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A Perfect Wreck Mila Crawford, Aria Cole 2022/8/3 13:46:51

“I don’t know if I can stop. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this, and it makes me want to pull the car over and just make out with you.” Sweat has beaded on my brow, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Callie’s skin has prickled with gooseflesh at my devotion to her neck and clavicle. I can’t wait to learn all the secret of her body likes.

“Asa, we have plenty of time. There’s no rush. I know it’s easier to keep perspective on time when you haven’t been through what you experienced—a close call will do that to you. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m in this for the long haul, and you won’t be able to get rid of me easily.”

“Do you want to tell Crosby, or should I? You think she’ll be upset?”

Callie lifts a knee until her foot is on the seat, and then she hugs her leg to her chest.

“We made plans to hang out tonight. Let me tell her. She has no idea about any of this. I never told her anything, not about the dance or about the kiss.”

The stolen kiss. She looks so serious, and all I can think of is her blood-red pout the night of that kiss, her tragic eyes welled up with tears, and the delicate neck and décolletage I ravaged, exposed in that strapless white dress. My balls are heavy and clenched with intense longing at the idea I might be able to live out a fantasy I’ve been dreaming about since my senior year. She was forbidden, a temptress. Callie used to flaunt her sexuality and threw everyone a curve ball. I find it fascinating and so incredibly sexy that she never let anyone else touch her. That she had the guts to dress provocatively but was strictly hands-off. Knowing she might have harbored the same fantasies I did all this time is the single most erotic idea that’s ever crossed my mind. To imagine her touching herself to visions of me undoes all of my restraint and unleashes my sexual side; it comes barreling through the floodgates.

“Cal, do you still have the dress?”

She smiles at me, a hint of deviousness playing on her luscious lips.

“The strapless white flouncy number? It’s hanging in my closet.”

What I should do is rein it in and show some compassion. Maybe Callie wants to wait until marriage, or maybe she wants to take it slowly and not jump into role-play her first time. I need to discuss all of those possibilities with her and figure out what she wants—from me, from this relationship, from life in general. In other words, I need to listen to my heart and my head, not my dick, which is trying to dominate the entire situation.

Telling my little sister is what we have to tackle first, and Crosby might not be receptive to the idea, especially since we’ve been at odds over her relationship with Weston. I steal another glance at Callie, who looks thoughtful as she stares out the window. Maybe I’ve been too critical of Crosby and Weston. Maybe we have no say in whom fate decides we’ll fall in love with.

This is the first time since Asa came back from overseas that I’ve gone to the Dashens’ house just to see Crosby. It makes me feel like a bad friend as I realize I’ve centered all of my attention around Asa and his recovery, never really reconnecting with Crosby. I don’t know if she’s had difficulty adjusting since she came back from Italy, or how she’s dealing with both the tragedy of her father as well as what happened to Asa. I remember how she Skyped me the night I found out about Dean and how she had flowers sent to our house despite the distance and time difference.

But part of my guilt is eased by the fact that Crosby and West have been inseparable. There was no driving a wedge between them to try to get some time alone with Crosby. They were too enraptured to look away from each other. I’m happy for the two of them. They make a wonderful pair, and I’ve never seen them look so blissed out—they just make sense together.

But I can sense the obvious tension between Weston and Asa, and the lesser, but still palpable, hard feelings the same tension provokes from Crosby toward her older brother.

Announcing our relationship will either add more fuel to the fire, or it will level the playing field. Both outcomes are entirely possible. I don’t want to lose Crosby by gaining a boyfriend, and I’d hate even more to intensify the rift between brother and sister.

“Hey, Cal! Let me just grab my jacket,” Crosby says. She’s shoving a book into her backpack and holding a giant chocolate chip cookie in her other hand. “Want one? They’re fresh,” she says, gesturing with her chin. “Ciao, bella,” she says. Crosby kisses both of my cheeks, smelling like chocolate and sugar.