| My ceiling is excruciatingly interesting. It is. When you're lying face up in the center of my bed with eyes wide open and gaping, it's unbelievably fascinating. This intricate mixture of plaster and paint - a design my father probably paid way too much for when he built this house over 10 years ago before he moved out - is full of all sorts of interesting crevices, dips and protrusions and the once bright white paint has aged to a quite dignified cream. But you wouldn't know that of course, unless you were lying face up in the center of my bed with eyes wide open and gaping. Which is what I'm currently doing. My pajamas are all twisted around my body and one of my socks is off and I'm positive my hair is nothing short of disastrously frightening. But then again, I'm just lying here in the only strip of sunlight that's managed to burst through my thickly drawn drapes; so, it shouldn't really matter what I look like. But suddenly it does. Because I'm not sitting here studying my ceiling and gaping for nothing. Nope, I, Melissa Nardone, have a far too complicated and confusing life for me to be doing something that simple just cause I was say...bored? No, that would be way too easy and nothing in this life I lead is ever easy. I'm gaping because Mom just stuck her head in the door and told me Taylor Hanson is coming home from South America. I knew this would happen eventually. I mean, tours don't go on forever and even if they did, the guys would be way too tired by now since they've been on the road all summer, and furthermore there's only so many places in South America to play and I'm quite positive they've exhausted all those venues already, so of course it's perfectly logical for them to come home from South America. And yes I ramble when I'm nervous. Taylor's coming home. Home, here, Tulsa. Across the frickin' street. Why couldn't they just go back to their old house, that one that's way too ridiculously small for me, my brother and my mother, much less that brood Walker and Diana have created? Why do they have to be coming here? I haven't prepared myself for the Second Coming yet. Yes, the second one. He's already come home from South America once, but then I was just a kid and didn't really...care, because he was just the annoying kid from across the street that taunted me with caterpillars and threw dirt in my hair and pushed me into Mike Lawrence's pool when it was 50 degrees out. Then he was icky, dirty, cootie-boy Taylor. And now he's...not. He's, like, gorgeous-boy Taylor, now. Gorgeous-boy Taylor who has the ability to stop hearts and melt ice and make your knees so week they forget what their purpose on your body is (which is especially dangerous when your feet are wearing roller blades, which were too big for you in the first place, and cause you to land flat on your face and/or ass and make a complete and total fool of yourself in front of the only boy who's ever made your heart beat fast). And he's coming home. ~*~*~ "You didn't forget the Hanson's are coming home, did you Melis?" my older brother teased from his position at the foot of the lounge chair I was occupying, where he stood chomping on an apple and creating an inordinate amount of shadow when it was quite obvious I was trying to get some sun. "Fuck off." "Oooh, what would dreamboat Taylor say if heard sweet baby-doll Melissa talk like that? Tsk tsk." "For the love of God, Jason, go annoy someone else." I squinted into the sunlight that poured from behind him when he finally decided to remove himself from my light. Unfortunately, he decided to flop down on the chair beside me and annoy me from that angle instead. "No one else here, babycakes," he said with a pseudo-sweetness that made me want to hurl. "Mom went out to pick up some "house-warming" shit for boy-wonder's family." Jason always harbored a particular hatred for Taylor. Perhaps it was the blond-haired, blue-eyed, I'm-a-gorgeous-seventeen-year-old millionaire factor that particularly irked him. Hell, it irked me, too. Tay always was too pretty for his own good. "Whattimewilltheybehere?" I spun, half-hoping Jason wouldn't hear, but needing to know for the sake of my own sanity. I needed to know how much longer before my world got turned upside down again. "Say what?" he grinned. Asshole. He loves taunting me about Taylor, or any other boy that I seem remotely interested in. If I so much as even glance twice at Max, the guy who cuts our lawn, I hear about it for weeks. It's repressed sexual tension, I tell you. Though...ewww. Remind to never think of "sexual" and Jason in the same sentence again. Meanwhile, back at the ranch. "What time are they getting here?" I reluctantly sighed. I hated losing my pride in front of anyone, especially someone that had an unfair advantage to taunt me seeing as how we lived in the same house and all. "Dunno," he shrugged, stretching his arms behind his head to show off his ahem muscular (?) physique. "But Mom said they're having some kind of little welcome home party thing, so I suppose we'll be going." "Oh HELL no." No way on God's green earth am I accompanying my mother and brother to any party (even if it is just across the street) and furthermore I need much more time to prepare myself for this. And I don't have a damn thing to wear. "Nuh-uh." I shook my head defiantly, behaving much like the eighteen year-old I was. "I'm not going, Jason." "So?" He shrugged carelessly. He could be such an ass sometimes. "Taylor doesn't want to see your sorry ass anyway. Word is, he's gotten himself a new woman." "Hey...I was never Taylor's wom--." Did he say new woman? Taylor has a woman? Whatthefuck? I could hear Jason's cackling the entire way as I stomped up the stairs. ~*~*~ I never really was Taylor's woman. At least I don't think so. Okay, we had a very brief - but illustrious - "thing" the last time they were home. Which was about two months ago and we haven't spoken since, so I really shouldn't be surprised that he has a new (gulp) woman. But back to our "thing." I don't really know how substantial or meaningful a "thing" it was. I mean, does kissing and groping necessarily constitute a "thing"? And that's basically all it was - kissing and groping, I mean. But we did a lot of it, if that helps. A whole lot. A really, really whole lot. Such a whole lot that only the beeping of his pager kept us from going all the way one night when we were shirtless and sweaty and, well, kissing and groping a whole lot in the back seat of his car. But what does all that mean now? Now that he's been elusive for two months and I've only seen him via those pseudo-artsy photographs Walker takes and posts on Hanson.net. Now that he's got a new woman. Now, I really can't go over there tonight. And this is starting to sound like a very bad episode of Sex and the City. ~*~*~ Why am I humming? I never hum. Humming is something Martha-Stewart-mothers do when they're gardening or decoupaging or some other insidious shit like that. But I'm humming. And trying my damndest to peek through the living room curtains without drawing attention to myself. Taylor's home. I haven't seen him yet, but their enormous white van pulled in a few minutes ago and I'm guessing he must've stepped out when I had to pause in my spying to pry Gabby (Jason's cat) off my leg. If I get rabies and die, don't let Jason near my room, okay? Anyway. Oh-- There goes Isaac, back out to the van to retrieve something. Damn. Just luggage. Of course, luggage. They've been in South America, Melissa, of course they have luggage. And piles of it from the looks of things. All right Ike, go drag Taylor's sorry ass out there to help you. Back in the house he goes. See I told you I was telepathic. Didn't I? Anyway. This apprehension must be dissipating my brain cells by the minute. I can't seem to keep track of what the hell I'm talking abo— Taylor...? Did you hear that sound? That was I, falling on the floor. And that other sound was Jason laughing. "What the hell are you doing?" I hissed from my oh-so-dignified position ass-down on the carpet. "What are you doing?" He sing-songed. "Spying?" "NO," I said and pulled myself up, rather gracefully I might add. "I'm just...looking. I heard commotion and I wanted to see what it was..." I tried to explain myself but I'm fairly certain I ended up looking like an even bigger idiot. "And coincidentally...it was the Hanson's. They're home." "Obviously," he stated and jerked the curtains back. I ducked behind the couch and glared. Sometimes he has absolutely no tact. ~*~*~ This is stupid. This is stupid. This is stupid. "This is stupid." Jason glared at me and I couldn’t control myself and glared right back. "At least we’re not making you wear some ridiculously frilly and/or velvet dress with a matching head-band." He smirked. That Nardone family sense of humor obviously runs deep. "Ha. Ha" But, seriously, this is stupid. We’re all gathered at the front door, waiting for Mom to come out of the kitchen with one of her signature dishes, housed in some varying color of Tupperware (she and Diana have this fetish for the stuff, I swear), so we can walk all family-like across the street to the Hanson’s. And I am thisclose to stomping my feet and pouting like a spoiled little brat in a frilly and/or velvet dress with matching headband. I don’t want to go the Hanson’s. I don’t want to see Taylor. And more importantly I don’t want to see his woman. And I’m sure she’ll be there - as Jason has oh-so-lovingly pointed out to me at least a dozen times in the past, say, five minutes. But nonetheless, here we go; no one paying any mind to poor, defenseless Melissa in her obvious time of need. I’m pouting, if you couldn’t tell. All right, Melis. You need a game plan - something, anything to help you get through this night with all limbs, dignity, and/or heart fully in tact. Some sort of mental resolution to be cordial and unaffected and more or less polite. Or I could just step in front of a bus instead of looking both ways before I cross the street. That’s always an option. ~*~*~ "LISSA-baby," A stranger’s deep voice from behind me and a pair of arms around my waist elicits both goose bumps on my bare arms and a curse that I won’t repeat again to come flying from my lips. Leave it to me to get groped by some strange man. No, that’s not a strange man. That’s a strange...Zac? Can a boy possibly grow that much in two months? Apparently. His embrace is crushing as ever, but more welcome now that I know he’s not some serial rapist come to drag me into the deep, dark night. Cause that’s definitely not an option. Oooh. Light bulb just went on above my head; game plan scrawling on the dry-erase board of my mind. Operation Let-Zac-fill-me-in-on-everything is now in full effect. “Hey, you wanna go outside or something?" "Sure," he grins. "It’s kinda stuffy in here, huh?" Oh, yeah. Stuffed full of people I don’t know and any one of them could be Taylor’s new woman (well, except for the males in the room. But then again, this is Taylor we’re talking about, so...). Zac and I push through the crowd and I give Jason the finger when he smirks at me as we brush past him and the bottle-blond he’s somehow managed to capture the attention of. Hey, maybe she’s Tay’s woman. For once in my life, I’m actually wanting my brother to get the girl. Oookay. Sex and Jason in the same thought again. Bad Melissa. Zac and I settle side by side in the canvas swing in the backyard. It’s a nice night, lots of stars, you know, the usual perfect night to be sitting with a perfect boy in the backyard. And Zac’s not so bad himself. He’s not perfect (at least not yet, anyway *insert devilish grin*), but he’ll do. He’s got lips to die for. I don’t know why I never noticed them before, though. Surely he had them before they went to South America. "Hey Zac. Did you have lips to die for before you went to South America?" "That’s what they say," He said, smugly. And he should say that smugly. And arrogantly and proudly and all those other -ly words that stroke his ego over how nice his lips are. Those are damn nice lips, I tell you. "Want me to show you?" How thoughtful and considerate and— Ooh. Those are nice lips. "You’re a good kisser," I manage to mumble after I’ve been assaulted by those pillowy cushions of Zac-love. "D’ya learn that in South America?" "Nope," he grinned. And I figured he probably hadn’t. You just didn’t have lips like Zac Hanson’s and not know how to kiss. That would be just...wrong. He put his arm around me in the silence as we sat and I suddenly remembered why I’d invited him out here in the first place. Taylor’s woman. Wait a second. Who is Taylor, again? ~*~*~ "Hey guys," That’s Taylor, again; standing at the end of the swing Zac is rhythmically moving with his heel. And I suppose that would be his woman standing beside him, her arm linked possessively through his, an air of arrogance and gloating and I’m-standing-with-Taylor-Hanson written all over her heavily make-up’d face. But not that I can really tell what her face looks like cause it’s dark, but I’m just stereotypically assuming. My own face isn’t heavily make-up’d at the moment, so naturally I’d designate hers to be. And this is my story, so...leave me alone. Actually she’s quite striking; from what I can see when she and Taylor step in front of us. Course that could just be residual beauty from Tay seeping over there onto her. Ah, but it’s not. Damnit. But that’s okay because I’ve been kissing his brother sporadically for the past twenty minutes. "What are you guys up to?" Oh, I’ve been kissing your brother sporadically for the past twenty minutes. "Oh nothing," I said with a pseudo-dreamy innocence that was lost on everyone but Zac. He and his to-die-for lips were grinning mischievously. "It’s good to see you again, Melissa," Taylor said purposefully, eyeing me with that penetrating gaze of his. "You, too, Tay," I say, though we didn’t really see a lot of each other the last time we saw each other. Not much seeing to do when your mouths are fused together and delicate piano-playing hands are roaming your nether regions. "This is Kelsey, by the way," He gestures to his woman (that sounds stupid, doesn’t it? I thought so) - his "date" and she smiles. Heavenly. "Oh and this is Zac, by the way," I casually mention and he gets my meaning. Kelsey doesn’t appear to, though. In fact, she looks thoroughly confused as to why I just introduced Taylor to his brother. Zac is snickering again. I get the feeling he does that a lot when Kelsey is around. "Nice to meet you Zac," He plays along, offering his brother a hearty handshake. "Having fun?" "Tons," Zac says with a smirk that I’ve come to realize looks really good perched upon those lips of his. But then again... (I think you get the point about his lips, huh? They really are nice lips, though) "So, I guess we should let you get back to that fun then," he sneered in that way that only Taylor Hanson can sneer and make it look beautiful at the same time. But he was jealous. Oh yeah. He was definitely jealous. He wanted to be the one having that fun - like he did two months ago in the back seat of his car and every other time we managed to find ourselves somewhat semi-alone. He was jealous because he thought he’d saunter his way up from South America and have his way with me again. But, oh no. Not Melissa Nardone. She learns all her lessons the first time, hard way or not. Okay, then, so why is he with Kelsey? If he wanted/wants me so much...? They walked away and I’d never felt more used. "Hey Zac? You wanna go over to my place?" ~*~*~ "You’re pretty good at that, too." I’m staring at the ceiling again; wide eyed and gaping again. Only this time it’s because the boy lying next to me was a whole lot better at what we’d just done than I ever imagined him to be. "Thanks," he smiles and I think he looks a mixture of positively adorable and achingly sexy all at once, all wrapped up in my sheets with his hair all fanned out behind him. "And before you ask, no, I didn’t learn that in South America either." He makes me smile. "So, where did you learn it?" I turn over and gaze at him, that aforementioned smile playing on my lips. "Right here. Just then." He blushes and I feel my own face getting warm. "Cool." He’s mesmerized me. I mean, I just kinda, sorta took his virginity and all I can manage to say is cool? Get a grip, Melissa. God. Zac Hanson has turned me into a big, blubbering dork. But I’m a satisfied big, blubbering dork (insert big, satisfied smile). "You’re cool," he says and he tucks my hair behind my ears in a gesture I’ve never found sexy before but now it sends a rather delightful shiver down my spine. "You’re pretty neat yourself.” Neat? Now he’s neat? I really am losing it. "Thanks," Oh, no. Awkwardness. How in the hell can awkwardness postlude sex? I mean, sex...! Hello! I’ve let you see me naked and touch me and make me vulnerable and now I can’t even think of anything to say to you? "You wanna go again?" ~*~*~ Zac Hanson’s a quick learner. And what was his brother’s name again? Oh, right. Taylor. Boy-wonder Taylor. Gorgeous-boy Taylor. What the hell was wrong with me? "You’re gonna leave me for Tay eventually, aren’t you?" Okay, where did that come from? There were certainly no indicators of its arrival twisted in the sheets Zac and I happen to be wrapped up in. No, there were no thoughts of Taylor anywhere in here. Only Zac-warmth. Yep, Zac is so amazing, he has his own patented warmth. And let me tell you, it parallels his lips in its amazing-ness. It’s all cozy and snuggle-in-front-of-the-fire-on-cold-winter-nights and goose feather comforters and cashmere sweaters and it’s become the perfect compliment to my otherwise bare existence in the three weeks following our little "excursion" up in my room the night they came home from South America. And right now is no exception. And when he mentions Taylor, I feel a little of that warmth slip away, but not much. "Why would you ever say that?" I ask and slip my hand down between the sheets that separate us as some sort of comforting gesture. Hey, I’m sure he found it quite comforting. "Cause that’s what they all do, Lissy," He said, like he’d practiced this speech a million times in the bathroom mirror and for a tiny moment I felt really sad and kinda sorry for him. Tay’s beauty does kinda have a tendency to overshadow those around him. "String me along until Tay gets done with his flavor of the month and starts giving them the time of day and pretty much every other damn thing they want. And then it’s Bye Bye Zac." "I can’t believe you’d ever think I’d do such a thing," I straightened up in the bed and pulled my hand from it’s ahem comforting position. "I don’t want Taylor to give me the time of day. I don’t want Taylor to give me anything. I’ve already had enough of Taylor "giving" me things and I’d rather not have anymore, thankyouverymuch." "Cause his idea of giving," I continued my tirade, much to his dismay as he was already groping for my hand again. Geez, boys are so impatient. "is to make you think that he’s giving you something just so you’ll give into him and lie down in the backseat of his car and let him take something that you were never wanting to give in the first place. And then he has the nerve to come home from South America with another woman on his arm to which he’s pretending to "give" stuff to and... Stop looking at me like that..." "Does all that mean you’re not leaving me for Tay?" "Yeah...duh..." He smiles and I lay back in his arms and roll my eyes when he slips my hand back beneath the sheet, all the while thinking that my ceiling is really, incredibly interesting. "Hey, your ceiling is really, incredibly interesting." See, he is perfect after all. |
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