have been no surprise.

  My mother had turned into a cliché. She sat on the couch in a ratty t-shirt and gray sweatpants, a mostly eaten box of Oreos on the cushion next to her, a half-full bottle of red wine, and a box of tissues on the coffee table, with used ones strewn all over the couch, the floor, the surface of the table. Mom was clutching one in her thin hand as I walked in the door that afternoon. I noticed two things right off the bat. One was that the shades were drawn. They had never been closed during the daytime as long as we’d lived in that house, even on stormy days. We always opened them to let the natural light in. So that alone was strange. Second, I noticed that the television was on, also something mom never did during the day. She watched a little news or an exercise or wakeup show in the morning and then nothing else until after dinner, even on the weekends. She was always too busy to indulge in TV watching.

  Those things alone were odd enough…but then, as I walked closer to her, her appearance struck me. Her face seemed drawn, her eyes appeared to bulge. What was worse, though, was the look on her face. She seemed to be expectant, almost as though she’d been waiting all day for me to walk through that door.

  You want to talk about pressure? Try having your mother, one who’d always made you feel like the world was your oyster, lean on you with her entire weight—and with no warning.

  My gait must have slowed as I took it all in, because mom said, “Kyle, come here.” I approached, feeling a little unsure, but as soon as I got close, she took my face in her hands and I saw that tears were streaming down her cheeks like tiny waterfalls.

  I sat down next to her, not that I had much choice. And what kind of shit would that have made me anyway, bailing on my mom in her time of greatest need? I wrapped my arms around her and held her close to me…mainly because I couldn’t stand seeing her face. That sounds more callous than it was. It wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I didn’t know how to act, how to be. My mother had always been the calm and steady one, had often been the one who told me to let shit roll off my back like water, and she had never seem to be rattled by anything. But here she was, seemingly crippled by whatever marital trouble she and my dad were going through. Yeah, I’d pieced enough together by that point to know part of the story, but I didn’t want to think about it. I wasn’t ready to process it. My mom and dad were supposed to be my rock, my collective rock.