THE 16 YEAR ITCH
COPYRIGHT© 2008 by Melissa Blue
Morgan Stevens took in the pink and red heartshaped
balloons, the rows of endless chocolate in
heart-shaped boxes, the heart-shaped greeting cards,
and her stomach clenched. “You know, I really hate this
holiday. It’s not even a week from now and everything
is…ugh.”
Alan, her best friend, laughed. “Only because no one
has ever asked you to be their Valentine,” he shrugged.
“Could make anyone grumpy.”
Morgan took in the atmosphere again. She’d missed the
naked babies armed with heart-shaped arrows. Oh, and
the array of pink stuffed animals. It was like Pepto-
Bismol on crack. “No, I don’t think so.”
She followed him to the card aisle. His long, easy
strides ate up the floor. She tried not to watch the
view from behind. “Why did I get dragged into this
again?”
“Because you love me.” The comment stopped her cold,
until he continued. “And because you know what card my
mother will like.”
The fear seizing Morgan’s heart loosened. She knew he
only saw her in a platonic fashion--knowing someone
since the age of five could do that. But there had been
moments when things between them shifted like a crackle
in the air, moments when if she had leaned forward,
just a little, the platonic part of their relationship
would no longer exist. Morgan never leaned forward and
those moments past as if she imagined it.
There had been one of those moments just that morning
when he reached behind her for a coffee mug, he had
paused. Her breasts had been pressed against his muscled
chest. Her heart had thudded seeing, feeling their
mouths touching like she fantasized on too many nights
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to count. He had smiled down at her like a brother
would.
Another opportunity lost.
She pulled herself together. Nothing could come out of
her crush-that-should-have-died-years-ago. They were
friends. They’d always been and always will be friends.
Instead of years of hot, sweaty, monkey sex with Alan,
Morgan had consigned herself to be the one to tell him
to put his teeth in.
“What’s wrong?” Alan asked softly.
“The capitalist way of saying I love you with an oversized
balloon that says, ‘I love you, beary much’ is
getting to me. I think I’m developing an eye twitch.”
She pointed to her face. “I’m sure of it. Tell me, is
it twitching?”
He reached out and cradled the side of her face with
his wide palm. The corner of his mouth twitched up making
the dimple in his left cheek peek out. Then there
was that zing again. And no, she wasn’t imagining it
this time. The same nameless emotion that had been
driving her berserk since puberty flashed in his hazel
eyes.
He caressed her eyebrow with his thumb. Under the florescent
light his caramel toned skin appeared flush.
This was it; he was finally going to kiss her. Yes,
yes, yes! His smiled spread, the damn brotherly smile,
and the moment went poof.
“Your eyes are fine.”
He turned back to the cards, and her heart, like it always
did after one of those zing moments, broke a little.
She had to stop doing this to herself. Who was she
kidding? This was maddening. Holding her breath for one
of those moments to stretch and become more was pointless.
They would never become more. Maybe, if she really wanted to delude herself she could add up those moments
and hold them close to her. It still wouldn’t be
enough.
Morgan crossed her arms to stave off the cold creeping
on her. “I think your Mom would like the one on the
left. 12 o’clock.”
His hand went straight to it. “Not too cheesy?”
A laugh finally broke through the melancholy. “Everything
in this aisle is too cheesy.” Including me.
Alan tried not to glance at Morgan, but keeping his
eyes on the road was becoming troublesome. The leather
upholstery squeaked when he shifted again to curb the
urge, because he knew without looking at her something
was off. If he only had one guess, Alan would pick the
moment in Lucky’s Superstore. God, he shouldn’t have
touched her. When would he learn touching her only made
it worse?
He had come close, twice, in one day to kissing her.
Alan needed to be rid of Morgan or he’d do something
dumb and ruin a friendship. She was smart, witty, and
incredibly sensual. Over the years they’d argued, made
up with a joke or smile, but most people couldn’t go
from lovers to friends again. That and many other reasons
is what stopped him every time.
Just see what happens, his mother’s voice lodge in his
head. More often those words pushed him closer to forgetting
his reasons for keeping things on a platonic
level.
The silence on the other side of the car continued.
Alan gave up and glanced at her--big mistake, because
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his eyes strayed to her lips, plump and kissable. Lips
that had comforted, chastised, and encouraged him when
he needed it.
Damn, damn, damn. He was in deep this time. He had to
get her out of the car, now, because he was sure, he
was going to do something dumb. He slowed to park in
her driveway. He kept the car running. “I guess I’ll
see you later.”
She made a noncommittal noise and opened the door. The
leather seat seemed to hug her wide hips as she slide
down from the SUV. Finally it let her go and she turned
those deep chocolate brown eyes on him. Something was
definitely off.
“I think we need some time from each other.”
Those had been the last words he’d expected her to say,
so it took him a moment to get his brain around them.
His hands gripped the steering wheel. He saw what she
was going to do in her eyes. He’d known her too long to
assume what had happened in Lucky’s didn’t already
change things between them.
Even knowing the answer, Alan still said, “Can I ask
why?”
“I just need some time. Away from you. We’re 28. We’re
unattached. Most men I date don’t understand our relationship.”
She scoffed. “Hell most of them offer a three-way
thinking we’ve already been there and done that.”
She shook head as if to say that’s not my point. “The
comment you said back at the store got me thinking.
I’ve never had a Valentine. Not that I really wanted
one, but still…” She stopped not meeting his eyes.
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And this is why men shouldn’t talk, Alan conceded, at
least why he shouldn’t talk. But this could be a good
thing for them. He never really looked at any other
woman as a possible girlfriend, much less as a wife.
When he did he compared them to Morgan. None of them
ever passed muster when he did.
Maybe it was time to let their friendship die. They
could stay in touch by phone. He went back to those
chocolate irises. His stomach clenched harder. He
wouldn’t be able to admire how the soft features belied
the sarcastic temperament underneath. He wouldn’t be
able to drown in her eyes secretly and not wanting an
anchor. She sunk her teeth in her bottom lip, her nervous
tell, and the thought hit him—I’ve lost her already.
It was for the best.
Okay, think brotherly. He started to smile. Morgan made
a disgruntled noise and slammed the car door. He banged
his head on the headrest then reached for the door handle.
He couldn’t bring himself to open it.
Ages ago he should have made the first move. It’s not
like there weren’t moments where he could have taken
the opportunity. His mind went back to the first and
only time they kissed back in the 8th grade.
I’m going to be dead before a boy kisses me, Morgan had
said. They’d been sitting on the bleachers, she’d been
doing math homework, and he was waiting to copy the answers.
He leaned forward and gave her a closed mouth
kiss. Her eyes had widened, but then surprised turned
to pleasure.
They’d never talked about it. Now that Alan thought
about it he’d made a joke and they moved on like they
always did.
But there were other times: summers spent half naked
and swimming in Dead Man’s Lake, dancing together at
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prom, drunken college nights. A few million opportunities,
all wasted because he’d been too chicken shit.
No, too scared that any relationship they’d have just
might crash and burn then he’d never be able to see her
again. Their lives we so intertwined. Alan tried to
think of a time when Morgan wasn’t there.
He couldn’t.
Alan loosened his grip on the door handle, stared at
her house for a few more moments, then left. No, he was
definitely a chicken shit.
Morgan stared down the phone then said, “I swore on a
stack of Holy Bibles I wasn’t going to call.”
She didn’t turn to her mother’s sigh. “Dear, either you
call him or stop calling me.”
Morgan turned, not surprised at her mother’s reply.
“What kind of mother are you? You are supposed to be my
moral support. You are supposed to be the one who says,
‘it’s alright, let me kiss your hurt.’ Not, ‘don’t call
me.’ Ugh.”
“I would be if you hadn’t called me for seven days
straight, asking me if you did the right thing. Every
day I’ve come over here to watch you mope around the
house for hours. In between the moping I’ve watched you
break your neck every time the phone rings. So, that
circles me back to call him.” She lifted the Chardonnay
bottle. The five carat diamond wedding ring shone in
the false light. “Looks like you need a refill, Honey.”
No wonder she was so screwed up. Not that having June
Cleaver as a mom seemed like a better choice out of the
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two extremes, but she wanted…Morgan wasn’t sure what
she wanted. On a whim she’d spoken words she wished to
take back. She thought her life would be simpler without
pining over Alan. Apparently life completely without
him didn’t lessen the pining.
She wanted him here, any where near here, just to be
there with her. Apparently, he still wasn’t out of her
system. Realizing how pathetic she looked, Morgan
marched away from the phone and took the glass her
mother offered.
“ If I call, he wins.” And my heart will keep breaking
every time he doesn’t touch me.
Stacey rolled her eyes. “And what if he doesn’t call?
Weren’t you the one to tell him you needed time away? I
mean really, dear, sometimes I don’t know how you became
so contrary.”
“I have a mother that says contrary and celebrates
every holiday on a calendar year.” Morgan rubbed the
condensation from the glass. The liquid beaded on her
fingertip. “But I think my contrariness has screwed
things up.”
“What’s to come is inevitable. Think about it, dear,
for 16 years you guys have ignored this elephant in the
room. Also, in 16 years this is the first time you guys
haven’t talked.”
Her mother took a sip from her glass. “There is going
to be an implosion. I just hope I’m not in the way when
it happens.”
Morgan glanced down into her drink. “No, I’ve definitely
screwed this up.”
Before she could take a sip from her glass the phone
rang. She skidded across the floor and answered it
half-way through the first ring. “Hello?”
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She didn’t hear the reply over the ringing of the doorbell.
Still couldn’t pin point the voice when her mother
yelled “I’ll get it” And the swigging door slammed
shut behind Stacey.
“I’m sorry can you repeat that.” She said.
An automated voice said, “If you don’t have renter’s
insurance here’s your opportunity to--.”
Morgan slammed the phone down. The swinging door
creaked open behind her. “It wasn’t--.”
Alan wasn’t calling her, because he was standing in her
kitchen. Wrinkles clung to the bottom of the denims he
wore. His collared shirt was half tucked into his
pants. She backed up into the counter, not sure if it
was his appearance or that he was standing in her
kitchen.
“Stacey said she had to go and something about an implosion.
She said you’d know what it meant.”
There was an implosion alright. Was it wrong that she
wanted to run to him and just wrap her arms around his
steady frame? Maybe, but seven long days had changed
her outlook a little. It was time to stop lying to herself.
She loved Alan, and she’d been in love with him
for 16 years. She told her rational brain to shut up
and moved toward him.
“I’m sorry. I—it’s been hard.”
Morgan stopped at his words. “What do you mean?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I thought I would
go out on dates. When that didn’t work, I grabbed the
nearest sibling and went on a drinking binge.”
“You drank? Hard liquor?” Morgan narrowed her eyes.
He grimaced. “Sure as hell wasn’t a fuzzy navel.”
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She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why?”
Morgan asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Because I was trying to live my life without you in
it.” He moved toward her. “It’s damn hard.” He took
another step until he stood in front of her. “Frankly,
I don’t want to.”
Damn the consequences. Morgan moved forward until they
were chest to chest. “Kiss me.”
Those wide palms she’d fantasized about cradled her
head. The heat spread from her temples down, down
farther, until she moaned against his mouth. The kiss
was everything she dreamt it would be, but it didn’t
scratch the itch.
“I love you.” He murmured.
Oh, that was close, but not quite there. “Beary much?”
He pulled back and his dimple deepened as he chuckled.
“Forever.”
That hit the spot. “I love you, too.” She paused, her
hand on his zipper. “But first I’ve got an itch only
you can scratch.”
The End