Closing Night High Ch. 02

Shit.

"Eric, is that you?" I ask the shadow standing by my front door. Before tonight, I would've automatically assumed it was my best friend camped out on my porch, but after what Caleb told me about Jeff, I can't help feeling jittery. It's been a year since Jeff tried going after me, but I only found out about it a few hours ago, so it's fresh in my mind, even if it isn't fresh in his. Plus, it's after 1:30 am, so, really, what the hell is anyone doing here?

"Duh, Em." Whew! That's definitely Eric. "Why? Were you expecting someone else? Someone like... Caleb Turner?"

Oh. I take that whew back. What to say, what to say...

Nope. I've got nothing—mostly because, well, how could he possibly know about me and Caleb? Eric was at the party, and Caleb and I were alone in an empty building. Weren't we?

"What are you talking about, Eric?" I ask innocently, though playing stupid probably isn't the best move here. He knows something, and he knows that I know he knows something. Plus, I may be an actress, but I can't lie for shit—especially not to my best friend.

"Oh, so you don't remember being practically naked in his tattooed arms and carried through the halls? I, for one, will never forget."

My mouth opens and closes about fifty times. I keep hoping sound will come out at some point, but my mental engine has completely stalled. I know I'm supposed to form words and construct sentences with them, but that's asking way too much of me right now.

Eric starts cracking up.

"The look on your face right now is priceless," he tells me. He must decide he needs to capture it for posterity—or maybe future blackmail attempts—because, before I know what he's doing, he's got his phone out, and a bright flash is blinding me. Totally not helping my ability to process what's going on here. "I don't know why you're being so shy about this. You know that if I were in your shoes, I'd be writing an erotic Twitter novel about it. Sure, I was worried when you never answered my calls and texts, but I get it, Em. I really get it," he says with conspiratorial smirk.

I groan and sink down onto the porch swing. Eric plops himself next to me and starts pushing us back and forth. "How—When did—How much did you—" I stammer out, looking at him in helpless disbelief. Sentences are still a struggle, but at least I've got a handle on some vowels and consonants, even if they don't make much sense.

"Come on, Em. You didn't really think I'd go to the party without you, did you?" In the midst of the crazy whirlwind that was this night, I hadn't even considered it. But I wouldn't have gone, either, if he'd been the one with a stain on his dress. "After I grabbed a shower at home, I picked us up a couple Happy Meals and was going to keep you company. Imagine my shock when I discovered someone beat me to it."

That smirk is still plastered on his face, annoying the shit out of me.

"You can stop looking at me like that, any time now," I say, petulant as hell. I'd really wanted these particular beans to remain unspilled, at least for a few days.

"Don't you get pissy with me, young lady. I'm the wronged friend in this situation."

"Huh?" I ask, because... huh?

"I can't tell if you're still playing dumb or if I've been overestimating your intelligence all these years."

"Neither, jackass. Look—I am so, so sorry that I scared you, and I really would have loved that Happy Meal, but I don't get how I wronged you."

"Seriously?" he asks, as if it should be obvious. "Why would you keep a secret this huge from me? How long has it been going on?" He looks down, shaking his head. "All joking aside, Em, I'm hurt you didn't think you could trust me with this."

He really sounds it, too. At least I get it, now. He's under the impression that Caleb and I have been at this for a while, instead of just a few hours.

"No, no—you've got it all wrong, Eric. Tonight was the first time—"

"Bullshit," he throws back at me. "There is no way that the Emilie I know went from barely talking to a guy one minute to wrapping her naked body around him the next."

"I wasn't naked!" I say to defend myself. "Yet."

"Jesus, Em. You need to start talking."

I take a deep breath and start from the beginning. When I get to the part where I fall out of the bathroom stall and onto the floor, Eric roars with laughter. I get to laugh about it, too, now that everything has turned out so damn amazing. At the time, it felt like a level of mortification never to be recovered from.

Then I tell him about wearing Caleb's t-shirt, his hands on my leg as he cleaned off the blood, his confessions, and that first, explosive kiss.

"And get this—then he said, 'This is the last place I'd choose for what I'm about to do to you,' and—oh my god—his voice was so raspy and sexy! I'm getting chills all over again, just remembering how he sounded." I close my eyes and take a moment to bask in all the yummy feelings flooding my system. Opening them back up, I go on, "And then he lifted me up and walked us out of the bathroom and—well, I guess that's when you saw us, huh?"

Eric is looking at me like I sprouted ten extra tits. Jeez. I haven't even gotten to the good stuff, yet! Let's see how scandalized he gets when I tell him the rest.

"Then he took us to the tech room, and we got naked and did stuff on the big table."

Eric blinks and licks his lips before asking in a breathy voice, "What kinda stuff?"

Remembering Caleb's request that I not share details, I keep it simple. "Oh, you know, the usual. I sucked his cock, and he ate my pussy. I had two orgasms, and he blew his load all over me," I say, waving it off like it was nothing. "But that's not even the best part."

Eric looks stunned for a second before he shakes it off, and his eyes grow wide with excitement. "You had sex with him?"

"Nah, not yet." I can't help pouting when I say that. I really could have gone for the sex tonight.

"Then what the hell could be better than what you already did?" Then his face lights up. "Oo—did he say, 'You should totally invite your friend Eric to join us'?"

"Uh, sorry to kick your puppy, but no. The best part is that this isn't just a one night thing. Caleb and I are... Ok, so we don't have an official title, but we're definitely a thing." That right there, for me, is worth more than all the orgasms in the world. Caleb can feel free to keep those orgasms coming, though. Pun fully intended.

Immediately, Eric's expression flips from shock and admiration to concern, making my stomach drop. I take a mental inventory of the words I just said, and they all sounded great to me, so I don't get it.

"Em..." he starts slowly, making me super nervous, "are you sure you know what you're doing? Hooking up with a hot older man is one thing, but playing at a relationship with one? What would he even want with an eighteen-year-old girl, anyway—besides the obvious?"

And just like that, I come crashing down from my high. The word "playing" rings painfully in my ears.

"Wow, Eric. Please, don't hold anything back," I spit back at him, and I can feel anger rising inside me. Disappointment clogs my throat, making it hard to speak around the threat of tears. At this point, I just want to end this conversation and get some sleep.

"I just don't want you to get—"

"Don't even say hurt, Eric," I interrupt, seething. "Can't you just be my friend right now? Can't you just be happy for me?" I'm practically begging him. I don't want to walk away when I'm still pissed, but my emotions have been all over the place since the show ended, and my control over them is slipping more and more by the second.

"No. I don't think I can—not without knowing more about him, and not without knowing what his motives are." I can hear the concern in his voice, and normally I'd appreciate it, but right now, I can't stand listening to another word.

"How can you say that?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice down. "You know everything about me, and you love me, right?"

Crap. The tears are starting to spill over now, despite my trying desperately to hold them back. Salty little fuckers.

"Of course, I love you, Em."

"Then why is it so hard to believe that Caleb could have feelings for me?" I stand up, wipe off the tears that have leaked onto my cheeks, and suck in a deep breath. "You know what? Never mind. I need to go to bed," I say, opening my front door and officially ending the discussion.

Eric stays on the swing, not moving, just watching me go. "I'll see you for strike tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. I'll see you then," I say and then step inside, quietly shut the door, and lean back against it. My tears can now do whatever the fuck they want.

* * * * *

As soon as I'm in my bedroom, I start to relax. This is my safe space, where the rest of the world's crap doesn't exist. My walls are painted a light canary yellow, and everything else—the furniture, my ultra fluffy comforter, and the big wishy decals on either side of my bed—is white. Everything about this room is airy and bright, and my mood automatically lifts whenever I step foot in it. Nothing bad can touch me here.

I shake off the ugliness from the porch and change into my favorite pajamas—a matching peach sleep shorts and tank top set—because when I'm feeling like shit, it helps to look cute and put together, even if no one else is going to see me. I climb into bed, reach over to turn out my lamp, and close my eyes. My brain and body were ready for sleep an hour ago, so it's not long before I drift off.

What feels like five seconds later, the sound of my phone vibrating on my nightstand wakes me. I figure it's Eric, hoping to smooth out the new wrinkle between us. It's not Eric, though. My heartbeat kicks up a few notches as soon as I see the word "Yours" on the screen.

Caleb. He was the one who programmed his number in my phone, so this is him saying... he's mine?

In that moment, I realize that I'm his, too.

Why I'm so nervous about answering the call is beyond me. I guess I don't want to appear needy or clingy by wanting to talk to him again so soon. But—duh—he's the one calling me. Answer the phone, you idiot.

Trembling with excitement, I swipe right.

"Hi," I say, dumbly.

"Are you ok, babe?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. There's that 'babe' word again. My thighs clench together at the feelings it stirs up in me.

"Kind of. Why?"

"I texted you thirty minutes ago to make sure you made it home safe. I got worried when I didn't hear back from you."

Aw! He's so sweet. It's nice that I now have two men in my life who care enough to make sure I'm not dead in a ditch. I mean, I'm sure my dad cares, too, but he doesn't count.

"Wait—what do you mean, you're 'kind of' ok?"

I guess now's as good a time as any to drop this little bomb. "Eric saw us."

There's a long pause—something he does a lot, I've noticed—before he asks, "What exactly did Eric see, and when did he see it?"

"He saw you carrying me down the hall, you know, when you were shirtless... and I was less a lot of things."

"And what did he have to say about that?" he asks, cautiously.

My lip trembles as I try to downplay Eric's reaction. "He was fine with it, he just—" I break off to swallow the lump in my throat. "He has concerns."

"What did he say to you, Em?" Caleb growls, sounding as angry now as I did on the porch. I don't want him mad at Eric, though. That's my job.

"It's nothing," I tell him, choking back a small sob.

"It's not nothing, babe. You wouldn't be crying if it was nothing."

I take a moment to rein in my sadness. I don't want him thinking I'm some teenage drama queen—which, ok, I technically am, but still. "It'll be fine, Caleb. Eric and I will talk tomorrow, and everything will get worked out." At least, I hope so.

Another long pause. Will these ever not be frustrating as hell? Finally, he says, "Look out your window."

Wait—what?

I slide out of bed, walk to the bay window of my first floor bedroom, and freeze in surprise. Caleb is sitting casually on a chair in my back yard, about ten feet away from me, his phone to his ear. With the hand not holding anything, he crooks a couple fingers, beckoning me. I point to my chest and ask, "Me?" because my need for sleep has apparently smothered all common sense with its neglected pillow.

Caleb chuckles into the phone, and it's a deep, warm sound that gives me goosebumps. "No," he says, "I was asking your teddy bear to come join me." I look behind me and groan at the sight of all my stuffed animals lined up on a shelf. Could I be more of a child? Maybe Eric's right—maybe it really doesn't make sense that a grown man would want a relationship with an eighteen-year-old girl.

Then something occurs to me. "How do you know where I live?" I ask, looking at him through the glass.

"Is that important?" he says, with one eyebrow cocked. Oh, how I wish I could cock my eyebrow... and now I've thought the word 'cock' two—now, three—times, and I'm staring at Caleb, who has a phenomenal—"Get out here, Em," he orders, effectively cutting off my dirty-thought spiral.

"Ok," I squeak and end the call. Using the back door is out of the question—the hinges make too much noise and would alert my parents to my deviant behavior—so I opt for sneaking out my window. Caleb stalks toward me as I swing my legs around. The moment my feet hit the stone patio, he grabs me by the waist and crushes my body against the stucco wall. With one hand on the back of my head, he captures my mouth in a desperate kiss. His soft, heated lips open mine, so that our tongues can touch and tangle with each other.

My body is on fire in an instant. Every inch of me is hungry for more, so I hook a leg around one of his thighs to grind myself harder on his stiff cock. My hips rock wildly against him, and he encourages them with the strong hand gripping my ass possessively. I reach around to his back and slide my hands under his shirt, needing to feel his smooth skin and hard muscles without anything in my way. I'm getting dizzy from the sudden rush of arousal. One thought does break through the thick haze of lust, though—I am so freaking glad I put on my cute PJs.

His lips leave mine, and I whimper. He trails kisses across my cheek to my ear, then takes the lobe between his teeth and tugs, sending a lightning bolt of pleasure crashing through me.

His body forces mine further into the wall, so I'm unable to keep moving the way I want to. It allows me to catch my breath as he begins to stroke my hair, and I close my eyes to focus on the sensation of this sweet gesture, letting him soothe me. With his mouth still at my ear, I shiver when warm breath kisses my skin as he whispers, "I can't stand that you were crying, Em. The sadness in your voice was killing me."

He gathers my hair in his hand and pulls, tilting my head back to get better access to my throat. As he licks and nibbles down my neck, stopping to torture the sensitive skin just above my shoulder, his other hand leaves my ass and makes its way up my body and under my top. It comes to rest on my side, over my ribs, and he grazes my hardened nipple with his thumb. I gasp in pleasure and dig my fingernails into his back, no doubt leaving unmistakable red marks there. The idea of branding him is a surprising turn on for me. I'll have to remember to check out my handiwork later.

My hands claw at his fevered skin as they move from his back to his front, so they can work on getting his jeans undone. The hand in my hair swiftly reaches down to wrap around both of mine. What the fuck?

"Ugh!" I huff in frustration. "You promised me you'd never stop me from doing that again, Caleb. If you're breaking promises this early on, how can I ever trust you?" Ok, so it's not as serious as all that, but I'm not above manipulating him to get what I want.

His large hand shackles my small wrists, and he lifts them over my head to pin them against the wall. The stucco digs into my skin, and that little bite of pain adds a whole new dimension to my pleasure. I squirm against his hold on me, even though the last thing I want right now is to break free.

His lips move to just a fraction of an inch from mine, and his thumb presses harder as it plays with my nipple. I moan louder than I should if I want us to stay undiscovered.

"Shh... Em, I need this. I need to make you feel better," Caleb begs. "Please. Will you let me?"

There is no other answer but, "Yes," and his lips crash into mine as soon as I say the word. The passion between us so overwhelming, it takes my breath away.

Before I realize it, he's untying my shorts with his free hand and slipping it inside. His long fingers glide over my wetness until they're coated in it. One slips quickly inside me, and he shushes me again, before I can make the noise that's now trapped in my throat. He releases my hands, so I grab him by the back of his neck and pull his mouth back down to mine—partly to mute my sounds of pleasure, but mostly because I can't stand the thought of not kissing him right now.

He begins to slide his finger in and out of me, and then a second joins the first, stroking the walls of my wet pussy. I clench around them, loving the invasion. His digits are thick and long—rough and calloused from years of hard work—and so deep inside of me. He starts fucking me brutally with them, pumping harder and harder, and my juices leak out onto his hand and down my inner thighs.

My arousal has been in overdrive since the moment he pushed me to the wall, so it doesn't take my body long before it's ready to let go. Caleb crooks his fingers again—this time inside of me—and I go off like a firecracker, even though he never once touched my clit. I scream out moan after moan into his unrelenting mouth, as his fingers continue to draw out my orgasm inside my convulsing cunt.

When I have nothing left in me, I slump against him. He slowly removes his fingers, and my glazed eyes watch in awe as he licks them clean. He looks so satisfied, even though he wouldn't let me touch him. He wraps me in an embrace so tight, it feels like he's trying to feed me some of his strength. I hold him back, just as tightly, soaking up as much as I can.

After a while, I let go a little and tilt my head back to look at him. It's so dark out here that the blue in his stormy eyes looks the color of midnight. I hold his beautiful face in my hands, one of my thumbs stroking his full lower lip, and let him know, "I'm yours."

* * * * *

Set strike begins at ten o'clock the morning after closing night, and it's mandatory for all cast and crew. Our high school is famous for its large productions and elaborate sets, and all that has to come down in one day. Takes a lot of hands.

It's always hard to see something I've grown so attached to get torn apart piece by piece, but it's also a shitload of fun. It's the one day I'm actually encouraged to wield a power drill! Makes a girly girl like me feel pretty badass. Tools tend to become dangerous weapons in my hands, though, so I leave them alone the other 364 days of the year.

Caleb told me last night that he'll be at the school by nine o'clock, so of course I plan to be, too. Sure, I could use that extra hour to catch up on some of the sleep I missed last night—what with all the making out and finger fucking going on—but I'd much rather use it to spend more time with my amazing, new— Um... Yeah, we'll have to work on that title thing.

I'm running late, though. Hey—you try putting together a hot-weather, hard-work outfit that's both practical and adorable! I need to be able to protect my feet from treacherous stray nails and hold a sexy older guy's attention at the same time. I end up going with a tiny pair of distressed denim cutoff shorts and my pink "I Wish My Life Was a Musical" midriff t-shirt, which leaves a good six inches of my stomach exposed. On my feet, I've got my dark brown Tims and frilly white socks. Mission totally accomplished.