Beautiful Oblivion (2 page)

“He follows me wherever I go.” I take the opportunity to rest my head over his rock hard chest. My body goes rigid a moment because, holy hell, I’m touching Ace in ways that I’ve never touched him before. This is huge. But I figure if I want to round out the bases with him, we’ll have to start somewhere, and a face plant into the wall of concrete that is his chest is definitely a great place to do just that. “I guess we’re sort of ambush dating.” Stupid Warren. I hate that he’s even a topic of conversation. Then again, maybe Ace just wants to make sure that my innocent lady parts and me are single and ready to mingle with his far more experienced extra-curricular bits and pieces. Not that I’m accusing him of housing something bitty in his boxers, far from it. I’ve glanced down at his Levis a time or two, and it’s apparent he wields a nightstick. Nevertheless, Ace is a gentleman at heart, unlike Warren who’s probably using beer pong as an excuse to hit on Kennedy’s unsuspecting sorority sisters.

I curl into Ace as if I were snuggling up for the night, and I wish to God I were. Ace feels a thousand times better than I could have ever imagined. His soft breath tangles in my hair, enlivening my senses. His cologne holds a sweet layer that you need to be this close to truly appreciate. And, if I get my way, I’ll be even closer before the night is through. If there were a Worshiping From Afar Anonymous I’m pretty sure every one of its stalker-like members would be cheering me on right now. Not every obsession leads to a life of crime on the streets. In fact, I’m sort of hoping for a life of
time
under the
sheets
. The only crime around here is the fact Ace and I haven’t explored a carnal connection as of yet. And that’s exactly what I’m hoping this summer will be about, the summer of sexual rectification.

“Ambush dating.” He rumbles beneath me with a silent laugh. “So are you blue-balling him?”

“Is that code for have we slept together?” I bite over a smile because the conversation just took a turn for the coital, and me and all of my Ace-worshiping girl parts completely approve. “If so, the answer is
no
.” A tiny surge of hope spirals through me because if he cares about whether or not I’ve slept with Warren, it might mean something. “But I came close at Kristen Woodley’s party last spring,” it speeds out of me like some midnight confessional. “She was serving foot long hotdogs, and I had a sudden craving, but I chickened out last minute—left him naked in the bedroom and ran like hell all the way back to my dorm.” Maybe this is a good time to mention the fact I have never seen nor imagined Warren’s ‘foot long,’ in fact, I’m betting there are an entire medley of adjectives to describe his push pop, and
foot long
isn’t one of them.

“Good deal.” Ace holds up a hand, so I high five him. A spark ignites between us as soon as our skin connects, but we choose to ignore it—easy as ignoring a bonfire in a fireworks factory.

“How about we do some ambush swimming?” Ace peels off his T-shirt, nice and slow, and I watch as the moon illuminates him like a marble statue, nothing but skin over steel. His muscles ripple over his abs like a silent granite sea. His chest looks smooth like sheet rock, and I suddenly have the urge to map out the landscape of his body with my tongue—a task I could easily labor over for weeks. If Ace were willing to let me lap him up like a kitten with a bowl of cream, I wouldn’t rush the effort. Ace is a dessert that’s meant to be savored. If given the opportunity to leech over his abs with my lips, I’d languish for years, drag out the endeavor until the authorities stepped in, I’m sure my father would arrange for that. I can practically hear the theme music to
Cops
playing on a loop. Crap. For sure if Ace and I were together, I’d make it a point to keep my father in the dark. The last thing I’d want is him ruining my moment with the god of the G-spot. My dad can have Warren and his whole damn family. I just want
one
person, and that person just so happens to be off my father’s short-list of suitors for his only biological daughter. Not to mention the fact Ace has probably never even seen the inside of the Loveless Country Club—a sin of the highest order when it comes to cold, hard cash contenders for my father’s approval. Not that my father is all about money, he’s just all about Warren McCarthy.

Ace jumps to his feet and starts tugging down his shorts, exposing a glowing line of skin highlighted low around his waist. “You’d better spin around, or you’re about to see another foot long.”

“A foot long, huh? Is that wishful thinking on your part? Are you sure it’s not more of a centimeterpeter?” I tease as I turn toward the granite cliff side in the distance.

“You wish. We’re talking yardstick, baby.”

A splash of water rips through the air, followed by a short-lived howl.

“Get in, girl. It feels like a bath,” he shouts from the lake below.

“I seriously doubt that.” I turn back around and spot his slicked hair reflecting the moonlight like a mirror.

The night air blisters over my skin like an oven. I’m dying to fall into a body of water, but I’m iffy on the whole bearing more than my soul part of the equation. Ace has seen the body of a thousand girls, and not one pair of human eyes has laid eyes on mine.

A part of my mother’s last letter comes back to me,
find the ecstasy where you can
—
catch it by the tail. It’s in those moments you really live. All those other gaps in time are just filler until the next bout of delirium. You could as easily find ecstasy in the silence as you could in a scream, it could be locked in a beautiful flower, the scent of a fragrant spring morning. It could be in a kiss from a beautiful boy
.
All of those sweet moments make one hell of an adventure
.
And if life doesn’t offer you an adventure—make one happen.

I love that letter, but it’s always the beautiful boy part that weirds me out a little. I used to cringe at the idea of my mother talking to me about sex at all, and, now, even with her gone, and with me just finishing my freshman year at Yeats, it still feels rigidly uncomfortable. And what boy is beautiful? I glance down at the lake and catch a glimpse of the only boy I have ever loved. His teeth illuminate as if his mouth were backlit with a flashlight, and the fire from that thousand watt grin sears over me like a nuclear heat wave.

Ace is clearly beautiful.

“You coming in?” he calls out. His ebony hair reflects in hues of blue as his face gets lost in the shadows. His chest is heavily glossed, annunciating his perfect-cut abs.

I cinch a smile in my cheek and wonder how the hell I got so lucky tonight.

“Damn straight, I’m coming in.”

I race down to the waterline and duck behind the shadowy pines, plucking and pulling at my clothes until I’m as naked as the day I was born. My feet grind into the damp soil as I take in the scent of moist earth and the viral perfume of the evergreens. This is a night I want to remember in detail. I want to soak it into each of my senses and make them regurgitate it back to me with a clarity far beyond any memory, so I can live it again and again—Ace and me naked in that black, inky lake.

“Turn around,” I command as I make my way into the open. Once I spot the back of his hair, I tiptoe my way in and seize, confirming the fact this was a piss-poor idea. If my feet are telling the truth, the lake has decided to do its best impression of an Arctic preserve, and we’ve picked a lousy time to reenact the bathing rituals from the Garden of Eden. “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” I whimper as I wade my way over to him.

“Just dive in. It’s worse if you take it slow. Once it hits your middle, you’re just torturing yourself.”

“Says the boy who swore it’s warm as a bath.” I give a little scream as a wave skirts my ribcage.

“It’s warm where I’m standing.”

“That’s because you probably relieved yourself once you got there.”

“No one knows me like you.” Ace glides backward, still facing the other direction. I give a private smile admiring his smooth skin, his shoulders as wide as a door. He starts to turn, and I splash a wall of water at him.

“Don’t even think about it.” A wave slaps me just beneath my shoulders, and I take in a sharp breath.

“Here I come, five, four, three”—he swoops in closer—“two, one.”

I force myself to dip under until the water floats up to my neck, and my body gives a mean shiver, but then a burst of heat rinses over me, and I can breathe again.

“Hey”—I take a few steps out until my feet no longer touch the bottom—“it
is
kind of warm.”

“That’s because I had to take a mean piss.” His dark brows rise as he swoops in closer. “Don’t worry, sweetie”—he blinks a smile—“I only had your best interests at heart.”

“You bastard.” I flick my fingers, squirting him in the face. Ace shakes his head like a wet dog, peppering me with the residue.

“
Lying
bastard would be more accurate. I promise, Reese, I can find far more creative ways to keep you warm, and very few of them involve bodily fluids.” Ace hoods his lids again. His dimples depress as he comes in ever so close. “I think this is the part where we hug it out—or maybe we should make out for the hell of it and call it a night.” A smile tugs on his lips, and it only makes him look that much more achingly beautiful. Ace is a god among men, and he doesn’t even know it.

I pinch my nose and dip under the waterline, relieving my hair of the gravity-defying pose I molded it into earlier.

“Big hair is officially out,” I say, blinking into him.

“I think you just changed the topic.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice.” I move in closer until his chest is within reach, and I wonder if he can see my body from this vantage point—if he wants to.

“I noticed a lot about you tonight.” He swallows hard, taking in my features as if it’s the first time he’s seeing me.

“Like?” I push in an inch, anxious to steal a glance below the water and see his measuring rod for myself.

Ace winces.

We both know we’re dancing a little too close to the flames, and I like it, I’m hoping he likes it too. Ace and I have been friends from the womb, never mind the fact I’ve been secretly crushing on him just as long, but we’ve never stepped outside the bounds of friendship. I hung out with a different crowd in high school, then went straight to Yeats while Ace has spent the last three years at the local junior college.

“Like the fact you’re the only girl I know who can pull off big hair.” His dimples reappear, mocking me with their superpowers. “Your neon leggings were pretty hot, too. I think you should bow to the eighties style gods and revamp your wardrobe.”

“Please”—I hedge in ever so close—“I looked like an escapee from a John Hughes movie.”

“A damn cute one.”

My heart thumps just once when he says it.

“You think I’m cute?” I ask, moving in another few inches. It’s a well-known fact Ace thinks of me more as a little sister than a contender for his endless supply of prophylactics. I should know about the never-ending supply, I’ve seen the testaments to anti-procreation he stashes openly in his bedroom. His sister Neva and I used to be friends until she ditched me for a group of stoner girls. Then, one day, out of the blue, she announced she’s always hated me, and we haven’t said two words since. Now she just gives me the finger in lieu of hello.

“Yeah, I think you’re cute.” He reaches over and messes up my hair, so I slip under again and come up slicked to perfection as only the lake can provide.

I spit a perfect stream of water into his face. “Yeah?” I pant out of breath. “Well, I think you’re
beautiful
.”

“What?” His head ticks back a notch. He’s either genuinely amused or more-than-slightly pissed. Gone is the playful banter as his features soften, affording him a boyishness I’ve never seen in him before.

“You heard me. I think you’re beautiful.” A moment of silence whistles by with the breeze. “And, I think maybe we
should
make out for the hell of it.” My heart races at the prospect of his mouth covering mine—his probing tongue having free roam inside me for hours. I’d give every pint of blood in my body to make this happen. Being dead by morning doesn’t frighten me near as much as living a life in which I’ve never kissed Ace. I’ve wanted it, fantasized about it for years.

“Yeah, right.” He squeezes his eyes tight for a moment as if trying to rouse himself from a dream. “You’re all hopped up on moonlight and night magic and whatever else girls fill their heads with after midnight.” He tips his chin up as he examines me. Water beads down his face. His stubble dusts over his cheeks like a shadow, and my gut cinches just taking him in like this.

The sweet scent of night jasmine perfumes the air and makes me heady for a special kiss that only Ace Waterman can masterfully deliver.

“I’m serious.” I lean forward until I feel the warmth emanating from his chest. Every inch of me trembles with a new level of fear I didn’t know existed. Who knew that deep down inside, Ace is the very thing I’m terrified of. “I want to have a crazy summer”—I reach out and touch my fingers over his glossy hair, soft and slick—“and the last person to give it to me is going to be Warren McCarthy. If I have to hang out with him and the banana republicans until I head back to Yeats, I’m going to fling myself off Wilson Bridge.” I stick my finger down my throat and mock gag at the idea.

Ace ticks his head back a notch and looks at me with the slight air of reproach. Now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure mock gagging only made me look even more like a child in his eyes. The next thing you know, I’ll be leading him into a sparkling conversation about late-night cartoons—maybe challenging him to a game of Candy Land to round out the evening. Just fuck. Way to kill a potential spit swap. I would have paid in solid gold Krugerrands to have his lips pressed against mine for even a brief moment in time.

“I see many flaws with your plan of action.” He sinks until the water is up to his chin. Ace looks up at me as the stars reflect in his eyes, and I marvel at this small miracle. “Not only is Wilson a
covered
bridge, but the water in the stream is a shallow four feet.” His lips twitch. “Blame it on the lousy rainfall we had last year.”