Truly Madly Deeply (Forbidden Love, #1)

by L.J. Shen

Age Eighteen

If someone told me an hour ago that I would be pinned beneath Row Casablancas, partially naked and writhing against the hood of his black Mustang, I would have guessed he’d gotten himself into some kind of trouble and had resorted to drugging me and harvesting my organs to make a quick buck. Row didn’t hate me. He didn’t love me either. I would guesstimate his feelings toward me were somewhere on the spectrum between look at this adorable little moron and shit, I forgot she existed.

In my defense, Row made it impossible for my adolescent self not to lust after him on account of him: 1) being six foot four inches of lithe, corded muscles, having floppy onyx hair, and a jawline stronger than my lifetime of New Year’s resolutions combined, and 2) having the entire bad-boy vibe down to a T—including a sports car, athletic genes, witty one-liners, a dimpled smirk, and unlaced combat boots

To sum it up, he was a morally gray hunk who was a total red flag—my age group’s favorite color scheme.

Point was, Row’s tongue was currently shoved so far down my throat, we were playing tonsil hockey. His ballistic missile–sized erection pressed against the buttons of my yellow plaid skirt, threatening to snap them and send them past the Milky Way.

I was also a people pleaser, and I really wanted to please Row. So I made complimentary moaning sounds I’d learned from the Pornhub University of Fake Orgasms. This included head lolling, enthusiastic panting, and girly gasps. Row took this as an invitation to move to second base, coiling his calloused fingers around the front of my throat and flattening me against the hood of his car.

Row’s hand snuck under my beige turtleneck and my yellow plaid vest, cupping my left boob as his mouth trailed along my jaw, leaving wet, hot kisses in its wake, making my spine tingle. His lips were sinful, his tousled hair as soft as silk between my greedy fingers. Dammit, I’m only human. We were grinding against each other, and I was in awe of how different his body was from mine. Hard to my soft. Tall to my short. Tan to my pale. He was doing everything right. The way he swirled his tongue over my sensitive spots, drawing happy whimpers from me. The way his thumb rubbed the tip of my hard nipple, making it tingly and sensitive and desperate for more, felt like some kind of dark magic. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Row ripped his mouth from my skin, staring me down through a disapproving scowl. “Are you still alive?” “Hmm-mm.” “Should I stop?” His fingers immediately loosened around my waist and back, and I suddenly remembered what had made me want to have sex with him in the first place. “No!” I wrenched him closer and pressed my lips to his, doubling down on that rabid-wildlife conduct. “You…you can’t stop.” But maybe he should? My mind and my body were definitely not in sync. “Sure I can.” His mouth moved over mine again, his voice velvet and smoke. “Consent is a real thing. Google it.”

“Fuck. You’re so sweet. So innocent. I want to eat you out.” “I want to eat you out too.” Wait, what? That didn’t sound right. Having social anxiety and literally zero filters when I was nervous sucked. “Do you, now?” I could hear the smirk in his smartass tone. Dammit, Cal. “Not, in, like, a cannibalistic way—” “Show me, then. Use plenty of examples. I’m a slow learner.” He growled, deepening our kiss.

He ripped his mouth from mine, eyeballing me hard. We stared at each other, panting. I had no idea what I was doing. I kept my hand on his penis and rubbed a little, like I did when my cat, Semus, asked for a head rub. His dick twitched, pushing against my palm appreciatively. Row dropped his forehead to mine, letting loose a low grumble

“Fuck, Dot. Your goddamn existence turns me on. Your mere breathing makes my balls tingle.”

There was something about the fact he called me Dot that sent pleasurable shivers up and down my back. Dylan had come up with the nickname because when we were little, four or five, she couldn’t remember the word freckle, so she’d named me after the galaxy of star-shaped dots peppered across my nose. The nickname had stuck.

“Row?” “Yeah?” “As you know, I have…uhm…” Social anxiety from hell. “A healthy aversion to strangers,” he mumbled into my skin, biting the side of my jaw softly. “Understandable. I’m not a fan of humans myself.” He rubbed the sensitive spot behind my ear with his thumb. “If you want to stop—” “No!” I cried out. This was the first time I was actually having fun being with a guy. Well, it was kind of the only time I’d been with a guy since…since. “I want you to take my virginity,” I choked out, my lips latching onto his.

“Dot.” His fingers were buried in my hair as he ravaged me with his expert mouth. Without finesse, without game, without the untouchable coolness he normally carried himself with. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.” I’d never seen Row so authentic, so final, so…out of control. He was usually unruffled and composed; I felt so drunk with power, my head spun. “Please,” I croaked. “I know what I want.” “And what is it that you want?” “You.”

“From one to ten, how sure are you? Ten is without-a-doubt confident, and one is forget-what-I-said-and-take-me-home.” “Twelve.” I blinked

“Are you sure you want me to take your V-card?” His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, Row, I’m sure. Who else would I give it to? Some trust fund baby from SUNY? Someone with a broccoli haircut? A guy who doesn’t even care about me and would make me sit in his dorm room and listen to his experimental techno music?”

“Why?” His thick eyebrows nose-dived. I decided to give him the truth. He deserved it, after all. “Because I have…” Severe androphobia. “Trust issues, and I know I’d never regret you. You’re the only guy I know who is fuckable and not a fuckup. Make sense?” “I’m a major fuckup.” He ran his fingers over my side bangs, tucking the hair behind my ear. “But too fucking selfish not to fuck you. It’s going to hurt, you know.” He gave me a cool once-over. “The first time, anyway. It’ll get better the more times—” “There won’t be more times,” I interrupted him. I appreciated him pretending it wasn’t a one-night stand, but that wasn’t necessary. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not saying that to make you feel better. I’m saying that because fucking you is probably all I’ll want to do once we start.”

He must’ve understood the gravity of the situation because he nodded. “Okay.” “I’m ready, Row. Let’s do this.” I shoved my tongue into his mouth before he could use it to change his mind. I’d already made a colossal mistake by making out with him. Might as well lose my pesky virginity before I went off to college. It was the right thing to do.

Row made sense. I didn’t have cold sweats with him. I didn’t go into hiding. Whenever I had extreme, nervous verbal diarrhea in front of him, he didn’t look at me like I was a freak. And I was confident enough in his presence to sass back.

his head disappearing between my thighs. “No,” I gasped, desperately trying to yank him up to his feet. “We don’t have time.” But the truth was, I was deathly afraid he wouldn’t like the taste of me. “Just…do it.” Great, now I sounded like a Nike commercial. “And hurry up.” “You sure know how to set the mood.” Row stood up swiftly, returning his lips to mine, refusing to cheapen this experience for me. His strong fingers slowly snaked down my waist, flipping my skirt up. More grinding ensued. His cock slid up and down my slit through my panties and his jeans. I could feel heat rushing between my legs. He made sure I was hot and ready for him before he rolled on a condom, and then he was inside me, sealing my pained moan with an apologetic kiss. Tears seared my eyes, and I held my breath at the sharp sting. “Okay to move?” he grunted, lodged squarely inside me. “I strongly prefer that you didn’t.” “We can—” “Stop. I know. Please just fuck me.” Didn’t I literally tell him not to? My head was a mess. So was the rest of me. “I don’t want to hurt you.” “I know. That’s precisely why we should continue.” He pulled out slowly, then thrusted inside. Soon, I was clawing at his shoulders,

Jesus, Dot, I could live inside this tight pussy if you’d let me, and You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole fucking universe, no close seconds, and Watching my dick inside you is more breathtaking than Paris at night.

But no. Row seemed to carry on forever. I was planning my 401(k) while he was in there, mercilessly stabbing my poor hymen with what appeared to be his eleven-inch dick.

Finally—praise Jesus—Row grumbled, “Fuck, I’m coming.” “Yeah. Totally. Me too.” I lifted my hand from behind his shoulder and bit into my fist to suppress a yelp of agony. I was worried my internal organs had gotten tangled around his penis. What if he pulled out and took my intestines with him? That thing between his legs was a health hazard. Row was coming inside me when I heard the squeak of car wheels stopping abruptly to my right, followed by gravel crunching. Another couple coming to Make-out Mountain to get some action. A car door slammed behind my back. Then I heard the unmistakable voice of my best friend. “Somebody better hold my earrings.” Dylan’s tenor was like a pair of scissors cutting my heart into a Judas-shaped paper. “Because I’m about to murder a bitch.” “Shit.” Row lurched away from me like I was fire.

I sifted through my mind for a plausible reason for what had just happened. He was my one chance to lose my virginity. I’m broken. I’ve actually had a crush on him for ages. I never told you because I care so deeply about our friendship. I didn’t even plan to do it. It just…happened. But they all sounded dumb, even in my head.

Row was leaving for Paris next week; I was leaving for New York tomorrow, and I had just thrown away fourteen years of friendship for the dubious pleasure of being railed by a man with a rolling pin instead of a penis. “It was my idea.” Row’s voice sounded disinterested and aloof. I didn’t know why he said that. It absolutely hadn’t been. “Don’t protect her!” Dylan finally broke free from Row’s grasp, pushing at her big brother’s chest. Her tears flew sideways. He didn’t even budge. Dude was built like a Marvel superhero. “She’s a selfish, mean, heartless bitch who betrayed me!” “I’m a selfish, mean, heartless asshole who did the same.” His lips barely moved, but a muscle in his chiseled jaw jumped. “Yet I don’t see you plotting my murder.”

“Actually, sorry doesn’t even begin to cover how I’m feeling. What I did was deplorable! It was all a huge mistake. I’m sick to my stomach. Horrified, disgusted, revolted—” “Stop. I’ll fucking blush.” Row rolled his tongue over his inner cheek, propping his unlaced army boot against the hood of his car. I ignored him. He wasn’t really offended. Sarcasm was his native tongue. “…revolted, no, repulsed by my own actions,” I continued. “Did you swallow a whole-ass dictionary?” Row’s whiskey-tinted eyes slanted into furious slits. “Also, you can say it felt like shit until you’re blue in the face, but your body told me a different story when you dripped all over the hood of my car.” “Argh! Blasphemy.” Dylan pressed her palms to her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. “The mental image is now burned into my retinas, and I have no other choice but to murder both of you.” “I swear I didn’t mean to! I was drunk,” I continued, lying through my teeth.

I couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t lose my best friend. She was there when, in kindergarten, kids had made fun of me for wearing a socks-and-sandals combo. She had started wearing them to school too, as a fashion statement. A middle finger to the bullies. Dylan always marched to the beat of her own drum. She always did the right thing, even if that thing was scary.

Plus, it wasn’t like I’d planned to date him. I didn’t do boyfriends. And I definitely didn’t do relationships. Relationships were for other humans who could “people” normally and not topple over like a fainting goat at the slightest social interaction.

“It meant nothing. I swear. I never looked at Row twice before today.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “You know I always thought he was freakishly tall and a little frightening—” “And the compliments just keep on coming.” A wry sneer rolled off Row’s tongue above my head. He was leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded, not a care in his world. “Is your secret talent pissing people off, Cal?” I hated him so much in that moment. “Worst-kept secret, as you can see.” I flashed him a glare, gesturing toward his sister. “Don’t you dare answer my brother like that.” Dylan shoved her finger in my face. “He’s way out of your league and the height of your love life.”

“You know, Cal, I’ve always looked up to you. You’re gorgeous, funny, smart, a kaleidoscope of colors and facts about the nineties; I mean, damn, you’re a walking Wikipedia about serial killers and ghost stories, and still have the most sunshine personality I’ve ever known. It’s tempting to stick around, to let those Calla Litvin sunrays kiss your skin. But when you strip it all off…the playlists, the outfits, the good times…when you look inside and examine what kind of friend she is…she sucks.” Dylan shook her head, her arms dropping to the sides of her body. “Grow up, Dot. And do it far away from me because I never want to see your face again.”

Tucking myself in the passenger seat, I shut the door and hung my head low and fingered the friendship bracelet Dylan had given me. At least I still had it. My finger caught in the elastic string, and as if on cue, it snapped and broke, the beads raining down my seat and onto the floor. I hastily tried scooping them, but I couldn’t feel my fingers. “That went well.” He flicked the bottom of the Gitanes with his finger. Another cigarette popped from the pack, and he clasped his teeth around it, lighting it like a movie star. “I’m such an idiot.” I flicked mud from my knees, banging the back of my head against my seat. I didn’t let my tears loose, even though it was near impossible. “I traded my best friend for a fling.” “For all she knows, this could be the romance of the century.” He rolled his window down, a cloud of smoke drifting past his lips. I shook my head. “Dylan knows the score. She knows I can’t fall in love. That I’m…”

“Broken.” I frowned. “But thanks.” “You’re not broken, Dot.” He stuck the cigarette in his mouth, patting my thigh offhandedly. “A little cut, sure. All diamonds are.”

“So.” He swiped his tongue across his upper lip, eyes hard on the road ahead. “I need to tell you something.”

“Row, please. There’s nothing to talk about. Trust me, I’m as horrified about you and me as you are. Probably more.” He punched his steering wheel, muttering something under his breath. “Would you get out of your own fucking head for one second and listen?” he seethed. “No thank you. My head is a terrible place. It’s exactly where I deserve to be right now.”

With piercing pain, I realized that home wasn’t Staindrop, Maine. It was the Casablancas siblings. And I was forever banished. “I really am sorry, you know,” I murmured when he stopped in front of my house, the engine still running. His stare was glued to the windshield, his jaw so tight it looked painful. “You guys are like my family. And I…I…” Like you so much. You are the two people I always felt truly myself with. But I didn’t have the guts to say these words. I swallowed. “And I hope everything works out for you.”

“Good luck at Columbia.” “Good luck in Paris.” “Don’t need luck, got talent.”

Five Years Later

As it turned out, it was death that brought me back to Staindrop. My father’s death to be exact.

“We’re going to have a blast, Mamushka. Just like the old days. You’ll see.” “Really?” Hope painted her face. “Really. Nothing will ruin this for us.” As I said that, the door flung open and in walked Ambrose Casablancas. And a very pregnant Dylan.

“Married?” She frowned, her mouth clamping around an airy piece of buttery cake. “No, Callichka. Dylan didn’t get married.” “She’s pregnant.” I gestured to my ex–best friend, as though this fact couldn’t be detected from Neptune. I knew I sounded judgmental. Plenty of people had children out of wedlock. This wasn’t the forties. But Dylan had always wanted a grand wedding. With a golden carriage and unicorns and white doves and five different dresses. She’d had ripped Vogue pages folded neatly inside her underwear drawer with flower decoration inspiration, like Pinterest didn’t exist. “That’s right, Callichka. But the wedding ceremony isn’t how babies are made. I thought you knew that?” She frowned, cocking her head. “We never discussed the birds and the bees, did we?” “Whose baby?” I looked around us frantically. She stared at me like I was insane. “Why, Tucker Reid’s, of course. Who else?”

Dylan rolled her eyes, not taking my hand. “Ugh.” She looked disgusted with herself for even looking at me. “Come here, you annoying…piece…of…Cal.” Using my outstretched hand, she tugged me forward. I crashed against her belly. She gave me a crush-your-bones hug full of reassurance. It felt like she’d put an oxygen mask to my face, breathing life into me. “I’m still mad, but I’m also in pieces for you,”

“Dylan,” I gasped, melting into her hug, breaking into a million pieces and knowing somehow, she’d hold me together. “It hurts so bad.” “I know.” She kissed my ear, wet with salty tears. “I lost my dad three years ago.” Doug Casablancas had died? And I hadn’t been there to comfort her? I pulled away, wiping my face quickly. “What? I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Mom and Dad…no one said a thing to me. I would’ve dropped everythin—” “It’s me.” She stepped back, and it seemed like we both sobered up from that hug. “I asked them not to. It fell on your second semester finals.” “Who cares?” I asked, horrified. “I’d have dropped everything to be there for you. No questions asked.” “I cared. One of us had to do something productive with her life. Even though…” Her eyes swept over me. “Looks like neither of us did. What happened to your fancy degree?”

“Whatever, you know?” Dylan blew out air. “I mean, you were a shitbag for screwing my brother. But…maybe the timing was convenient for me too.” “How do you mean?” I frowned. “It was a great excuse to cut ties with you before you cut ties with me.” Dylan stared down at her Adidas Superstars, biting hard on her lower lip. “Once you realized the big city was full of supercool people you could hang out with. I didn’t want to deal with the rejection. Didn’t want to feel like I wasn’t good enough for you anymore.”

“You’re pregnant!” I announced. She looked up, her face awash with mockery. “Whoa. What gave it away?” I chewed on the side of my lip. “Tucker’s?” She nodded sheepishly before awarding me with her signature eye roll. “It’s lobster season, so he’s away on the boat for three to four weeks. Depending on the catch.” “Tucker is a fisherman?” My eyebrows jumped to my hairline. I was so far out of the loop. “Well, NASA reached out for the aerospace surgeon position, but he said the Texas weather didn’t agree with him.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “Don’t be.” She ran a hand over her belly. “Remember when we did those exams in ninth grade? My IQ is above average, so I think the baby will be fine.” “I meant I’m sorry he is out in the ocean, risking his life.” “Oh. I’m not,” she answered airily. “All he does when he’s around is watch football, drink beer, and complain I don’t fulfill my ‘womanly’ duties. Team Ocean all the way.”

“Shut up. I’m still mad at you. I’m not here to make amends.” “Not even if I beg really hard?” I wiggled my brows. “Ask again after I eat. I’m hangry.” She glanced around the room, taking inventory of the people and dishes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make myself a pregnant lady plate and devour it while listening to a complete stranger reciting horror birth stories to me. Last time I socialized, Melissa told me about her two inductions, steroids shots, and emergency C-section. Hard to top that, but I have faith.”

“Dot.” A husky voice drifted straight into my bloodstream, and I knew exactly who it belonged to. “My sincere condolences.” Reluctantly, I sloped my head all the way up, extending my neck to stare Row in the eye. He was nearly a foot taller than me. Nausea twisted my stomach upside down. He was so gorgeous. I was so screwed. Row Casablancas had always been a showstopper, but this? This was the face of my feminism leaving my body permanently, buying a one-way ticket to Bora Bora.

He turned around, about to walk off and leave me there. Something compelled me not to leave it at that. Guilt, maybe? “Do you remember much about him?” I blurted out. Everyone who graduated from Staindrop High knew Dad. He was that teacher. With the checked shirts, nine pens in its breast pocket, and a fanny pack he’d gotten for free from his insurance company. But Dad had never discussed his relationships with other students with me. He’d cared about their privacy just as much as he had about his own. “All the good parts.” His eyes crinkled. “Physics and chemistry were my favorite subjects in high school.” “I didn’t…know…that.” This was awful.

“I visited him the day before he passed.” He had? I hadn’t even known he was in town. How had Mom failed to mention that? Well, she didn’t know he took your virginity and whatever was left of your soul the night before you moved to NYC. I stared at him, too shocked to pick up my jaw from the floor. “You did?” “He asked if I was going to attend his ‘real fun.’”