Prologue
8 years ago
I glance down at my watch.
11:50 PM.
In about ten minutes, I’m going to see Marney. In about twenty minutes, I’m going to be buried deep inside of her. My horny, eighteen-year-old body starts to get a boner just thinking about it.
Marney and I have been dating for just over six months but we had sex for the first time very recently.
Five days ago to be exact.
That’s one-hundred and twenty long hours or seven-thousand, two hundred excruciating minutes.
We haven’t been able to see each other the last few days between school events and work. She’s on our high school soccer team and I play baseball. When we’re not working our part-time jobs, we have our studies, and although we are just weeks away from graduation, we are both competitive and strive for good grades.
That’s a lot of shit we both have going on, which means our time together has been limited. And that’s pretty f**ked up in my opinion, because sex with Marney really should be a priority in my life.
Damn... I love my girl!
She is everything a guy could ever want. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, smart as shit, and funny as hell. We hadn’t been going out barely three weeks and I knew I was in love with her. I was too chicken shit to say anything, but luckily for me, Marney confessed she loved me first, at just the five-week mark in our relationship, and then I was able to reciprocate.
Even though love hit us kind of fast, we took our time with sex. Which is strange, now that I think about it, because neither one of us were virgins. Marney had been dating our high school quarterback, Sam Faber, since the ninth grade, but they had broken it off at the end of our junior year.
Lucky for me!
And while I hate to think about Marney ha**ng s*x with Sam, I’m grateful I didn’t have to worry about deflowering a virgin. I mean, that’s a lot of pressure on a dude. I’d been around the block a time or two, so even though I certainly had the ability to eradicate the V-card, I was still glad I didn’t have to.
It made that first time together freakin’ fantastic. There was no fumbling around or uncertainties between us. We chose our six-month anniversary to have sex for the first time and it was mind blowing. It was exactly how I’d imagined it would be... soft, slow, and shattering. I’d gotten us a hotel room for the night and, armed with a box of condoms, both of us left starry-eyed and sore the next day.
We made plans to sneak out and meet up tonight. Marney lives just two blocks east of me and I’m going to her house to get her. I know just the place to take her. There’s a quiet spot in the woods that border Griffith Park and it’s perfect because it’s an unusually warm spring night. I pilfered a bottle of wine from my parents’ liquor cabinet as a surprise and I hope to spend most of the time making love to my girl under the stars. Glancing at my watch again, I note the time.
11:55 PM.
Time to rock and roll.
Bending over, I grab my backpack, which has a blanket and the wine... oh, and condoms. Just as I turn for the bedroom door, the piercing wail of a siren slams into my brain. I walk to the window and pull the curtain back, catching a glimpse of a fire truck as it barrels down the road right in front of our house.
I hope to God the sound doesn’t wake my parents up and ruin my escape plan. Just as I start to turn away from the window, an orange glow catches my eye.
Right over the rooftops of the houses across the street... just east of here.
My brain doesn’t process what I’m seeing at first, but then I realize the glow is from a fire, and it looks to be pretty big. Now I know where the fire truck is going.
I turn away from the window but then a shiver runs up my spine, warning me that something is wrong. Turning back again slowly, I look back at the fire.
Just east of here.
Oh God!
Marney lives just east of here and my stomach bottoms out as I realize that glow is coming from somewhere in the vicinity of her house.
I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and hit Marney’s number. It rings four times before going to voice mail. There’s no f**king way she wouldn’t answer.
Dropping my backpack, I sprint for my bedroom door, throwing it open so hard it slams against the wall with a resounding crack, knocking my signed photograph of Martin Brodeur to the floor, where it shatters. Adrenaline pumps through me as I take the stairs three at a time. I vaguely hear my dad calling out, “What the hell was that?” but I’m out the front door and tearing down the street.
I would normally go down Pine, then turn east onto Glenford Street until I hit Macon to get to Marney’s but f**k that... I don’t have time. Angling through Mrs. Capistrano’s yard, I scrabble over her chain-link fence, only to take three sprinting strides in her small backyard, and do the same to get over the back part of the enclosure.
Dodging and weaving through the next block of yards, I run out onto Macon Street and come to a dead stop.
Marney’s house is just two doors down and my knees almost buckle underneath me when I see it. Flames leap out of the downstairs windows and thick, white smoke pours out from under the eaves. Four large fire trucks are parked outside of her house, two with ladders already extended with water raining down onto the top floor. The rest of the street is filled with police cars and two ambulances. My hesitation lasts only a second before I start running.
Running toward Marney.
I push my way through a sizable crowd, which has filled the streets, knocking people roughly out of my way. I think I even knock a lady over but I could give a shit. Careening around one of the fire trucks, I’m almost knocked backward by the wave of heat that is pouring off her house. With a huge boom, the upstairs windows explode outward, raining glass all around. Huge tongues of flame are now waving from every window but I don’t stop. In fact, I kick my speed up a notch.