Page 65 of Gilded Fake

“You’re high.”

“Only a little.”

“You swallowed a handful of pills,” she points out. “Ones you told me were so strong I should only take half.”

“I’m a pro,” I say. “I can still fuck when I’m fucked up.”

“I don’t want to fuck you when you’re fucked up.”

“I’ll let you off the hook for now. Just know, I’m not letting this day end until I’ve filled all three of your holes with my cum. I’ve still got two to go.”

“We’ll see,” she says as I pull a pair of cutoffs up her tan thighs.

“Prolong it if you want, butterfly,” I say. “It’s happening.”

I button her shorts and then pull a t-shirt over her head.

“You forgot a bra,” she protests.

I pinch the point of her nipple through the thin fabric. “I didn’t forget.”

When she’s talked her way into a hoodie—it’s still cool out this early in the morning even in late April—and slipped on her flip-flops, I scoop her up and carry her out.

“I’ll drive,” she says. “You took too many pills.”

“But we can watch the sunrise from the bed of my truck,” I argue.

“Your truck, but I drive,” she counters.

I relent and slide her behind the wheel of my truck, buckling her in before I step down. I remember the first time I wanted to do that, how impossible it felt. I never would have dreamed back then that I’d be doing it as a matter of course now. She sees me looking at her up there behind the wheel and gives a self-conscious little laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say, and I step forward and kiss her once before closing the door and circling the truck. I hop up in, and she takes off without asking where we’re going, without needing my input. A few minutes later we pull up at the quarry, and she expertly backs into the gravel lot where so many parties are held, deserted at five in the morning.

“You handle this like you’ve been driving a truck all your life,” I say, leaning over to kiss her when she’s parked.

“Only a few times.”

I can tell she’s proud of herself, even if she tries to hide it, that she’s proud I complimented her. It breaks my heart for some fucking reason.

“Stay here.”

I grab a blanket and a couple sleeping bags from the back and lay them out in the bed before going to collect her. She laughs when I carry her to the tailgate and set her down.

“You know you don’t really have to carry me around like a baby.”

“I want to, baby,” I say, pulling her knees open so I can stand between them while I kiss her. I can’t seem to stop, to stop touching her soft skin, drawing her soft lips open, tasting her warm, wet mouth.

At last, she pulls away. “We’re missing the sunrise.”

I crawl back into the bed of the truck and open the blankets for her, and she scoots down in with me. After opening the back window so she can connect her phone, we listen to music, quiet this time, unlike at the parties that happen up here. I hold her, pillowing her head on my arm, and we listen and watch while the sun rises and the sky turns from dark to light, from purple to pink to pale blue, not needing words.

“We should have come up here earlier,” she says. “We could have seen the stars.”

“We’ll come up again,” I promise. “It’s a great stargazing spot.”

I remember then that I came up with Destiny once, but it seems far away now, a sweet memory that’s faded with time, ready to be let go, like a favorite t-shirt that no longer fits.

“Will we, though?” she asks. “Graduation is only a few weeks away, and then I’ll be going off to Yale, and you’ll be… Getting married, I guess.”

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