Dedication Takes a Lifetime

I rolled over with a frustrated groan and looked at my Blackberry; it was almost four in the morning. I’d taken my quick shower and laid down around 2:45, but like the previous two nights, sleep was not coming easily. I stretched out and heard my stomach give a little grumble; a midnight snack was definitely in order.

I kicked off the blanket, careful not to disturb Kal’s sleeping form, and padded my way to the kitchen. I think me + kitchen + middle of the night = jinxed, because there was Alex Gaskarth again, sitting on the kitchen table with his back to me, still shirtless after all this time. I thought about turning and running back to the room again, but the rumbling in my stomach refused and I was forced to circle around the table to get to the refrigerator. From the front, I could see that he had a bulky dishtowel pressed to his stomach, biting his lip in pain.

“You okay?” I asked quietly, getting his attention. His eyes snapped up and he nodded slightly, looked back down at the bruise. I retrieved a Smuckers PB&J pie from the refrigerator and tore the plastic off, taking a bite. “You still going to the doctor today?”

“Yeah,” he said, and his voice had an unfamiliar softness to it. “I suppose I’d better.” He looked up again, and his eyes were pure and sincere, “Thanks for helping. Earlier, I mean. Even though I couldn’t have been more ungrateful.”

I shrugged, “It’s not a big deal. I take care of people; it’s what I do.”

He nodded wordlessly, then silence fell over us. It wasn’t really awkward, as I assumed it would be. It was more a mutual understanding that there wasn’t anything to discuss at this early hour, so I finished my sandwich as he nursed his wounds, then opened a bottle of water to wash away the sticky peanut butter from the back of my throat.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” His voice surprised me, almost making me spit out my gulp of water. I swallowed and looked at him; he wasn’t looking at me.

“What’s that?”

He put down the dishtowel and slid into a standing position in front of me. “Last November,” he finally raised his head to look at me, expression unreadable now in the darkness. “When we first met, and we were on the tour bus; do you remember that?”

How could I not? That was the night when he’d told me I would never make it. That was the night that started all of this. All I could do was nod.

He inhaled deeply, taking a step forward, “We kissed. Do you remember that?”

I gulped. “I, uh, tried to forget.”

He grinned crookedly at this, “Why?” He took another step forward, mere centimeters away from me now, “You know, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since that night. That was…probably the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” What was he saying to me?!

He nodded, reaching up to brush back a strand of my hair and then draw a finger down my jaw. “And seeing you again--having you stay in my house--has been, honestly,” he chuckled wryly, “Driving me a little crazy.”

I rolled my eyes knowingly and provided, “Because you hate me.”

He shook his head and amended, “Because I want you.”

Pause, rewind, play. Turn the volume up again. What?

“Alex,” my voice, to my mortification, came out a little strained, “What’re you--”

“I don’t know how to put it more clearly,” he said with a smirk. Then tilted his head, “Oh wait, yes I do.” Before I knew it, his hand had cupped the back of my neck and pulled me to him, pressing his lips to mine roughly.

The first time Alex and I had kissed, it had been slow and sweet; gentle and intimate. This was more rushed and fierce, as if he was a drowning man and I was his only source of oxygen.

And I should have pushed him away. I should have said no. I should have rationalized and realized that this would only get me hurt again.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I weaved my fingers through his hair and pulled his head closer to mine, kissing him back despite my better judgment. I stepped in closer, pressing my body against his, arching into the kiss. Every inch of the fronts of our bodies made contact, and I felt like I’d been electrocuted as my nerves all came to life at the same time. Alex must have felt it too, because he gasped a little, much to my satisfaction, and I slipped my tongue into his mouth, introducing it to his.

Alex’s hands rested on either of my hips and jerked them forward, pressing them to his own and holding them there. His arousal was apparent in this position, and it only served to increase mine. There was a burning feeling in the pit of my stomach that said I had to be closer to him. Now. I had to have more.

My hands trailed down his back, digging my nails in out of urgency. He broke free of my lips and started trailing warm kisses down my jaw, to my ear, to my neck. He pressed me against the refrigerator, lips, tongue, and teeth making busy work of the sensitive juncture between my jaw and my earlobe. I gasped, a tiny moan escaping my throat as I wrapped one of my legs around his waist, trapping him against me.

“Alex,” I said breathlessly, literally shaking in anticipation of things to come. My brain was shutting down; my more primal senses taking completely control. “A-Alex,” I barely managed, “Bedroom.” Two-syllable word. Impressive.

He took my hint, wrapping one hand behind the only knee still holding my body up and lifted it so that both of my legs were wrapped around him. His arms supported me around the waist and he carefully made his way toward the staircase, lips still moving against my skin while my hands moved to touch anything and everything I could from my position.

When we made it successfully to the bedroom, Alex lowered me slowly to the bed and I moved until my head was rested against the pillows. He leaned down, supporting himself on his hands and knees over me and pressing his lips to mine again. I wrapped my hands around his biceps, silently begging him to make contact again. He obliged, lowering himself even more so that his full body length was pressed against mine, skin flushed hot against mine. I hooked a leg over his back and flipped us so that I was on top, straddling him, looking down. I held his face in my hands and kissed him, biting his bottom lip and running my hands over his exposed chest. He moaned with volume against my lips and I couldn’t help but smile, kissing him harder.

“I want to touch you.” I felt his words more than I heard them, and I shivered when his calloused hands worked their way under the hem of my pajama tank top, moving slowly upward, tracing patterns into my skin as we continued to kiss. It took a painfully long time for his hands to finally reach their destination, but once they did I wasn’t complaining. They covered my breasts gently, his thumbs running over the most sensitive area and I broke away to groan in satisfaction against his neck. In one quick, fluid motion, he’d managed to take my shirt off and flip us so that he was on top again. He began pressing moist kissed down my neck, then across my collarbones and the valley between my breasts, then down across my stomach and my sides. Then he came back up, his bare torso brushing against mine, making me even more impatient to put the deed in motion.

My trembling hands traveled lower until they were at the waistband of his flannel pajama bottoms, and I slipped my thumbs underneath, running them over the skin there. His breath quickened even more and I could see his elbows shaking. Slowly, teasingly, I began pushing the fabric down, desperate for contact.

He ran his tongue over my ear and then whispered, “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes,” I said immediately, breathlessly. Any rationale I had once possessed was gone now, and this--him--was the only thing I wanted. He made a noise of pleasure and aided me in ridding himself of the pajama pants. Then his hands came up and pushed my shorts down with urgency that matched my own.

Then he was over me, breathing heavy against me, poised and ready at my entrance. I was already trembling so hard in anticipation that I was actually afraid I might finish before he even got started.

“Are you ready?” He asked, brushing back my hair again.

I smiled at him, “I am.” Then he opened his mouth.

And he started to sing.

“I was born to two immigrants who knew
Why they were here
They were happy to pay taxes for the schools and roads
Happy to be here
They took it seriously, the second job of citizenry
My mother went campaigning, door to door
And holding to her hand was me”

“Hrmph?” My eyes snapped open and I lifted my face out of the pillow it was buried in, groping for my phone in the darkness. “Hullo?”

“Annette, sweetheart,” my mother’s voice floated through. “Did I wake you?”

I sat up and looked around the room. I was alone, Kal nowhere to be seen; she hadn‘t been to bed at all, apparently, and I wondered if that meant she stayed the night with Jack. And according to my phone it was close to six in the morning. And Alex…

“Annette?” Mom’s voice was concerned now, and I realized I hadn’t answered yet.

“Uh,” I shook my head to clear it, “Yeah, I was.”

“Are you all right, sweetie?”

“Yeah,” I repeated. “Just, um,” I ran a hand through my messy hair, pressing my palm to my chest, “Weird dreams.”

She made a sympathetic noise, “I’m sorry, sweetie.” We talked for a little while longer, with me filling her in on how the first two shows had gone and when I would be back. I tried to be as descriptive and attentive as possible, but I was too distracted.

When we finally said goodbye, I dropped the phone and brought my knees up to my chest, running my fingers over my lips.

I swear, I could still feel Alex’s lips against mine. Was it possible to have a memory of something that never actually happened?