*Wattpad made Chapter 26 private. In order to see this, make sure you are following me! Then delete this story from your library and re-add it :) That chapter is important! Thanks <3

By the time my parents come home Monday night, I can't even begin to count how many times Ryan and I have had sex, and judging by the looks on their faces (an absolutely mortified one on my dad, of course, and a smirk on my mom's, again, of course) they so totally know too. I mean, I can just imagine what we look like now, hair a mess, lips swollen and red, and probably just beaming with that post-sex glow. And, okay, I wouldn't be surprised if my whole house reeks, because yes, we did have that much sex - and not just in the confinement of my bedroom either.

So, if there's one thing I learned this weekend, it's that Ryan is a total animal. He fucks like a goddamn rabbit, I tell you. I mean, he's almost too exhausting, and that's like, really telling you something considering it's me talking here, and I used to think I was quite a nymphomaniac myself. But compared to Ryan, I've really got nothing him. It's just, you'd think after the zillionth time having sex in one day, you'd finally be sexed out, for at least, I don't know, a few hours or something (I sure was) but nope, not Ryan. As soon as he was capable of getting it up again, he was back at it, and honestly, who would ever think that from him? The innocent, little church boy? Not me, and certainly not little, old Mrs. Connors.

In case you were wondering, our weekend went something along the lines of this: fuck on my bed, sleep, fuck in the living room, eat, fuck in the kitchen, sleep, fuck in the shower, fuck in my bed, sleep, then repeat. Then add on like, a thirty second phone call with Jon and a blow-job for me after Ryan topped for the first time and ended up coming in like, a minute due to his lack of stamina.

Wait, and I'm complaining about this why?

So, anyways, back to now with us standing in front of my parents, reeking of sweat and come, wearing nothing but barely-hanging-on boxers and our asses throbbing - all because we decided we should have one last fuck of the weekend before my parents got home because who knows when we were going to have the chance to do it again (okay, so like, tomorrow after school). So we were literally coming for the 3845743875438th time this weekend, like minutes before my parents walked in the door, not really leaving us anytime to get cleaned up, let alone shower. And knowing my luck, I probably have some dried up come I missed on our thirty second cleanup job somewhere noticeable on my body.

My mom takes one last look at us before she's shaking her head, that half-smirk still hidden on her lips as she goes, voice a mix of amusement and annoyance, "Go take a shower boys."

We don't need to be asked twice before we're dashing up the stairs, faces burning.

- - -

Any ounce of hope I had for people leaving us alone is quickly ruined. Tuesday morning, when Ryan and I arrive at school, matching limps and all. Not that it isn't completely our fault though, because really, that's just asking for it.

However, Ryan doesn't seem to care. He walks down the hall, his head up in the air (while limping like he's got some ridiculously huge stick shoved very far up his ass) completely ignoring any names thrown in our direction - I mean, he doesn't even flinch. For a second there, I seriously wonder if he's just not hearing all of this, but when we reach his locker, he rolls his eyes and calmly states, "God, some people are so immature."

I blink, and seriously, who is this and what the fuck happened to Ryan Ross?

He looks up at the clock hanging on the wall, just across from his locker and sighs. "There's only a few minutes to the bell, you better go before you're late."

"Oh, okay," I mumble, starting to turn away to head to my locker without a bye.

He grabs onto my wrist, stopping me, and pulls me back over to him. "What's wrong?" he asks, forehead wrinkled in concern.

"Nothing, nothing," I say, and I'm not lying, cause there isn't just... bleh. I'm so confused.

He gives me a doubtful look, looking me straight in the eyes. I look away. "Bren." He sighs, and runs his hand down my bare arm, sending shivers all the way through my body. How he still has this effect on me, I have no idea.

"Nothing! I promise," I say, and force a big smile just to prove it. "I just don't want to be here that's all. But, yeah, I'll just talk to you later. At lunch. I don't want to be late."

He lets out another sigh, but kisses the side of my mouth, before letting go of his grip on my arm. "Okay... I'll see you then."

"Yup. Bye."

"If there was something wrong, you'd tell me right?" Ryan calls after me, as I start off down the hall towards my locker.

I pretend I don't hear him over the noise of the hall.

- - -

By lunch, I'm mostly over whatever it was I was feeling earlier that morning.

I'm on my way to the cafeteria when Ryan practically mulls me over, grabs onto my arm and pulls me in the opposite direction of the caf. "Uh, hi?"

"Hi," he mumbles, not sparing a glance up at me as he continues to drag me down the hall, pushing past people without a second thought.

"Where are we going?"

"Out," he replies, and that's that.

He leads us all the way out of the school, through the parking lot and to his car. He fumbles with his keys until he manages to hit the unlock button, and he seriously looks seconds from falling to the ground and curling up in a ball.

Um?

"Ryan, what's wrong?" I ask, grabbing onto his arm, stopping him just as he goes to pull open the driver's door.

He looks up at me like he can't decide whether he wants to cry or laugh, before he just falls back against his car, and splays his hands over his face. "I'm just so sick of this fucking school, Brendon." He groans. "I just can't take it anymore."

"What are you talking about? What happened? Did someone hurt you?" I ask, voice rushed and a little panicked, because shut up, he's my baby, okay? "Because if someone did I swear to God I'll kick their ass." Er, well I could try and most likely die in the process. But still, it's the thought that counts, right? Or maybe, I could just get Jon to, he's pretty strong...

Ryan uncovers his face, amusement showing through his distressed expression. "No, B, no one touched me." He lets out a bitter laugh, and shakes his head. "I mean, no way, they might turn into a fag or something."

"Is this about what people are saying?" I ask, and okay ,now I'm really confused.

"Of course it is!" he cries. "They just won't leave me alone!"

"But... but..." I start, dumbfounded. "I thought that you didn't care about any of that... I thought it didn't bother you."

He looks up at me, and blinks, once, twice. "Are you kidding me? Of course it does, it's me we're talking about!"

"Seriously?"

Huh?

"Yes!" he cries, exasperated, throwing his hands up in the air. "What? You thought I didn't?"

"Well, I don't know." I shrug, feeling a little embarrassed now for just like, everything. "I just... you never said anything about it bothering you, and you always act like... I don't know, it was just weird, because before you were this little Christian boy, who like, cried when you kissed me and all of a sudden you were coming out to your dad, and kissing me in front of everyone, and ignoring what people said... and you know, spending three days straight having non-stop sex with me..."

I can't help to blush, a smile tugging at my lips over the memory. Oh, good times. Good times, indeed...

Ryan smiles a little himself, and links his finger into my belt loop, pulling me into him. "Is it a bad thing that I like having sex with you?"

He bites his lip, and looks at me innocently. "Cause, I mean, you were kind of giving me the feeling that you liked it quite a lot... But, if you don't, we totally don't have to anymore..."

"No!" I say almost too quickly and loudly, 'cause seriously. No. I haven't been waiting for this long for one (amazing) weekend of sex, to go without it again. "No. Shut up. Don't be mean." I slap his arm, and pout.

He giggles, and runs his hand down my jaw, before pressing a quick kiss to my lips. "Were you feeling like the wimp in our relationship for once? Is that why you were so upset?" he asks, almost taunting.

I blush some more, because yeah, now that I think of it, it totally was.

"Shut up! No!" I lie, blushing some more, and yeah, I'm still such a horrible liar.

He rolls his eyes playfully, and wraps his arms around my neck. "It's okay, baby. You're still my big, strong hero that will save me from the scary monster that is Palo Verde High."

"You better believe it." I squeeze his waist, tickling him, and he giggles, removing his hands from my neck to smack my arm, and attempts to give me an angry face. It doesn't work out too well though, 'cause he always makes it seems like he hates when I tickle him, but I so totally know he's a sucker for it.

His fake angry face turns into a smile not even a second later as he leans forward to press a few more kisses on my lips. I just can't even resist it, as I slip a little tongue in there, sliding it along his, because it's Ryan, and he's hot. At first, he kisses me back, just as desperate, backing me up against the side of his car and pressing himself into me. We stand there for a good, few, solid minutes, making out against his car, where his cross still hangs from the rear view mirror.

Ryan's the first to pull away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a sheepish but pleased look on his face. I whine, and pout a little, 'cause it was so just starting to get good. Then again, it was probably good he did stop us when he did, because knowing us we probably would have ended up giving the students of PVHS a show on the hood of his car.

And something tells me, I don't really think they'd enjoy that kind of show...

He sends me a look before turning around to open his car door, motioning for me to get into the passenger seat. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" I ask, still a little winded from our kissing.

He sighs, then looks over at me before climbing into the drivers seat. "I want to go to my house to pick up a few things. I'm sick of wearing the same three outfits... and seriously, especially these hideous things. I mean, look at my clothes, Brendon, and this is the best outfit out of the three. They look like a nun picked them out. "

He stares down at his clothes, a disgusted look on his face. I'm not gonna lie, he's right. They are hideous. For starters, he's wearing this ridiculous, baggy ass, baby blue sweater with WWJD written across the chest in big, fat, white letters. Then, his pants... oh god, his pants. They're these jeans that looked like they've been passed down through a family of hicks since like, the eighties, and they're the kind that you really have no choice but to pull them up to your bellybutton just so they look half-decent - and that really tells you something. And he wasn't kidding when he said these are the better pieces of clothing of what his dad had packed for him.

"Well, pastor... nun... close enough." I shrug, and tug at his sweater, playfully. "I think they're cute on you."

"Shut up. I look five."

"Well, then if thats the case, you're the hottest five year old I've ever seen," I tease, wagging my eyebrows at him.

I go to kiss his jaw but swats me away, rolling his eyes. "My dad just didn't want me to be sexy for you, thats it." He looks up at me with sad eyes, lower lip protruding.

I go to say he's sexy in anything he wears (better yet nothing at all) but I think he's got the picture. "You could borrow my clothes."

"Thanks but no thanks," he declines, shaking his head almost humorously. "Considering what I looked like the last time I put on your clothes... I think I'd almost rather stick to my five year old, church camp clothes."

I picture him back in my boxers and t-shirt, looking like a walking string bean and I laugh.

He punches my arm. "Just come on."

I sigh, and does as he says, walking around his car to get to the passenger seat.

Ryan holds my hand the whole way there, running his thumb over mine absentmindedly, while he sings along to his mixed CD of Christian bands, who actually, aren't all that bad.

Halfway through the drive it clicks in, oh right, we still have school. I glance down at the time to see class starts in fifteen minutes. "So... are you just planning on skipping the afternoon then?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I guess. This is the only time I know my dad won't be home."

"During church?"

"I guess." He sighs, and looks away from the road to sneak a quick glance at me. "I really don't want to be at school right now, okay?"

"Okay, I was just asking." I mumble, deciding against teasing him and calling him a rebel. He doesn't look too in the mood, but I'm just guessing here.

When we reach his house, Ryan gets inside no problem with his key, which, to be honest, I'm a little surprised because a part of me really thought his dad would have like, changed the locks or something.

The house is dead quiet when we enter. All you can hear is the faint buzzing of the fridge, and the ticking of the grandfather clock on the second floor. There's a thin layer of dust covering almost everything around us, and if I didn't know any better I'd think no one has been in this house for ages. And god, like this house doesn't freak me out enough as it is already.

Ryan starts up the starts, floorboards creaking underneath him. I follow hesitantly behind him, and I'm seriously waiting for a ghost to pop out at any second and like, eat my face off.

Once we start down on his narrow, creepy ass hall (he didn't even turn on any lights) I realize I'm walking so close to him I'm practically stepping on his heels. Finally, we get to his room and he flicks on a light. He turns to me, probably sees my petrified, pale face and smirks. "You really are scared of my house, aren't you?"

"Yes!" I squeak, diving onto his bed, and pulling his big, comfy white covers over me to save me from the ghosts. "How are you not?"

He shrugs, and walks over to his closet. "I lived here all my life. Memories are here. My mom's here."

"..."

"I don't mean actually here, Brendon. I just mean like, in spirit."

Oh, yeah, like that's any better. My eyes widen, and I pull the blanket over my head completely.

He rolls his eyes, and opens his closet. "I mean, just in memories, you idiot."

In the time I've known him, this is really only about the second time he's ever mentioned his mom. All I know is that she died when we were about, seven, and I only know that because I remember going to her funeral with my parents. I didn't really know her a whole lot, but I always remembered her as being really nice (yeah, then look at her husband).

I vaguely remember this one time, when I was about five or six, it was after church and I was running around out back with Melissa Harper, my love interest at the time (you know, back in the day when I thought I liked girls) and ended up tripping on something and gashed my knee on a rock. I guess she heard me wailing, while Melissa just laughed at me (that bitch), calmed me down, brought me inside to clean it up and gave me a sucker. She was my hero until the next day when the little, old lady next door gave me a pack of Jube Jubes. I'll tell you right now, if you wanted to kidnap me and you had candy, it really wouldn't be all that hard.

Anyways, going back to Ryan's mom... so, sometimes I really want to ask about her, but I don't know how sensitive Ryan is on the subject, so I figure its safe if I just wait for him to mention her - and, as you can see, when he does it's really not a whole lot.

Ryan pulls his huge duffel bag from where its stuffed deep inside his closet, and pulls it with some struggle to the middle of his room - which is really, very sad because thing isn't that big, and its empty.

I stifle a laugh into his pillow, and he looks over at me, hands on his hips. "Like you can do any better."

"The thing's like, two pounds, Ry. I'm sure I could."

He shoots me a quick flash of the middle finger, then kind of just looks down at his hand like he couldn't believe he had just done that.

"Ryan," I gasp, trying my best to sound offended over my amusement of how cute he is. "Did you just give me the middle finger?"

"Yeah, I think so," he says, still staring down at his hand.

"My gosh, I've turned you into such a rebel."

He looks up at me, and wrinkles his nose together in realization. "You know what? You so did." He walks over to the bed, climbs on, then crawls on top of me, resting his elbows on either side of my head as he looks down at my face, half covered in blankets. "And you know what we should do to celebrate this rebellion?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Uh, yeah, not going to happen."

A quick look of shock makes its way over his face but he quickly covers it up by sticking out his lower lip in a pout. I don't blame him though, I'm a little surprised myself. I mean, did I really just turn sex down? And from Ryan too? "Why not?"

"Uh... well for starters, we're at your house and you're dad could come home at anytime and we both know what happened last time we did anything like that. Secondly, there's probably about five - " I lower my voice, cause I mean the last thing I want to do is offend the spirits of The Ross house, "ghosts watching us right now."

He slaps my arm, but laughs anyway. "You are such a loser, B. There are no ghosts in my house."

"Whatever." I shrug. "I'm still not having sex with you here. Plus, doesn't your ass hurt?"

"...no."

"Liar!"

He pouts some more, and leans down to give me an eskimo kiss. "I dont care. Just, Pleeeeease," he begs, rubbing his nose against mine. "My dad wont come home," he murmurs, hot breath ghosting over my lips. "We'll be quick, I promise."

"Ryan, no." I refuse, voice cracking, and I so cant even believe I'm doing this. I never thought I'd see the day I'd say no to sex - especially from Ryan. "Tonight we will."

"You're parents are gonna be home," he points out, upset.

"We'll be very quiet."

He sighs, pushing himself of me as crawls off the bed then goes over to his dresser. "You suck so bad. I can't believe you're denying sex from me."

"I know," I mumble. I flop down on my stomach and dig my head into his comforter. Yum, it smells like him. I could just lie here all day, in his big comfy bed, smelling him.

"It's these clothes, isn't it?"

"No, Ryan." I sigh, closing my eyes. "It's not your clothes."

"Well, then - "

"Just shut up and pack before your dad gets home."

Ryan does his whole huff, pout, grr thing, but does as he was told.

Good, little Ryan.

"Are you packing sexy clothes?" I ask after a few minutes, already half asleep from the comfort of his bed and the amazing smell that is Ryan Ross.

"Yes."

"Tight pants?"

"Yes."

"Tight shirts?"

"Yes."

"Tight underwear?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good." I smile contently. "Anything slutty?"

He turns around and looks at me, eyebrow raised. "Brendon, I don't even own slutty clothes."

"Oh, that's a shame. You should," I reply, yawning. "We'll go buy you some slutty clothes, okay?"

"Guys can wear slutty clothes?" he asks, genuinely confused.

"Yes. Yes, they can."

"You're so awkward," he states, and goes back to taking items of clothing from his dresser and throwing them into his duffle without much of an effort.

"Thanks."

I'm half-asleep when I hear a slam coming from downstairs, at first I think it's a ghost finally coming to eat me, but then I hear soft footsteps clicking against a wooden floor, and I have a feeling it isn't.

And god, this is so much worse than a ghost - it's Ryan's dad.