As he finished changing into a sweatshirt with the name and emblem of Pinecrest Academy, I sat on a chair at his desk, secretively looking for some small memento to pilfer.
“We should go into Pittsburgh. I want you to meet my sister, Holly,” Everett said with sudden enthusiasm.
“We could take the train,” I suggested. “I’ve done that a few times. It’s only, like, an hour.”
“So, how about Saturday?” Everett pressed.“To visit your sister.” “That’s not the point, brainiac.” Everett softly punched my shoulder. “We can be alone together; spend the night. Together.”
As all the concocted plans ran through my head, I failed to notice that I was being casually seduced by my host.
Everett had turned on his stereo, preset with a small stack of LPs. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors began to play. He flopped down on his bed, bounced up once while scooting to one side, patted the other, coaxing me to join him like some newly trained pet.
Glancing down at the damp remnants of melted snow at my pants cuffs, I remembered that he did have a housekeeper, after all, and with an attempted gesture of élan, I plopped myself down beside him.
I didn’t want to force myself on him again. But after a few minutes of the both of us simply staring at the ceiling, our legs and elbows touching, Stevie Nick’s nasal voice warning that ‘players only love you when they’re playing,’ I did.
Leaning up and over, I brought my lips to his, and with equal abruptness, Everett’s face and mine collided. A chuckle, a lip wipe with tongues, and our mouths slurped together like sea anemones.