Of course Kristen gets detention on a fucking Friday. Of course her school is lame enough to hold detention on fucking Fridays. She sighs as she walks into the classroom.
“I’m innocent, I tell ya!” she exclaims, melodramatically, to Mr. Harrison. “You got the wrong man!”
Mr. Harrison rolls his eyes. “Save it for drama club, Miss Stewart. Take a seat.”
Kristen groans, drops her bag near his desk, and parks herself towards the back of the completely empty classroom, just to piss him off. She’s already scribbling in her journal and longing for her fucking iPod when someone practically sprints into the room.
“You’re late, Mr. Toews,” says Harrison, clearly unimpressed.
Kristen, meanwhile, is still blinking at the sight of Jonathan ‘just call me Johnny’ Toews, of all people, in detention.
“Sorry,” Johnny mumbles. His eyes scan the room and widen a little when they reach Kristen. She turns back to her journal and nearly groans aloud when he sits to her right, two desks away. Seriously, the dude has the whole room to choose from.
“You’re Stewart, right?”
She rolls her eyes and doesn’t look up. “We’ve only been in the same school system since junior high.”
He’s a grade above her, senior year and all that jazz. They’ve never, ever run in the same circles, not even during his bad acne phase in 8th grade. Johnny’s ridiculously popular; a jock with douchbag friends, a dumb sports nickname (seriously, Tazer? The fuck is that), and is most likely a douche himself.
Except, unlike a lot of his friends, he doesn’t just try to coast by on his talent and does actually attend classes. He even made honor roll a few times and Kristen can respect that shit. She’s always hated the whole mentality of sports over grades when you don’t see people in drama or band getting those perks. He’s also never, ever in trouble and is usually permanently attached to the hip of one girl or another; the same girls that love to knock Kristen’s glasses out of her hands in gym class and call her a freak just because she dares to not care about makeup or what her hair looks like. She doesn’t get their fucking damage: it’s not like she’s saying they shouldn’t care, so why should they mind if she doesn’t? The whole situation is just your standard fucking high school cliche and frankly Kristen can’t wait to leave this oppressive social structure behind and get the fuck out of here.
“No, I know,” Johnny’s saying, sounding oddly flustered, and Kristen really needs to nix the eye rolling because she’s gonna pull something.
“Can’t believe this shit,” he mutters. “I had practice today.”
“Of course you did,” she says, flatly, not looking at him. She’s trying to get this damn line down.
“So, uh, what’re you in for?”
From what she knows of Jonathan Toews, he’s not exactly the overly talkative type, so she really doesn’t get all this innocuous chatter.
“Tried to set fire to the school with a zippo.”
He laughs and she wants to die. Luckily, Harrison chooses that moment to shush him.
Johnny doesn’t say anything and Kristen’s grateful, finally able to write in peace. Naturally, it doesn’t last long.
“Hey, what’re you writing?”
She ignores him and covers her journal with her forearm when he tries peer at it over the empty seat between them. God, he’s as bad as her brother.
“Will you shut up, we’re gonna get in trouble,” she grits out. Johnny just jerks his head towards the front of the room, smirking at Mr. Harrison who is totally passed out with his feet on the desk.
The pillars of the public education system, honestly.
“Poetry, alright?” she answers, glaring.
Johnny laughs and so she glares some more. “Fuck you,” Kristen replies, hotly, and turns back to her journal.
“Hey, wait, I’m sorry.” His voice still sounds amused but a glance at his face reveals sincerity. Not like she cares.
“Whatever,” Kristen mutters.
“Figured maybe it was songs or something. Don’t you play guitar?”
Kristen narrows her eyes at him, dropping her pen and leaning back in her seat, crossing her hoodie clad arms over her chest. “How do you know that?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Seen you under the bleachers during practice.”
“You creepin’ on me, man?” she asks, mockingly, even as her stomach is twisting in surprise of him noticing her, like, at all.
Then the most amazing thing ever happens: his face contorts in embarrassment and color rises to his cheeks. She wishes she hadn’t had to leave her bag up by Harrison because she’d totally be texting CJ right now, telling him how she made Jonathan Toews blush.
“No,” he protests, voice indignant and totally dumb sounding. “I just... noticed. Once or twice.”
“Uh-huh,” she teases, smirking, loving the way his frown deepens.
He turns away, looking down at absolutely nothing because he didn’t even bring something to do. Idiot. She isn’t sure why the tone of that thought was more fond than disdainful and frankly, she’s choosing to ignore it.
“Whatever, man. Why are you even in here? This shit ain’t your jam.” It’s true. She’s never heard of him getting detention before and she’s pretty damn sure she would’ve as Scout’s favorite pastime is making fun of the “cool” kids, from their fake Aviators to their Betsey Johnson knockoffs.
“Punched out Backes. Or, well, tried to.” He lifts his hand and she sees the cuts on his knuckles, how his hand’s a bit swollen. Jesus, when did that happen? Must’ve been towards the end of the day, when she was in the stairwell getting her own detention, or she definitely would’ve heard. Gossip spreads like wildfire around this joint.
“Shit, what happened?” It’s no secret that Backes and Johnny are not on, one of the few jocks Johnny totally doesn’t get along with and vice versa. All the others adore their precious Tazer.
“Caught him kissing my girlfriend. Well -- ex-girlfriend, now.”
“Oh,” Kristen says, feeling oddly sympathetic for the dude. While Johnny’s girlfriend was definitely a repeat offender of Kristen’s gym and hallway trials and tribulations, it’s still a shitty thing to have happen. It definitely hadn’t felt good when she’d walked in on Rob sophomore year, making out the chick who got the lead in the Glass Menagerie over her.
“Sorry, man. That sucks.”
Johnny shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. “We’d been arguing a lot lately, anyway.”
Kristen nods, trying to think of something to say. “You can’t fight for shit, man,” she finally decides on, nodding to his hand and smirking.
Johnny’s face clears and he’s suddenly grinning, lopsidedly. “Yeah, well.”
Their eyes lock and Kristen realizes with a start that she’s never really, truly looked at him before, like -- dead on and close-up. His eyes are dark like her own, but smaller. He’s got a nice nose and a strong jaw and while he’s already pretty hot, Kristen has no doubt he’ll get even more so when he grows into his face a little.
Then she realizes she’s essentially been staring at him for the last ten seconds (which really is a fucking lifetime if you actually time it, okay) and turns away, quickly.
“Anyway,” she mumbles, awkwardness creeping back in. She never looks at random people that way, like, ever. This is fucking why.
“Anyway,” he echoes, sounding a little dazed as Kristen tries to wipe away the memory of his eyes roaming her face. She feels too tight in her own skin and picks up her pen again, determinedly.
Of course, he takes that as a cue to start to talk again.
“What do you write about?”
“Stuff,” she mutters.
“What kind of stuff?”
Kristen groans, inwardly. “Killing babies, fucking animals, genocide; the usual shit.”
Johnny nods, unfazed. “I wouldn't expect anything else, from the likes of you,” is his deadpan response, startling a laugh out of her.
He looks pleased.
“That’s some fine wit you got there, Toews. Color me surprised.”
“I aim to please.”
She laughs again, shaking her head. She guesses maybe she didn’t really have this dude completely figured out in her stockpiled composite of generic high school jocks. It’s -- a nice surprise. She still thinks he’s an asshole but now in the best sorta way; in the way that her own friends are assholes.
“I play guitar too, you know,” he says, randomly.
“Seriously?” She can’t picture that at all. Just sees him sitting rigidly, not relaxing, far too focused.
“Yes, seriously,” he says, pissy.
Kristen laughs again. “You any good?” she challenges with a head tilt.
Johnny shrugs. “M’alright. My dad taught me.”
That’s kinda -- sweet, she thinks. and is then immediately horrified at herself.
“Are you that dude who actually spends time with his parents when he’s not required to?”
He stiffens a little, and shrugs again.
Kristen shakes her head, recognizing once more that she honestly cannot put this dude into any one box at all. Yeah, he’s a jock, but if she’s stereotyping that way then she’d also have to call him a geek because of his grades, a nerd because he hangs with his parents, and an artsy type because of music. Kristen’s loving how refreshing all this info feels to her. Labels are so fucking stupid and it’s pretty dumb that she had him pegged one way this whole time to begin with, just because he’s one of the most popular kids in school. She’d sorta bought into all the bullshit she hates.
So she just says, “Family’s cool, sometimes,” and the peace offering at least gets his shoulders to drop a little.
“My brother can be annoying, though,” Johnny admits and that gets them started comparing stories and whether younger or older brothers are more tedious.
They wind up using her journal to play tic tac toe and a dirty version of hangman. It’s totally stupid yet stupidly fun. By the end of it, they’re laughing and grinning at one another. They actually have to wake up Mr. Harrison before leaving because he’s the worst.
Grabbing their bags, they walk out of the classroom together. It feels super odd out in the empty halls with Johnny, side by side, and it’s probably the weirdest sight imaginable: Kristen in her oversized hoodie, Converse, and Orioles hat; Johnny in a dumb designer tee, khaki shorts and flip flops.
Kristen absolutely doesn’t sneak a peek at Johnny’s ass when he steps in front of her to open the door, holding it for her. It’s not like she hasn’t seen that thing while under the bleachers with The Hobo Pack (the name this school dubbed on her friends early on and they fucking took it, appropriated it as their own), not like she couldn’t write a song about its majesty if she were that shallow. Thankfully, her mind is shifted away from asses when she notices he’s still walking with her through the large, mostly empty lot.
“Isn’t your car way over there, dude?” Everyone knows seniors get first dibs on spots, outside of faculty. Besides, Kristen still only has a junior license; she’s like bottom of the barrel and is usually parked in the middle of nowhere.
“Yeah,” Johnnny confirms and stops walking because Kristen has.
“Okay. So stop being so weird and go to it?”
“I don’t mind the walk,” he shrugs and continues on, giving Kristen no choice but to follow.
When they approach her navy blue used Jetta, she turns to Johnny. “Kay, you walked me to my car like gentlemen. Gonna hold my door open for me, too? Kiss my hand?”
She’s expecting a lot of different reactions, from a scoff to a “fuck off” but what she isn’t expecting is another blush. She watches Johnny shift the weight of his bag onto his other shoulder and scratch the back of his neck. “Uh. So. I was thinking...”
He trails of long enough for her to slip in, “Don’t hurt yourself.” It’s a generic line at best and certainly not her finest work, but it earns a glare which is what she was aiming for.
He continues, though, just as awkwardly. “I was uh, wondering if you'd wanna go out with me. Tomorrow night.”
Kristen’s entire body freezes, shock coiling through her belly and up her chest, bringing along with it a fluttering in her stomach which is so not wanted. She forces her mouth to work. “You... want to go out with me. On a Saturday night.”
“Yes?” Johnny replies, a question but not, his tone obvious and pointed.
“Do you even know how ridiculous that is?” she says, ignoring her now pounding heart.
Johnny frowns. “Why?”
“Uh... we don’t exactly run in the same circles, dude.”
Johnny’s frown manages to deepen, if possible, and he rubs at the creases now formed on his forehead. “What’s that matter?”
Kristen laughs, meanly. “Oh, it matters. And let me tell you, if you’re trying to make your now ex jealous, man, I’m not the girl to do it with.”
Johnny sighs. “That’s not -- I just wanna hang out with you.”
“Hang out with me,” Kristen repeats, dubiously.
“Yeah. You’re... cool.”
Kristen shakes her head. “You must’ve missed the last five minutes because all i've been saying is I’m not.”
Johnny groans. “Jesus, not this fucking school’s definition of cool, okay. But -- my definition. Which obviously counts more.” He says the last part so dry and smug that Kristen has to grin at him.
He grins back and she feels her pulse race. “Just so we’re clear... you’re talking about a date, aren’t you?”
He looks down and -- damn. Three times blushing. CJ will die. “Yeah, uh. If you want? We could do whatever you like.”
Kristen’s mind is reeling at this turn of events. She’s seen Jonathan Toews five days a week, nine months out of the year since junior high. They’ve flitted in and out of each other’s spaces, had classes in which she hid in the back while he sat up front, always quiet yet personable to those around him. She’s watched him make-out with girls against lockers (after school in mostly deserted halls while she was coming back from smoking in the stairwell) and win football games single-handedly. She’s watched him win a shitload of awards and has heard the whispers of colleges wanting him for scholarships in which he basically has an equal pick at football, soccer, or hockey, given all the sports he’s played, consistently, over the years. She’s watched him get crowned as homecoming king twice and dance, badly, afterwards.
Kristen’s experienced all of this yet she never really thought about him, not really. It’s not like she’s been nursing some huge crush for years and he’s about to make her dreams come true. But yeah, she thinks he’s hot and always has, along with nearly everyone else. Now that she knows he’s not some massive tool, though, it’s intensified the attraction, that’s for sure.
She realizes he’s waiting for an answer so she grins and says, “Better watch out, man, you might live to regret giving me free reign on choosing.”
Johnny smiles, crookedly. “Somehow I doubt that,” he murmurs, voice an octave lower, tone unmistakably flirty, and oh. Okay, then. She now fully understands why every girl in school (and a few of the guys) can’t take their eyes off this dude when he walks down the halls. She needs to get herself in check because she’s starting to think about the two of them in the backseat of his car and basically wants to punch herself in the face, dying of shame.
“I dunno, dude, I normally just wind up chilling in someone’s basement or getting wasted in a park.”
He wrinkles his nose at both of those and she kicks a pebble at him. “I really don’t know what you want me to say, here. This town is shit. Why don’t you pick?”
Johnny shakes his head. “Because I want to make sure you have a good time. Come on, Kristen.”
She startles at the name. Most people just call her Stewart, especially the jocks, and in a disparaging way at that. It shouldn’t make her stomach flip and flop like a fish out of water.
“Ugh, I dunno, the drive-in is cool because it’s like, the last one even around anymore.” Then she nearly facepalms, realizing what she just said, her mind flashing to backseats again. “Uh.”
Johnny’s eyes are a little wide and she watches him lick his lips, nervously. “Yeah, that. That sounds good.”
“We totally don’t have to,” Kristen says, anxiety rising in her chest. This whole thing is dumb, dumb, dumb.
Kristen sighs. “Okay. They like, play classics Saturday nights. There’s usually a sweet horror.”
Johnny makes a face.
“Seriously, dude? Ugh, fine, I think they’re playing Back to the Future, also. Any objections to that, asshole?”
Johnny shakes his head, smile twisting at the corner of his lips. “So, uh. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”
“Around 7:30, I guess.”
“Cool. See you then.” He smiles and turns away.
She has to lean back against her car to process what the hell just happened here.
Kristen totally doesn't want to tell The Pack, but it's sorta unavoidable. She waits until everyone is mostly high in Alicia's basement, blasting The Doors.
"I'm going out with Jonathan Toews tomorrow."
Suzie chokes on her hit. Kristen probably should've planned that better.
"You're what?" CJ blinks, hazily, his eyes bloodshot.
"I'm also having his baby."
CJ makes a disgusted face and Alicia sputters out laugher.
"How did this even happens, Stewie?"
"Ugh, don't call me that," she whines to Suzie, and then turns to the room in general. " We were in detention. Things escalated rather quickly."
"Isn't he dating someone? What's her name? Joanna? Jessie?"
“Joanie,” Scout (of course) adds helpfully from her upside down position on the couch.
"They broke up,” Kristen corrects.
"Well, he certainly works fast," Alicia snorts and Kristen frowns into her beer.
"It's just a date. I don't even get why it's happening but whatever. See how the other half lives, right?"
"Like Pretty in Pink," CJ says, holding his beer up in solidarity.
“You’re totally gonna do him,” Suzie says, confidently.
“Am not,” Kristen mutters. It sounds weak even to her own ears and everyone starts taking bets on it happening.
She really needs a new set of friends. This entire fucking thing is Suzie’s fault anyway; Kristen took the fall for their dual smoking in the stairwell, telling her to go as they heard the door opening. This the way she’s repaid, honestly.
"Hope you know what you're doing, Stew," Suzie says later, while Kristen’s nursing a beer and lost in thought.
It’s the truth. She thinks.
Kristen has no intention spending a lot of time getting ready for her date with Jonathan fucking Toews. She never spends time getting ready. She goes with black leggings and tennis shoes, a stomach length white tee and silver hoop earrings. And a thong but she isn’t analyzing that part. Like, at all. She opts against a hat which means she has to comb her damn hair and she throws on some generic Gap perfume which she’s had forever. Makeup wise she just does some light blush, a smidge of eyeliner, and strawberry lip gloss. This has already taken way too long and she feels like she needs to practically run out of the house or else her parents will totally be able to tell she’s going on a date. Telling them would cause so much ribbing, particularly from her dad who hates organized sports.
Kristen sprints down the driveway, not looking up until she almost reaches his car. She’s completely relieved to see he isn’t standing outside to hold the door for her or some bullshit. Rob tried that once and she laughed in his face.
“Yo,” she says as she enters his Chevy.
“Hey,” Johnny says, voice so soft that she wants to punch herself in her fluttering stomach. She forces herself to look at him: he’s clean shaven and his hair is a little spiky, so he obviously used some product. She can totally smell cologne from here, too, so she doesn’t feel too weird about the perfume. He’s wearing jeans and a flannel that looks super fucking soft she wants to both touch it and ask where he got it; guys clothes are the best.
“You look nice,” he mumbles, awkwardly. She wants to give him so much shit over it but finds herself saying, “Thanks, you too.”
They drive in mostly silence. Johnny plays a generic classic rock station and Kristen’s just thankfully it’s not top 40. Johnny pays for the film and Kristen doesn’t protest, even though she sorta wants to. But he did ask her out, so.
Johnny, like, brings food, which is ridiculous because this isn't some picnic or something but he's got chips and dip, pretzels, a thing of strawberries, an apple, and some fancy flavored water.
“You're ridiculous”, she says but rips open the chips anyway.
“I would’ve brought beer but uh, didn’t wanna risk getting caught again.”
Her eyes widen. “Again?”
He makes a face. “Uh, yeah, nearly got busted in the playground a few weeks ago but managed to outrun the cops. S’why I really wasn’t up for your park suggestion.”
Kristen’s completely shocked and also completely impressed, so much so she has to fistbump him. Johnny smirks and bumps her back.
The contact sends a shiver up her arm and it’s suddenly a little awkward as they wait for the film to start. Kristen crunches away on the food and gulps down some of the water before asking Johnny his order of the trilogy. They branch off on a long discussion about that, complete with Kristen’s arms flailing around as she talks, because he likes the third one the best which - what? What?
After she’s plainly argued her case as to why he’s the wrongest wrong person to ever wrong they segue into the Indiana Jones films after there’s an advertisement for next weekend's lineup.
“Oh man, we gotta go to that,” he says, nodding towards where they’re showing Temple of Doom footage and Kristen freezes. So does Johnny as he realizes what he said and then he’s just shoves some pretzels into his mouth. It’s sorta adorable.
Kristen shrugs it off and has them order their Indiana films. And then Star Wars because why not, since they seem to be doing series’ right now. Thankfully, he dislikes the “new” ones for the most part. If not, she may have needed to end this damn date, stat. They watch the film for a bit, and start talking about what era they would’ve liked to have been born in. Kristen’s torn between the 70s cause of all the awesome punk and the 20s because of flappers, speakeasies, and awesome poets.
“How bout you?” she asks, taking a bite of a strawberry. It’s delicious.
He doesn’t answer for a minute and when she looks at him, he’s staring at her lips before shaking himself a little.
A thrill courses through her and she tamps it down.
“Uh. I dunno, the 50s seem kinda cool.”
Kristen laughs. “I can just see you trying to be so damn smooth and failing, totally.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me,” Johnny deadpans and Kristen’s smile widens, their eyes locking. It feels like there’s a lit spark between them.
He breaks the contact, though, clearing his throat. “Uh, you want popcorn? Movie popcorn is always the best.”
“Sure?” she says, a little dazed, and watches dumbly as he gets out of the car, mumbling that he’ll be right back.
Kristen resists texting every single person she knows and just taps her fingers restlessly on her thigh, waiting for him to return.
He smiles at her when he gets back and she definitely doesn’t swoon internally. They hold the bag between them and watch the film. She coughs a little when a kernel scratches her throat and he asks if she’s alright.
“No, I’m gonna die,” she deadpans, causing him to throw some popcorn in her hair.
At one point, his fingers get tangled with her own and it’s so cliche she wants to die. Except she doesn’t because he captures her forefinger and strokes slowly along her skin.
She dares a glance at him and is immediately swallowed up in his gaze, dark and palpable. They stare at one another again and Kristen swallows thickly. That stupid spark is back except now it’s more like a live current. They move at the same time, slow, haltingly, and it’s a dumb movie moment if Kristen’s ever experienced one. Her eyes flutter shut as their mouths meet. Johnny’s lips are chapped, rough, but they still feel great sliding against her own. It’s a little wet from the start and she finds herself sighing as Johnny’s hands cup her jaw like she’s some fucking china doll.
Damn this guy, she thinks, and surges upward, turning the kiss into something dirty and hard. Johnny gasps, jolting in surprise against her but he definitely goes with it, his hand slipping to her chin, fingers splayed over her throat as he licks between her lips hungrily. Their tongues meet and circle; Johnny tastes like pretzels and mouth wash.
They shift at the same time, twisting in their seats as much as they can with the gear shift between them, their hands making their way into the action. Kristen clutches Johnny’s stupidly broad shoulders while his stupidly big arms lock low around her back as they kiss deeper, harder. The breathing sounds like roaring thunder in her ears, drowning out the film.
Kristen moans when Johnny's fingers slip down over the bare skin of her back and lets her own hands rub at the base of his neck, just below his collar, feeling his overheated skin.
Johnny’s hands move tentatively around to her front, thumbs brushing at Kristen’s sides. She pushes up into the touch, hoping he gets the hint. Johnny wrenches his mouth away, hot lips so slick and wet and trailing kisses down her neck as his palms push upward and he cups her tits over her bra. Kristen moans, her neck dipping back. “Fuck,” she groans, shakily, as he sucks harder while his hands squeeze her tits.
“Yeah,” he agrees, quietly. She just puts both hands at the back of his neck and holds his head there, pressing his lips firmer against her. She’s totally gonna have a hickey, she knows it. This is so embarrassing. Johnny’s hands don’t slip beneath her bra but her nipples are still embarrassingly hard as his index fingers graze them.
She has no idea how long they make out, kissing again and again until her lips are tingling, along with some other places.
“Oh, fuck,” Johnny says raggedly, wetly, against her neck after biting at her lips until they feel raw. “Do you... do you wanna go in the back?”
She laughs, unsteadily, unable to believe that her own damn vision of this evening is coming true. It makes her want to be contrary, which is so fucking ridiculous since she does want to say yes, but she can’t help it.
“I’m good, right now.”
She’s not; the gear shift is totally in the way and her leg is falling asleep from being tucked beneath her body, but she’s definitely not about to climb on top of him only to have the fucking steering wheel wedged into her back.
“Okay,” Johnny replies against her neck. She can hear the slight disappointment and finds herself really wanting to know just how hard he is. He places open-mouthed kisses back up to her lips before capturing them again. Their lips catch and drag, slowing into something less urgent; just a push and pull that’s like a low, simmering flame.
Johnny inches back, kissing Kristen’s cheek, her jaw, his thumb sweeping over her skin in a way that has her heart thundering against her ribcage.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, trying to meet her eyes.
Kristen ducks to avoid his gaze, placing her hands on his chest, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt, which is just as soft as she imagined.
“You just wanna get to third base," she says unevenly, over the roaring in her ears.
“I mean it,” he says, softly.
She scoffs as he nuzzles against her neck. "Dude, please; I know your type and I’m not it.”
"My type?” he asks, a little edge to his voice, stilling.
“Uh-huh. Blonde, big tits. Definitely not a chick who rarely even wears makeup.”
He pulls back to study her face and she looks somewhere over his shoulder, her skin prickling.
“I like it,” he says, skimming his finger over her bottom lip.
Her stomach twists and her body feels too tight in her skin, fraught with self-consciousness. She shrugs, feels the tension bunching in her shoulders.
“Okay, buddy, just sayin’ your track record says differently.”
Johnny frowns. “Doesn’t mean anything. You’re…”
"You're the prettiest girl in school. To me."
Kristen laughs loudly. “Yeah. Okay, then.”
"I'm serious. I’ve… wanted to talk to you for a while now."
Kristen narrows her eyes. “Now I know you’re lying. You didn’t even know I existed.” She thinks back to his comment about her guitar but shakes it off.
Johnny’s quiet, his hands flexing on her ribs. When she looks at him, he’s biting his lip before taking a deep breath. “Last week you and your friend broke into an impromptu version of Crimson & Clover at your locker and you sounded amazing. The week before you were writing beneath the bleachers during my football practice and swaying to your Ipod. You had your glasses on and I thought you should wear them more often. Last spring you were the lead in The Little Foxes and I went, and I dragged my buddies along, even though we were all disappointed no one was dressed up as a fox.”
She stares at him, mouth open. “You’re fucking shitting me.”
Johnny’s face is open though, vulnerable. “No. I've known you've existed, Kristen. You just never looked back at me.”
Kristen’s face heats, a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and – pure giddiness, washing over her in waves. She worries her lip between her teeth. “Yeah, well. I have a problem with that.”
He draws her gaze up, and just looks, his fingers tracing her jaw, her cheek, over the shell of her ear. Kristen shivers, forcing herself to not glance away, licking her bottom lip. “S-seriously, dude, if this is your way of getting in my pants tonight, it’s impressive.”
Johnny shakes his head, smiling a little. “Not gonna lie and say I don’t want that but – I want more, too. Wanna see you again.”
Kristen looks at him, really looks at him. She may not be able to easily meet the eyes of some of her classmates but she can read people in drama club, interpret shit pretty well and – she thinks she believes him. Maybe.
She sucks in a breath. “Well, uh. How about we go in the back seat and take it from there?”
Johnny’s pupils darken and he nods, swallowing thickly. She grins at him.
Johnny gets out of the car while Kristen just climbs over the seat. They meet in the middle and it’s already better to be pressed up against each other without anything in the way. Kristen draws her leg up to wrap around his thigh and sighs as they kiss again. His dick is right up against her, hard and insistent; big. She shivers and then does it some more when he finally unhooks her bra and gets greedy handfuls of her tits.
Kristen moans into his mouth and Johnny deepens the kiss, moaning back, squeezing and pinching her nipples. Her hand slides down his chest and curves over his boner, feeling it jerk beneath her touch as Johnny exhales shakily.
She rubs him through the denim, gasping when he latches onto her neck again, lips so fucking wet, before sliding his own hand down to crotch. Johnny’s fingers tease at her pussy before starting a fast circular motion, grinding his palm against her, and the friction feels amazing.
Johnny’s fingers inch beneath her waistband and she presses her own fingers firmer over his dick, arching into his touch. He takes the hint and slowly slides his hand in, tugging her thong away rubbing his fingers along her pussy.
“Yeah,” she stutters out, his lips still hot on her neck but moving back up to her mouth at a snails pace. Johnny groans against her jaw. His fingers find her clit and she jerks, pressing up into his touch, crying out softly.
“Shit,” he mutters and keeps up the pressure, circling her clit again and again while the tips of his fingers curve just barely inside her.
“Faster,” Kristen whispers against his lips and he listens, jerking her fast, clumsily. Kristen’s sweating, her chest heaving while she tries to rub at his dick as much as she can, unable to get a rhythm and certainly unable to unzip his jeans.
She comes on a gasp, body tensing, Johnny’s mouth tugging on her earlobe. She shakes, aftershocks pulsing through her. He’s breathing heavy and she can feel the tight coil of tension radiating off him.
Kristen pushes him back a little, untangling her leg and fumbling at his jeans while Johnny sucks his index between his lips. Fuck, that’s hot, and she has to surge forward, taste herself.
Johnny lets out a low moan as they kiss, dirtily, and she finally pulls out his dick. Kristen gives him one long stroke before licking her palm. They go back to kissing as she strokes him, taking in the silky smooth feel of him, how thick he is. She imagines him fucking her, shoving in and just working her over. Heat pools in her stomach with how much she wants it.
She listens to the cut off moans he makes as she twists her wrist, thumb brushing the head, spreading the moisture from his slit. He hisses and tenses. Kristen’s able to get about three more strokes in before Johnny’s coming all over her hand, groaning deep in his throat, hips thrusting upward. Watching his face as it crumples up, his eyes squeezed shut so she can just look without reserve, is a fucking gorgeous sight, and that dumb fluttering starts again.
She pumps him a few more times before letting go when his eyes slowly drift back open, his pupils blown, face flushed.
“Damn,” he says, breathlessly, a weak smile tugging at his lips before he kisses her again, just a soft press of lips, the air hot and humid around them.
Kristen licks her hand clean and pretends not to notice him watching.
They rearrange themselves and slump together, her head on Johnny’s shoulder while his rests on top of her own, kissing her temple. They stare out at the movie, now almost over. Of course Marty is on stage playing Johnny B. Goode. Kristen snorts, trying to ignore how their fingers are tangled together right now, his thumb absently stroking her wrist.
“Are you comfortable?” Johnny asks, quietly. His voice is a little rough.
“Yeah,” she sighs, and just rubs her cheek against his shoulder, trying to erase the million thoughts going through her head, the way his dumb words make her heart skip a beat. She must’ve been replaced by a pod person; it’s the only explanation.
They make out again when they’re parked in front of her house, lazy and hot, faint tastes of come in both of their mouths.
He tucks her hair behind her ears and rests their foreheads together. “Say I can see you again.”
Kristen tenses, stomach rolling. She wants to say yes, but... “You sure you wanna?” she says, pulling back to really look at him.
“Um, yeah, pretty damn sure,” he replies.
Kristen shrugs. “I just think this is gonna turn into some Pretty in Pink thing.” Damn CJ for putting that into her head. Damn herself for suggesting they marathon a shitload of 80s flicks a few months ago after having watched Easy A.
“You know, like, the popular rich dude going out with the uncool poor girl and then he like, stands her up because he can’t handle the social bullshit.”
"I'm not rich," Johnny says, immediately. Then his eyes narrow. "And is that what Pretty in Pink is about? Huh.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, not about to tell him the ending. That was so damn unrealistic, anyway, even if the soundtrack was killer. “I’m not really interested in sneaking around at night while you ignore me in front of your asshole friends.”
“Jesus, will you just fucking trust me?” Johnny says, clearly frustrated. He lifts her chin, staring intently. “I won’t fuck you over.”
He seems sincere enough, but she can’t help doubt it a little. “Okay,” she says, regardless, and his face relaxes, smile reaching his eyes.
“Can I see you tomorrow then?”
“Sure,” she shrugs, trying to play it cool. They exchange numbers and kiss again. Kristen flops down onto her bed when she gets in her room, smiling as she replays the night in her head, despite the niggling doubt lingering in the back of her mind.
The next day they go to another movie, but this time in a theater. It takes him thirty minutes to hold her hand even though she can tell he’s wanted to for last twenty. It’s pretty ridiculous, considering he had those same fingers inside her last night. It makes her feel stupidly fond and she realizes by end of the date, after they’ve spent at least an hour talking at a diner, that she’s in big trouble.
They make out for a little bit in his car again but don't pass second base.
“See you tomorrow,” he whispers as she leaves.
Tomorrow. Right. Kristen heads over to Suzie’s and relays the past twenty-four hours.
“Hope you still remember the little people when you’re sittin’ at the popular table,” is Suzie’s response.
Kristen scoffs. “I wouldn’t ever eat there, even if he asked. And he won’t, which is my point. Dude just wanted some weekend fingering action to forget about his girlfriend.”
That doesn’t explain them barely doing anything but kiss today, but hey, maybe he’s already had his fill.
Suzie furrows her brow. “That... really doesn’t sound like what you just told me.” This is, of course, why she’s her best friend, dammit.
Kristen shrugs. “Look, man, he may think he’s totally cool with the thought of us under the fucking fluorescent hallway lights but he’ll realize as soon as he’s there that he isn’t.”
“Huh,” Suzie says. “If you say so, Stew. And you’re cool with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She gulps down some diet Coke, wishing she’d sounded more convincing. What’s the point of drama club if she can’t act in everyday life, seriously.
The next morning she mentally prepares herself, which is totally ridiculous. Objectively, there are far worse things in life than getting ditched by Jonathan Toews, this she knows. It just so happens as she’s driving into the parking lot that she can’t seem to think of any.
“You’re so pathetic,” she whispers to herself, slinging her backpack over both shoulders and walking through the mostly full lot.
She looks down the whole walk towards the building but instinct draws her gaze up as she’s nearing Johnny’s parking space. There he is, leaning against his car like he’s fucking Jake Ryan in Sixteen Candles or something, and she has two immediate thoughts: just when did her life become a John Hughes movie and who the hell does this guy think he is?
He’s smiling softly, hands in his pockets, wearing a plain black tee and backwards hat. Kristen’s basically wearing the same fucking thing, except her shirt is tied up around her stomach. It’s so stupid and she wonders for maybe the millionth time in the past forty-eight hours why she always looked at him but didn’t really see him.
“Hi,” Johnny says, smile in his voice as she slows to a stop in front of him.
“Uh. Hey,” she says, looking behind her but nope, no one else there.
He shakes his head in amusement and pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. He’s fucking ridiculous, seriously. She breathes in against his chest, smelling his deodorant. They move apart and he leans down, slowly, brushing their lips together before he takes her hand and starts walking. She looks down at it, feels something bloom warm and big in her chest.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Kristen asks as they head up the steps to the school. She can already see a few of the ‘geeks’ watching them. Hell, even one of the math teachers does a double take.
Johnny shrugs, easily, and squeezes her hand. “It’s just high school.”
The words stun her for a moment and she nearly trips over her own feet. That’s always been her motto, is the thing; she’s never cared about the cliques, the petty bullshit, the drama. Yet she always assumed someone like Johnny would. Embarrassment coils deep in her belly along with sparks of pleasure. She’s been pretty fucking stupid, over-analyzing this shit, expecting the worse.
“Yeah,” Kristen agrees, tightening her fingers around his, “it is.”