Crave 1 Read online

  Crave, Part One

  Copyright © 2017 E.K. Blair

  Cover Design: E.K. Blair

  Editor: Ashley Williams, Adept Edits

  Interior Design: Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats

  ISBN: 978-0-9963970-8-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,) without the prior written permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Crave

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  From the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Other Titles by E.K. Blair

  To Ashley

  who believes in this crazy dream of mine.

  I often find myself wondering if I have always been like this, if I ever existed without being afflicted with this craving. When I think back, I reach static before finding a time where I was free. Maybe I’ve never been free. Maybe I was born with some sort of displacement. A wiring gone wrong.

  I was six years old when I saw my first set of tits.

  I woke up in the middle of the night, thirsty for a drink of water, when I walked into the living room and saw my babysitter naked from the waist up while kissing her boyfriend. I didn’t understand at the time exactly what I was seeing, but I knew I liked it. Not in a sexual way, but the visual intrigued me.

  Her name was Shannon.

  I don’t remember much about her. She was one of a number of babysitters that would stay overnight while my mother worked her second job. I often found myself staying up late, hoping Shannon’s boyfriend would show up. To this very day, I can still remember the excitement I felt when I saw her on the couch with him, when I heard the sounds they made. I would crouch on my hands and knees and watch them as I hid behind a fake ficus tree that sat in the far corner of the living room.

  The excitement of watching her dry hump her boyfriend didn’t make my dick grow like it does now as I clench my hand firmly around myself. Memories play behind my eyelids, and I cum quickly, shooting my load into a wad of toilet paper before flushing it.

  I wash my hands and then run damp fingers through my hair as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I stare into green eyes, eyes that bear no resemblance to my mother’s, and tell myself under my breath, “Seven hours,” but I already know I won’t be able to last that long. I only set these trivial goals to give myself the illusion that I’m being proactive about controlling whatever this is.

  The idea that maybe I’m uncontrollable has been weighing heavily on me lately, but I shrug it off as I walk out of the bathroom.

  “Bye, Mom,” I shout and then grab my backpack and the keys to the shitty old Camaro I recently bought. I was finally able to save enough money from the part-time job I’ve been working after school to buy the damn thing. It’s old and rundown, but it gets me from point A to point B.

  The car fits in with the apartment complex, but I tell myself that I don’t. The thought of this being my life has never sat well with me. I’ve grown up threadbare with an absentee mother who works herself to the bone for every penny she makes, only to fall short every month. She’s drowning in debt, and I refuse to go down that same path.

  I toss my backpack into the passenger seat and pump the gas a few times before cranking the ignition and bringing the car to a grumbling start.

  Most would look at a kid like me and make the stereotypical judgment call. But I’m smarter than the other dopeheads that live on this side of the tracks. The only way I have a chance of getting out of here is by going to college and making something of myself. All I have going for me is academics, so I’ve made them my priority, and in return, I’ve maintained a solid four-point-oh GPA semester after semester.

  Pulling into the parking lot of South Shore High, I park in my usual spot next to Micah’s pristine truck where he and our buddy Trent are already waiting on me.

  Micah claps his hand obnoxiously against the old metaled hood of my car and gives me a shit-eating grin. “Kason, what the hell happened to you last night?”

  “Got tied up with stuff.”

  “Speaking of stuff,” he hints as we head into the school building.

  If it weren’t for my association with Micah, I’d be just another roughneck outcast. But with his money and popularity and my ability to score him weed on a consistent basis, we’ve forged a friendship that benefits my social standing in this school. I guess that’s one of the perks of living where I do—pot is an easy score for the rich kids. I’ve never touched the stuff myself, but I’ll happily buy it off my neighbor, inflate the price for the naïve Micah, and pocket the profit.

  “I gotta work this afternoon, but I can meet you when I’m done.”

  He turns to face me as he walks backward down the crowded hall, telling me, “Indian Rocks. The guys and I will be skimming there.”

  “Dude.”

  He smiles, ignoring my irritation, and then turns the corner and rushes to his class.

  “That’s way outta my way, man!” I holler before colliding into another student. “Fu—”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice comes before I’m able to gather my bearings enough to see who I bumped into. When I do look, she’s already kneeling and grabbing the books she dropped.

  “I’ll get those.” I squat next to her, and when I hand over her books, I finally get a look as we stand.

  Long blonde hair frames her face, which is soft in color compared to most of the overly tanned girls in this town. But when you live in Tampa and the beaches are the main hangouts, what else can you expect? Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and when she looks me in the eyes, she apologizes again, saying, “I’m sorry. That was my fault.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention either, so no need to apologize.” She shifts nervously on her feet and hoists her backpack higher on her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “Adaline,” she responds and then shakes her head as she corrects herself. “I mean Ady. People just call me Ady.”

  “You new?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not in a bad way, but yeah. You hav
e that lost look in your eyes.”

  “And here I thought I was blending in,” she says and then smirks. “That is, until you ran into me and sent my books flying across the floor, causing a scene in front of everyone.”

  “I thought you said it was your fault? You even apologized for it.”

  “I was being polite. You know, new girl and all. Wouldn’t want to make any enemies on my first day, but you should really watch where you’re going.”

  Her humor cracks a smile on my face. “All right then. I’ll take the blame if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “It will. And thank you,” she responds with modest perk.

  “I guess I’ll see you around then.”

  I start to head to class but only make it a few steps when she shouts, “Wait.” I turn back, and she adds, “You never told me your name.”

  “Kason. People just call me Kason.”

  “Very funny.”

  “See you around, Adaline.”

  “It’s Ady,” she corrects as I head down the hall to first period, and I chuckle before making a detour that causes me to show up tardy.

  I knew I’d never make it the full seven hours.

  The day moves along in the same pattern as every day before, but it isn’t until sixth period that I see her again. I sit in my usual seat at the back of the classroom and watch her eyes skitter around the room to find an unoccupied desk. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear while kids file in behind her.

  I typically mind my own business with girls, avoiding interactions that could possibly lead to an interest on their part. It’s safer that way. But for some reason, I decide to put the poor thing out of her misery.

  “Adaline.”

  She raises her chin and smiles when she spots me.

  “I told you, it’s Ady,” she says when she approaches, but I ignore her reminder.

  “No one has ever claimed the desk in front of me.”

  “Seriously? It’s March.”

  “Your point?”

  She hangs her bag on the back of the chair and shifts to the side to look at me when she takes her seat. “No point. Just wondering why you’ve sat back here for nearly the whole year by yourself.”

  “Maybe I’m a loser.”

  She laughs. “That’s a stretch.”

  “How so?”

  “I saw you at lunch. I can tell you’re not a loser.”

  “Spying on me?”

  She unzips her bag and takes her notebook out. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m the new girl, remember? It’s kinda my job to be observant.”

  I catch Micah from the corner of my eye as he walks down the aisle, and Adaline looks up, following my line of focus.

  “You again,” he says to her before taking the seat to my right.

  “You’ve already met?”

  “Third period English,” he tells me and then turns to her, saying, “And for the sole purpose of you being new, I won’t hold it against you that you’re sitting in my desk.”

  She shoots me an annoyed glare, to which I smile.

  “In my defense, he told me no one sat here.”

  “Figures. This dick would throw anyone under the bus for a good-looking blonde.”

  “You think I’m good-looking?” Her tone is playful and full of mockery.

  “His words, not mine.”

  “That isn’t a denial.”

  She then turns in her chair, closing off the conversation, and I’m already somehow intrigued with the new girl and her air of confidence. Looking to my side, Micah mouths she’s hot. I shake my head at him and then open my notebook, trying to redirect my focus when I feel the fangs of urgency bite.

  I shift in my seat, hyperaware of my surroundings, but as I take a quick scan of my classmates, I find them all lost in their own conversations.

  The teacher calls everyone’s attention and begins her instruction while I struggle to pay attention to the lecture. I take notes and listen, all the while counting down the minutes until the final bell. When the last tick hits, I grab my bag, scrape the legs of my chair against the floor, and rush to get my fix.

  “Dude,” Micah calls. “Don’t forget. Indian Rocks tonight.”

  “Got it,” I throw over my shoulder, not wanting to look back and risk the chance of catching another glance of her. Sitting behind her and smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo was torture enough. So, I hightail it to my car and speed home to quell what’s starting to feel like a curse.

  He runs out of class so fast that I don’t even get a chance to say goodbye. Maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t know how much longer I can put on this charade of the easy breezy self-assured new kid.

  “What’s Indian Rocks?” I ask Micah as we’re packing our books.

  “Pretty much the only decent place around here to skim.”

  “Your words are totally lost on me.”

  He drags his hand through his over-grown blond hair and walks with me out of the classroom. “Skimboarding. We’re trying to get our fill before spring break hits and the beaches are filled with kooks for the next few weeks. You should come.”

  I have no clue what a kook is, but I nod, feigning understanding because I don’t want to look like a complete moron. “I still have a lot of unpacking to do.”

  “Suit yourself, Guppy. But if you change your mind, we’ll be there pretty late.”

  “Guppy?”

  He laughs. “I could toss you in my pocket and you’d still have room to grow,” he teases of my petite stature. “Gotta run, though. See you later?”

  “Maybe. Like I said, still unpacking and all.”

  “Micah, come on,” a guy hollers from down the hall, and Micah shoots me a quick, “Later,” before catching up with his friend.

  I make my way through the congested halls and watch as everyone clumps off into their groups of friends and heads out to the student parking lot while I walk solo. The humidity hangs heavily in the air, and when I hop into my car, I blast the air conditioner and release a somber huff. Since I’m still learning my way around this town, I plug my address into my car’s navigation, and when the pin drops, I shift into drive.

  Palm trees line the streets that take me to my new home, but I feel so far from paradise with the density caged within my chest. When I pull into the circular drive in front of the house my mom and I just moved into, I park and rest my head back against the seat and look through the sunroof.

  Deep green palm fronds hang overhead against the bright blue sky. The moment I found out I would be leaving Plano, Texas, for Tampa, Florida, I was excited. I mean, who wouldn’t want to trade landlocked pavement for water and sand? I psyched myself up for the move, but I didn’t consider how lonely I’d be without my friends and family. I’m a million miles away from comfort and familiarity.

  Inside the airy, two-story, stucco home, the echo of my shoes against the tile of the foyer is the only sound that greets me. I make my way up the stairs and into my bedroom, which overlooks the pool out back. Tossing my bag onto my bed, I pull my phone out from my pocket to check the time.

  3:27PM

  I’m an hour ahead of my friends back home, so I drag myself into my bathroom and unpack a couple of boxes to pass the time until they get out of class. Once my belongings are put in place and organized, I toss the empty boxes over the railing that overlooks the foyer, too lazy to walk them down the stairs.

  When I go back to my room, I hear a splashing from outside. Looking out my window, I find the pool guy cleaning out the filter. It’s only after he stands that I recognize him. A voyeur, hidden behind the white plantation shutters that are closed over my windows, I spy on Kason as he walks over to grab the leaf skimmer. I slant the shutters to face upward so he can’t see me as he takes the hem of his white work polo and uses it to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

  His long athletic cuts are evident in his arms and also his legs that show beneath his khaki shorts. I wonder if he plays any sports or hits the gym, because he’s more defined and fill
ed out than most of the boys my age. I debate whether to go say hi, but talk myself out of it when I remember how fast he bolted out of class when the final bell rang.

  The buzzing of my cell phone pulls me away from the window, and when I see Molly’s name lit up across the screen, I smile and take the call.

  “Finally. I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

  “How did it go?” is the first thing she says, and the sound of her voice has a wave of homesickness washing over me.

  I flop onto the bed and groan. “Ugh. Okay, I guess. Being the new kid blows, especially since it’s nearly the end of the year. Everyone is already secured in their cliques, and then there’s me . . . the Texan with a hick accent.”

  “We’re not hick,” she defends. “We’re . . . Southern.”

  “Well, whatever you want to call it, it isn’t what these kids are. My blonde hair fits in, but these girls are walking around in shorts that barely cover their tiny butts.”

  “Seriously? At school?”

  “Apparently, the dress codes aren’t enforced, if there’s a dress code at all,” I remark. “And I need to go on a diet of X-Lax and water.”

  Molly bursts out in laughter. “You are certifiably crazy. You don’t need to lose a pound!”

  “Not according to Texan standards, but I doubt these people feast on fried pickles and ranch.”

  “More like kale salads and soybean smoothies?”

  “Totally!” We both giggle, but mine is weighted in sadness. I wish Molly were here with me. No one gets me like she does.

  “Hey, can I call you later? We’re all going to Finn’s house before the basketball game tonight.”

  “Tell everyone I said hi, okay?”

  “Of course,” she says before adding, “I miss you, Ady.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and sulk my shoulders as I look around my half-unpacked room. These items may have come from my old room back home, but nothing feels the same. My mom and I only moved here a few days ago, but it’s enough time for me to feel the loneliness setting in. With her starting her new job, I know she’ll be working longer hours than what she used to back in Dallas, which make me just that much more lonely.