GIN AND JUICE pt 10

The soft light from the street lamps filtered into Shawn’s bedroom through the blinds. Thin strips of light floated across her bare back, broken only by his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. Her head rested on his shoulder, deep, even breaths tickling his chest hair. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he smoothed a lock of sexed hair behind her ear.

He hadn’t slept, had barely breathed. He didn’t want the moment to end and chance forgetting anything. It was the first time in his life that he wanted the light, wanted to etch each second of the night into his long-term memory. He felt so weightless, like he had gotten so used to the burden of his life that when it was lifted—when he watched her fall apart in his arms, when she told him not to wait for her—it was as if not even gravity could keep him on the ground. She, and not the crippling pressure of expectation or the fear of failure, tethered him to the earth now. He was her prisoner, but he’d never felt more free.

He’d only felt roiling nerves three times in his life. The first time was his first start in seventh grade, running out onto the field and feeling his hands go numb. The second was the night that Brian went down and he was expected to step up and lead his team to a winning season seconds after thinking he’d be holding a clipboard for two years. The third was last night.

When she stood there across the bed from him and took her shirt off, when he got to see the unbroken expanse of skin across her stomach and down her arms, when he saw her flush move from her cheeks down to her chest, the butterflies had revolted in his stomach. His face had heated. He felt that first tingling wave of excitement alive on his scalp. He would never have told her that he’d had some variation of this dream repeatedly since he’d met her, and when she cleared her throat, hinting that he should be as undressed as she was, the alarm separating this dream from reality had sounded. This was really happening. She was really there in front of him, half-*****, wanting him to be the same.

He had felt vulnerable in that moment. Getting undressed was easy, but the emotional connection, the draw toward her, knowing that what he had wanted most in that moment was to be with her, all of her, just skin-to-skin, heartbeat-to-heartbeat, made him feel flayed and raw. So much of the night had been a series of knives opening him further to her—admitting she was a ****** and the anticipatory disappointment that had been plastered on her face, even though he’d already guessed her secret. Her chest pressed against his, cradled in his arms as she whispered his name coming down from her ecstatic high.

But it was the final blow, the moment when he pulled out and she whimpered, when she felt the loss of his body as keenly as he felt the loss of hers, that laid him bare. He had felt something break inside him, the sound of ragged metal and chains echoing in his ears, but her body, her soul, had been there to pick up the pieces. He trusted her to keep them safe.

She stirred beneath his fingers. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking and bleary with sleep. “Hi,” she smiled, stretching her arms above her head and rendering him speechless. She winced. Shawn felt her legs tense, toes curling and thighs pressing together against some invisible resistance.

“Are you sore?” he asked, his question met with a deep blush on her cheeks. She nodded her head and buried her face in his shoulder. He smiled wide and pushed the hair out of her face, taking her chin between his fingers, lifting her head to his. She fought him, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Hey, why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m…” she started, bringing her fingers to his chest and running them through the fine hair in the center, avoiding his eyes by focusing on her hands, “I’m sorry I couldn’t…that you had to…alone…I wanted t–.” When he realized what she was saying, that she was apologizing for not coming with him at the end, he couldn’t help himself from attacking her mouth with his.

She was startled at first, her eyes widening from the force of his kiss, but she quickly settled, melted, into his arms and closed her eyes. He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down gently, pulling the most beautiful moan from her, low vibrations rattling against his chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, finding purchase on the nape of his neck, forcing him closer, opening her mouth to him. Hands were everywhere—his gliding down her back, hers pressing into his shoulders. He was just about to settle them on her hips when a loud screech sounded from his nightstand.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling away from her to shut off his alarm, “I have to be at practice in an hour and a half.” He laid flat on his back and scrubbed his face with one hand, willing his semi to go away, not helped by the fingers on his other hand subconsciously still brushing her skin. He peeked at her, hair spread out on the sheets and looking back at him, a flush on her cheeks like an angel that he’d single-handedly corrupted and convinced to fall from heaven just for him. An idea swirled in his head and he could already feel the blush creeping up his neck. He needed to get it out before he lost his nerve, “hey, I have to take a shower before I leave, would you, uhh…would you want to take one too? At the same time? In the same shower?”

She giggled furiously at his bumbling invitation, “you want me to take a shower with you?”

“Only if you want to,” he rushed to say, not willing to admit how crushed he’d be if she said no. She thought about it for a moment, seeming to weigh the difference between a shower and the events of last night. She sat up and covered her face with her hands, mumbling something that sounded like yes through them, but couldn’t be sure. The corners of his mouth quirked up, reaching out and taking one of her hands in his and placing a soft kiss on her bare shoulder, “was that a yes?”

“Yes,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his, “I want to.” He leapt from the bed and watched her go redder than ever, seeing him fully ***** in the morning light now pouring through the windows. Stalking over to the bathroom door, making sure to show her every physical asset he had on the way, he called out behind him, “just take your time, meet me in here when you’re ready.”

Shawn turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower, the steam rising. Listening intently, too tense waiting for her to appreciate the hot water hitting his tired muscles, he finally heard the door open and close, her soft feet padding across the bathroom rug. She pushed the shower curtain aside and he held her hand, her delicate toes testing the water before stepping in. Her hair was up, a wavy mess on top of her head, leaving her neck exposed to him.

They couldn’t seem to keep their hands to themselves. The water only served to add another layer of touch, exacerbating the sensory overload. They were drunk on each other. While the kinesthetic nerd in him knew that the feelings he felt were just a response to the chemical cocktail of serotonin and adrenaline coursing through his body, he couldn’t help but feel something else, something deeper, something he’d never felt before.

Taking turns washing each other, hands lingered in places that elicited moans and mouths left marks that others weren’t likely to see. After they were clean, they just stood under the hot spray and looked at each other until the water ran cold. He made mental notes in his head about the single freckle just below the swell of her right ******, her outie belly button, and the untamed baby hairs that stuck to her forehead in the humidity. She committed to memory the S-shaped curl that hung in his face, the way his left eye slumped a little when he was tired, the long scar on his lower abdomen from a surgery long healed. These were all imperfections too small to see last night in the dark, in the heat of the moment, but now, in the fluorescent light of Shawn’s bathroom, they glared, and it was these imperfections that made each of them perfect to the other.

He turned off the water and grabbed two fresh towels. He wrapped one around her middle, fingers lingering at the edge of it, brushing slowly across her warm skin. She grabbed his hand to still it, and took the other towel from him. Delicately, she wrapped his waist in the soft terry cotton, then, catching him off-guard, she dipped her head and kissed the scar on his lower abdomen on the right side.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” she asked rhetorically, tugging on the wet curl that hung in his face. He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his mouth, leaving a chaste kiss behind. Leading her back into the bedroom, he pulled out a sweatshirt that was too small for him and handed it to her.

“If we keep going like this, I’m going to have half your wardrobe at my dorm,” she said, a hint of mirth in her voice. He was happy to keep going like this. He’d buy new clothes if it meant she went back to her dorm smelling like him. He’d give her a drawer if it meant she kept sleeping in his bed. He smirked at her, “are you inviting me to sleep at your place so I can steal my clothes back?”

“Shawn! You know we can’t,” she slapped his bicep playfully, keeping it there and squeezing a little, “first, no boys after midnight. Second, Caroline. Third, there is no possible way I could sneak you in and out without anyone seeing us. People on my floor cannot know that I’m seeing Shawn Mendes. It would be an utterly fucked disaster.” Her breath hitched, like the thought of them being together out in the open was physically painful. He pretended that it didn’t feel like a kick in the stomach.

“So, you’re seeing me, eh?” he deflected, needing to focus on the positive, the silver lining, because if he had his way, he’d shout his feelings into the PA at the stadium on gameday. She looked down, pausing with just one leg in her jeans, “I mean, is that okay? Was it too forward?”

“I mean, it depends on what you mean by seeing,” he reasoned, holding back a smirk, pulling on a pair of underwear, “I’m seeing you right now, half-***** in my bedroom…but…do you want to be my girlfriend?” He turned around to grab his favorite sweats and put them on while she mulled over his question. When he looked at her again, she was still in the same position, “babe, one of your legs is going to get very cold outside like that.”

“Oh, right,” she quickly tugged her jeans up both of her legs, looking flustered and out of breath even though she hadn’t moved in several minutes, “I mean, of course I want to be your girlfriend…it just has to be between us, okay?” He nodded, grinning so hard he could feel the corners of his eyes crinkle. He would be in her life any way she let him, even if it was secret, it was enough for now.

They finished dressing in silence, occasionally stealing glances, unable to keep the stupid smiles off their faces. When she pulled on his sweatshirt, he grabbed it by the center pocket and hauled her into his chest. His scent was all over her, on her body and in his clothes, it was the closest thing to a public ‘fuck off’ sign as he could get without tattooing his name on her. Even if she wouldn’t walk with him to class or hold his hand outside these walls, he would stake his claim in ways that not even she recognized.

When she was ready to go, Shawn walked her downstairs, her hand in his. Halfway down, he could hear low whispers in the kitchen. He turned back to her and raised his pointer finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. At the door, he opened it as quietly as possible, and ushered her out. Taking her hand just as she passed him, he drew her back to him and caught her lips in one last kiss, pouring everything he wanted to tell her but knew would scare her away into her mouth. He closed his eyes as he pulled away and took her face between his hands, bringing her forehead to his lips. She was itching to move, afraid to be seen, and he could feel the tension building underneath his fingers. He whispered his goodbye against her skin and let her go.

He closed the door before he had to watch her flee out into the open, terrified that someone would find out she was here with him. Walking into the kitchen, he found Zubin and Mike hanging out and eating around the kitchen island. They both stopped talking as soon as he walked in, a suspicious occurrence seeing as neither of them could ever shut the **** up.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it from either of you,” Shawn warned, opening a cabinet to grab a bowl to pour some muesli into. They both burst out laughing, unable to stand the roiling tension that had filled the kitchen when he walked in. Their laughter was infectious and Shawn couldn’t help but crack a smile, releasing the tension that he’d absorbed from her before she ran from his porch. Mike walked over and clapped him on the shoulder, “so, dude, who is she?”

“Like I would fucking tell you two assholes,” he countered, knowing that if he uttered even a breath of her to them, they’d be on watch. Zubin snorted behind him, “it’s her isn’t it? The girl I saw you with the other day?”

“Zu, I fucking told you not to mention that shit ever again, do you want my fist in your fucking face?” Shawn warned, narrowing his eyes at both of them. “Look, she’s off limits. She’s not my speed dial pity **** or whatever the **** Brian has been spreading like the snake bastard he is.”

“Woah, bro, okay,” Mike raised his hands, “we’ll back off, damn.” They traded meaningful looks as Shawn shoved cereal with alarming speed into his mouth, keeping his anger in check. He drained the bowl and threw it into the sink, “if you fuckers want a ride to practice, I’m leaving.”

They all piled into Shawn’s Wrangler and rode to practice in relative silence apart from Mike pointing out some girl running like the letch he was. Making the turn into the stadium parking lot, the path was blocked by several media trucks, camera equipment strung out on the pavement and people milling about with microphones.

“Oh, ****. Is it a media day?” he asked, forgetting that he had missed a couple of practices and team announcements since he’d leveled Brian. They finally made it to the team lot and Shawn saw the big banner with MEDIA DAY printed on it over a press check-in table. He wasn’t prepared for this with everything going on. There were going to be so many questions about his half-game suspension. Shit.

They filed into the locker room and changed into the Media Day-approved athletic outfit and hustled out to the field. Coach waved Shawn over, standing next to the table with a huge MENDES sign on it. He grimaced. This was going to be his prison for the next four hours, plastering a fake smile on his face and answering the same five questions.

“How are you feeling, Mendes?” Coach asked with just a little tension in his voice, “we need to go over how you’re going to answer questions about the bench situation.” He leaned his head down and whispered, “okay, no one needs to know about the violence and Brian won’t be talking to press today, so don’t worry about him. The agreed upon story is that you sprained your wrist minorly in practice and we’re taking the half off as a precaution. If it checks out at halftime, you’ll go in, no problem.”

“Okay, Coach,” Shawn said, nodding in understanding, “but, shouldn’t I be wearing some sort of brace?” Coach’s eyes widened, waving over the sports medicine aid and barking orders, “I need an ACE bandage. Wrap his right wrist.”

The aid was nervous and shook slightly wrapping Shawn’s wrist, not understanding why she was doing something that wasn’t necessary. She finished her job efficiently, going so far as to double wrap it for extra support. Shawn made eye contact with her before she left, making her blush like so many other girls did when they looked at him, “thank you.” Hoping his sincerity would bind her mouth shut, he waved as she nodded and scurried away.

He took his place behind the table and waited as reporters filed onto the field like ants, waiting for their moment with him. Shawn wasn’t stupid, he knew that all of these people were only really there to see him, to ask him about the Heisman race, to talk about his “injury,” and a shot at a national championship that he may have ruined last week. He rested his wrist on the table in front of him, making it clearly visible to anyone who looked his way.

An hour in and he’d already answered fifty-seven variations of “are you going to be able to play on Saturday.” He really fucking hated media days. They made him want a drink. They made him want to be anything other than what he was. They made him want her. The pieces of himself that had broken, that he was trusting her with, rattled from somewhere far away from him. I wonder what she’s doing right now?

“Excuse me?” He forcibly ripped himself from his daydream and returned his attention to the girl in front of him, fixing his face with his interview smile. Her press badge identified her as a student reporter from the university paper. She cleared her throat when he looked at her, “hi, my name is Molly and I’m working on a profile for the student paper. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure, Molly,” he smirked, surprised at her ability to keep her cool in front of him, “that’s why we’re both here.” He sat back and waited for her to ask the usual personal questions: I understand you were born in Canada, how did you get into football? What would it mean to you to win the Heisman? What is your favorite color? All that boring shit.

She chewed her pen cap and studied her list of questions, seemingly trying to work up the nerve to ask him something that might not have been on the list of approved topics. His curiosity was piqued, cocking his head and staring at her, daring her to ask what she really wanted to. When he heard her whisper “fuck it,” to herself, he braced for impact.

“So, Shawn,” she looked him dead in the eye, “do you have a girlfriend?”

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***