Okay, so the repercussions of my impulsive behavior resulted in the following:
One full week’s worth of lunchtime detentions for me, due to my inability to follow school rules. Ooh, and I had been given my very first red card from the referee, which I thought was kind of strange considering I had only kissed Gerard and hadn’t participated in any illegal tackling.
Either way, it was so worth it.
When I was finally released from the office, after enduring a twenty-minute lecture from both Coach and Mr. Twomey on the importance of not mounting rugby players, Gerard was waiting outside for me. The moment my eyes landed on him, freshly showered and looking divine in his gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved black t-shirt, all of our principal’s words of warning went clean out the window.
My heart boomed like a drum the entire way home from school, because it knew it was in trouble with this boy. Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” drifted from the stereo, but I couldn’t hear a word of it over the sound of my thundering pulse.
I had a boyfriend.
Yep, me.
Better again, that boyfriend was Gerard.
When he parked up at the footpath outside my driveway, I couldn’t stop myself from springing into action. Unable to cope with the frenzied energy whizzing around inside of my body, I unfastened my seatbelt and crawled over the console, not stopping until I was straddling his hips.
“Jesus, Claire-Bear,” Gerard chuckled, reaching under his seat for the lever that allowed him to push his chair back and give us a little more room. “You’re happy.”
“I am happy,” I agreed, resting my hands on his broad chest. “I am deliriously happy.”
His hand slipped under the hem of my skirt, fingers grazing my bare thigh, and I felt like I might pass out.
Because I wanted him, I realized.
More than anything.
More than my next breath.
“Hey, is that Mark?” Distracted by the sight of Mark Allen packing the boot of his father’s Land Rover with suitcases, I turned back to Gerard, eyes wide with excitement. “Oh my God, is he leaving?”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Yeah, let’s.”
Gerard didn’t bother to look in his direction, keeping his entire focus locked on me instead. “I love you, Claire.” Inhaling a deep breath, he studied my face for a long moment, thumb grazing my chin, before exhaling. “I really love you, girlfriend.”
“Aw.” Practically melting on his lap, I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I really love you, too, boyfriend.”
When he knotted his hand in my hair and deepened the kiss, I really did melt on his lap. It was such a good kiss; slow, and smooth, and deep, and spine-tinglingly perfect.
“Gerard?” I said in a breathless tone when I broke our kiss a little while later.
“Hm?” he replied, peppering my bare skin with epic, toe-curling neck kisses.
“You were my first kiss.”
“Mm-hm.”
“And the first boy who touched me there.”
“Mm.”
“And the first boy to lick me there.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Well, I want you … ” My words broke off and I moaned when his tongue traced over a particularly sensitive part of my neck. “ … to be my first everything.”
The moment the words were out, Gerard froze, lips still on my neck. “Everything?”
Releasing a shaky breath, I nodded. “Everything.”
“Just so we’re on the same page,” Gerard paused to pull back and look at me, “you are talking about sex, right?” He eyed me cautiously. “Because I’ve been known to get it wrong a time or ten, and my ability to read between the lines is about as shocking as my ability to read in class, Claire-Bear.”
“I am, Gerard.” My face flamed with heat. “I am talking about sex.”
“Okay.”
His brows furrowed together as he studied me. “What, uh, what exactly about … ”
“Omigod, Gerard, I want us to have sex with each other!” I blurted out, spelling it out for him in the most un-sexy way imaginable. “As in, I want you to put your ladder in my tree.”
“In your tree?”
Rolling my eyes, I grabbed his hand and pushed it between my legs. “Oh, your tree,” he replied, awareness dawning on him. “You should have called it a bush, Claire-Bear. I’m not familiar with the whole pussies being trees terminology.”
“Ew, no.” I scrunched my nose up in disgust. “Bush is such a gross word.”
“True,” he agreed. “And you definitely don’t have one.”
“Nope.” I smiled proudly. “The benefits of pound shop razors.”
He seemed to think about that for a moment before shaking his head. “So, back to the sex.”
“The sex,” I agreed.
“When were you thinking about it, uh, happening?”
“Um, I was thinking sort of now.”
“Now?” Gerard looked a little panicked. “Like ‘right now in the car’ right now?”
“No, obviously not ‘right now in the car’ right now,” I replied with a nervous laugh.
“Okay, good.” He laughed nervously in response. “Because I was thinking Mr. Murphy always takes his evening stroll and I wouldn’t want to traumatize the poor man.”
“True.” Forcing a chuckle, I glanced around the car before saying, “But, um, maybe right now in my room?”
“In your room?” His attention flicked to my mother’s parked car. “With your mam downstairs in the kitchen?”
Aw crackers. “Maybe your room?”
“We could, but then my mam would be downstairs in the kitchen.”
“Dammit,” I groaned.
“We could … ” Gerard started to say but quickly shook his head. “Nah, forget it.”
“We could what?” I begged, catching onto the tiny flicker of hope and holding on for dear life. “What? What could we do, Gerard?”
“We could always go to the treehouse,” he offered, and then winced in what looked like fearful anticipation of my reaction. “But obviously that’s a really shitty idea and no girl wants to have her first time in a fucking treehouse—”
“You’re a genius!” I exclaimed with excitement. “It’s perfect.”
“It is?”
“Yes.” I beamed at him. “And I would love to do it in the treehouse with you, Gerard Gibson, if you would like to accept my offer?”
“You know what, Claire Biggs?” He sat straight up. “I think I would like that.”
“Okay then,” I replied, holding my hand out, “we’ll have sex in the treehouse.”
“Okay,” Gerard agreed, shaking my hand, “let’s go do that.
