by Jay McLean
And then she’s stripping.
Or I’m tripping.
I blink hard, wait for the high to pass in case I’m imagining it.
But nope.
Off with her shoes.
Off with her top.
Off with her skirt.
Until she’s standing in front of me in her underwear. Matching underwear. With… I squint to get a better look. “Are those unicorns and rainbows on your—”
“Shut up! It’s cute.”
“If you’re ten, maybe.”
“But there’s glitter, too!” She points to her boobs.
I squint harder. “I ain’t seein’ any glitter, Red.”
Another step closer and I can almost touch her. But she doesn’t move toward me; instead, she starts running the opposite direction. Toward the lake. And the girl might just be as crazy as I thought she was. As crazy as me. “Are you coming?” she shouts over her shoulder.
Dear God, I hope so. Not right now, obviously, but maybe tonight. And maybe inside her.
If I’m lucky.
Or unlucky.
Fuck.
Make up your damn mind, Logan!
I spark up another joint, try to clear my head, or maybe create more fog. I only take a few drags before butting it out, and then I strip out of my shirt and jeans and dump both our clothes in the bed of my truck. Then I run toward Crazy, smiling when her laughter fills my ears. She’s waist deep in the water, splashing around, spinning in circles. The girl’s acting as if she’s five years old and having the time of her life. I’ve almost caught up to her when realization strikes me like a bolt of thunder. “Yo. Did you take that ecstasy?”
She stops spinning immediately, pins me with her glare. “No. I trashed it. I don’t think I ever really planned on taking it. Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Why?”
“You’re just acting… like… like…”
“Like what, Logan? Like I’m having fun?”
“I guess.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Because you’re with me. You despise me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You don’t?”
She shakes her head, wet strands of hair falling around her shoulders. “I don’t even know you.” Her hands are moving again, side to side, ripples of liquid blue making their way over to me. Suddenly, she stops, her eyes wide. “What the fuck was that noise?”
Aubrey
I can’t describe the sound with words, and I sure as hell won’t replicate it, but it’s terrifying. So terrifying that if I was still wearing my boots, I’d be shaking in them. Fuck it. I am shaking. And Logan’s looking at me as if I’m hearing things. “What noise?” he says, looking down his nose at me.
“You didn’t hear it?”
“Are you trippin’?”
“I haven’t—” The noise sounds again, like a squealing or grunting. “Holy shit, there it is again!”
“I can’t hear shit, Red.”
The worst possible thoughts run through my mind. Like, I’m going to die. Or, less extreme, but just as terrifying: Logan really does have a sex den, and there’s a girl in there, tied up, bound, and blindfolded.
Another squeal from somewhere behind me, and my skin crawls, and fuck it. I don’t care if he has a girl in that room. Right now, I feel like he’s my only hope. I rush toward him, throw my arms around his neck. “What the hell is that?”
Logan
“I can’t hear anything,” I lie. Because as much as I want to put her mind at ease, I like having her this close more. Even in the cool water, she feels so warm. I remind myself that she’s just a girl. Like any girl. And there’s really no need to be confused about my body’s reaction to her pressed against me, her breasts to my chest, her arms around my neck, her legs around my torso, her breath against my ear, my cock against her—
“Logan!”
“What?”
“What is that?” She’s shivering. Or maybe shaking from fear. I can’t tell. “The sound’s getting louder. Is—is something in the water?”
My hands have a mind of their own when they trail down her back, lower.
Lower.
Lower.
Until I’m cupping her ass, and Jesus. Where the hell has she been hiding this ass?
“Logan!”
“Huh?” I rear back so I can look at her face, but my eyes go straight to her tits, and she wasn’t lying: glitter. There’s glitter on her bra and probably her panties, and I picture removing them both with my goddamn teeth.
“It’s in the water, Logan!”
“What is?”
“Whatever is making that sound! It sounds like a monster! Or an alien. Holy fuck! How can you not hear that?” She’s whispering loudly, and it’s part adorable, part stupid.
“I hear it,” I whisper back. “It sounds like… like… a pig squealing or something.”
“Yes!”
I could play this game forever: faking that I have no idea what she’s talking about just so she keeps holding on to me the way she is. Faking that I’m not at all attracted to her. “Logan.” She says my name the same way she held on to me on the four-wheeler; as if she’s relying on me. As if I’m going to be the one to save her.
I hate the feeling.
About as much as I want to inhale it into my bloodline.
“You’re okay,” I whisper and shift so I can move the hair away from her face. It means moving a hand away from her ass, but… like my old man says: sometimes in life, you have to make sacrifices. Not that seeing her face clearer is a sacrifice. At all.
You’ve gone soft, Logan Preston.
Actually, I’ve gone hard.
And now I’m having internal dialogue, and she yells, “Why are you not freaking out right now? We could die! This is some fucked-up Lost kind of shit, and you’re there all calm and… do you have a boner?”
“Shut up!”
“Logan!”
“What?!” I grab her ass again, nuzzle her neck.
“Quit it!”
I sniff her hair. “Why do you smell like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like… summer?”
Aubrey tugs on my hair. Hard. So hard I yelp.
The pig-grunting sounds again.
I watch her eyes as they take in mine, left to right, left to right.
She sighs. “How stoned are you right now?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “A lot?”
Pig grunts.
Ass grabs.
Head spins.
“Logan!”
Mind blurs.
Ass squeeze.
Summer sniffing.
“Logan!!!”
“Jesus! What?!”
“What. Is. That. Fucking. Sound?!”
“Relax, would you?”
“How am I supposed to relax?” She climbs down my body, and I instantly miss her warmth.
I cup water in my hands, splash my face, try to stay somewhat clear-headed. “It’s just Chicken.”
“What the hell is a chicken?”
“It’s our pet pig.”
“Your pet what?”
Rolling my eyes, I coo, “Here, Chicken Chicken.” A moment later, Chicken sidles up next to me, rubs his snout on my hand. “He must’ve heard us out here and wanted to see what’s up.” I pat his head. “He won’t hurt you.”
Aubrey stays silent for so long, I have to tear my gaze away from the pig and look over at her to make sure she’s still there, that she wasn’t just a figment of my Mary-induced mind.
“Can I get high from second-hand smoke?” she asks slowly.
“Yes. Why?”
“Because right now, I’m seeing a giant pig named Chicken swimming in a goddamn lake, and you’re petting it as if it’s a dog.”
I chuckle under my breath. “I got him as Mayhem.”
“Mayhem?”
“A prank. He was for my brother Leo when he went off to college. I had h
im sent to his dorm. It was supposed to be one of those toy pigs, you know? The tiny ones? I guess I ordered the wrong one. Anyway, Leo kinda got attached to the little guy, and he and his roommate hid him for as long as they could. Then they realized he wasn’t going to stop growing, and he brought him here. We let him wander the property. He comes and goes as he pleases.”
Aubrey laughs, low and slow from deep in her throat. “He’s a beast, Lo.”
“Yeah, but he’s had Leo as his parent for a while, so he’s a giant softy like my brother.” I let Chicken rub his snout on my hand again. “Aren’t you, buddy?”
The water shifts as Aubrey comes closer. “So he’s real? I’m not imagining it?”
I oink.
Chicken oinks back.
I ask, “That’s the sound you heard, right?”
Aubrey nods. “Can I—can I pet him?”
My smile is stupid. “Sure.”
Aubrey
I hesitate a beat, two, and then I’m moving toward them, both my hands out. I cup Chicken’s face, and the pig grunts in satisfaction. “This is the craziest night ever,” I say. I’m giggling. Smiling. More than I have in what feels like forever.
“You’re telling me,” he responds.
I swallow my nerves, my pride. “I mean it, Logan.” I lift my gaze to his. “I never thought I’d have this much fun with you.” I’m lying. The truth is, I did know. And I knew because in the past, when we’ve been together, it’d been so hard holding back every smile, every little giggle at his sarcasm, every high-five at his comments that had Joy gasping, wondering where the hell his filter was. Filters are for people who live their lives trying to impress other people. Yeah, there are manners, politeness, common decency. But Logan has all those things. He just doesn’t have a problem saying what’s on his mind.
Logan lowers his gaze, focuses on Chicken. “Feeling’s mutual, Red.”
“So…” My smile widens when Chicken rubs his cheek against my hand. “Should we call a truce, you and me?”
He licks his lips, takes way too long to answer. “Sounds good.”
I clear my throat, look at the amazing scenery around us. “So… tell me again why you don’t bring girls here?”
“Because there’s nothing here.”
“I don’t know about that,” I tell him honestly. “There’s you, and there are four-wheelers and dirt and a lake and… and a pig.”
We’re both patting Chicken now, using him as a distraction, so we don’t have to look at each other. An eternity passes, filled with silence, and I shouldn’t have said anything because now everything feels too real. Too raw. Too naked. But then he says, “The girls who are into guys like me are in it for one of two reasons.”
I glance up at him. “Sex and money?”
“Ding, ding.”
“And you offer them both?” I ask.
“I offer them one.”
“Sex?”
“Winner, winner.” The tone in his response is as real and as raw and as naked as I’d felt only seconds before he’d spoken, and I wonder… what’s beneath the bravado, Logan Preston?
“Sucks for them,” I say, our eyes meeting. “I have a feeling you have a lot more to offer, Logan.”
He keeps his stare locked on mine, almost challenging. He’s probably expecting me to be embarrassed, to take back my words, but just like him, I say what’s on my mind. The truth. I lift my chin, unabashed, dare him to crack first.
He doesn’t. Instead, he goes one step further, moves one step nearer, until we’re so close I can hear every one of his exhales. “Hey, Red?”
“Yeah, Lo?”
“Look up.”
I tear my eyes away from him, and then slowly, I tilt my head back, look up at the night sky above us, to the stars lighting the atmosphere. “Wow,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he agrees, but when I lower my gaze to his, he’s looking at me…
Like he’s never looked at me before.
4
Logan
Aubrey waits out by my truck while I head into the shack to grab some towels. We dry off as much as possible and assume the summer night will do the rest. She runs her hands up and down her arms, and I grab a blanket from my toolbox, and haphazardly place it on her shoulders as we sit in the bed of the truck. She asks, “Will this blanket make me pregnant?”
“The odds are fifty-fifty.”
She laughs at that, and I watch her, entranced, like those movies they show you in driver’s ed: slow motion of a car crash, right at the point of impact.
She’s an accident playing out just for me.
My own personal disaster.
She taps my leg with her foot. “Thanks for the blanket.”
“You’re welcome.”
We’re both still in our underwear, but neither of us seems to care.
She ends up on her back, staring up at the sky. But… there’s a reason why I’ve never stargazed before. It’s boring as shit, and I’ve got way too much energy and confusion, and silence sure as shit doesn’t help with either of those things. She must sense this somehow, because she asks, “Are you bored?”
“A little.” It sounds like an apology. “You mind if I put on some music?”
“Please don’t,” she groans.
“Why?”
She’s laughing again, all to herself, like there’s an inside joke I’m not privy to.
“Why are you laughing?” I hover over her, narrow my eyes in an attempt to intimidate.
“Your taste in music blows, Lo.”
“It does not!” I say, defensively. “How would you even know?”
“Because I’ve heard what plays in your car.”
“And?”
She settles her laughter to a simmering giggle before saying, “I swear there was a song you played and the lyrics were my balls, my balls, put it in your booty hole.”
I try to keep a straight face. “What’s wrong with that?”
“So many things!”
I grab my phone, play the song through the Bluetooth speakers I keep in my toolbox, and sing the lyrics obnoxiously loud while Aubrey switches from eye rolls to giggles.
“This is not music,” she admonishes.
“What do you consider music then?”
She grabs my phone out of my hands, and I watch her thumbs move swiftly over the screen. She chooses a song I know. A song I like. I don’t tell her that. Otis Redding croons, his voice soothing, his words making me want to take Aubrey a mile or so down to the dock so we can live through the lyrics.
She lies back down, my phone clutched to her chest. Her eyes are closed, no longer fascinated with the stars, while her foot tap, tap, taps at the metal beneath it. She whistles in tune, in sync, and I ask, “So you like the classics, huh?”
Her head lolls to the side, her eyes opening on mine. “Do you know this song?”
I nod. “My favorite of his is ‘These Arms of Mine.’”
“Oh, my God! I love that one,” she rushes out, handing me my phone. “Play it for me.”
I find the song, hit play. Her eyes close again, and she says, “There’s something so innocent about this kind of music. Before fast beats and auto tune and abusive lyrics… it’s literally a love letter from one person to another. Listen…” She pauses, lets Otis’s words fill the stillness. “His arms can’t live without her. His arms, Logan. God, what I’d give…” she trails off.
“What you’d give for what? For a guy to feel that for you?”
“Is that so wrong?”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s unrealistic to expect that kind of shit now, Red. The days of giving your girl a letterman jacket, asking her to”—I air quote—“‘go steady’ are over.”
“So, romance really is dead, huh?”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but yeah, it is.”
She’s quiet a beat, and when I look over at her, she’s staring down at her hands resting on her stomach. I say, “Sorry.” Because I feel like I just ran over her dog, ruined
every one of her hopes and dreams.
“For being honest?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.”
And then it’s silent again, and I don’t know how to act or what to say, and so I reach into my pocket for another blunt, spark it without a second thought. She sits up then, my vision of her blurred by the ribbon of smoke between us. She asks, “Feel like sharing?”
My eyes widen—as much as they can when I’m this high. I shouldn’t be an enabler, but she’s her own person, and so I pass it to her, watch her take it between her thumb and forefinger. Stub to her lips, she keeps her eyes on mine, her lips forming a pout when she inhales and then—
Then she coughs out her lungs, and I’m patting her back, reaching for a bottle of water we got from the gas station. The joint’s still in her hand, and her eyes are red, filling with tears, and I suck. I should’ve warned her. I unscrew the lid and hand her the water. “Drink. It’ll help.” She’s coughing and coughing and she doesn’t stop, her hands like vices as she grips my arms, hanging on for her next clear breath. After a moment, she takes the bottle from my hand, and like a little red-headed rag doll, she tilts her head back, chugs half the liquid. She’s still gasping for air, and fuck me, she’s cute.
I move the hair away from her face, strands stuck to the tears on her cheeks. She’s on her knees, and I’m doing the same, both my hands holding her face. Each of her exhales hits my chin, warm and welcoming, and I ask, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathes out. “I wasn’t expecting it to hit so harshly.”
“I don’t mix it with anything; it makes the high come faster. Sorry.”
She shakes her head out of my hands and sits back, her ass on her heels.
She offers me the joint, and I take it from her fingers. “Are you done? You don’t want to try again?”
“I don’t know…” Her hands are on her knees, fingers spread.
A slight smile tugs on my lips. “Do you trust me?”
“Not even the slightest.”
My grin widens. “Come here.”
“What?” Her eyes narrow. “No.”
I reach around her, place my hand on the back of her head. She shifts quickly, moves away from my touch and slaps my chest. “Jesus, Logan, I’m not going to blow you!”