A Thin Line-

by DL White

  “Let's take this chance and see if we're supposed to be together."

  I breathe a sigh of relief as the waitress shows up with our breakfast. Thankful for the break in the conversation, I busy myself with adding syrup to my plate and slicing my pancakes into bite-sized pieces. Preston is doing the same, making quick work of his task, then spearing a stack of pancakes and shoving the entire mound into his mouth.

  He closes his eyes, and a sultry moan rolls from his chest. "These are so good," he says, around a mouthful of food. He picks up another forkful and offers it to me. "Want some?"

  I almost refuse but decide not to. "Sure," I say, and reach for the fork.

  "No, no, no. Let me..." He guides the fork to my lips. I open my mouth and close them around the stack of pancakes. My taste buds rejoice in the peanut butter and banana flavor as I chew.

  I nod and smile since he's watching me eat. "It's good. Sweet."

  "Mmmhmm," he agrees, filling his mouth again. He looks so happy to be eating.

  "Thank you. Even though you woke me up out of a dead sleep and dragged me to breakfast."

  “I told you I could be nice."

  “That's what this is?"

  “C’mon Angie. You can admit that I’m nice.”

  "You can be nice. Especially lately. Especially to my dad."

  I'd called my parents on my way out the evening before. Preston was there for his regular poker game with Dad. I hadn't expected him to keep showing up. I thought it would be something he'd do a few times and then start to miss games and eventually stop coming around.

  Months later, he still showed up. My dad loved it and looked forward to it. And it gave my mom a break. She could leave the house, get her hair done, go shopping, or out to dinner with her friends. It made a world of difference in her demeanor.

  "You don’t know how much it means to them and how much it's helped."

  Preston scrapes the last of the syrup off of his already empty plate. I hadn't taken two bites of my pancakes yet. "It's no big deal. Every few weeks, I get to kick my feet up, have some fun, and talk some shit. Did he tell that you he won last night?"

  “You let him win?"

  "Nah. He won, fair and square. Took all my money." I glance up at him, look him in the eye. He's smiling as he sips his coffee. Then, fleeting and ever so briefly, he winks.

  I knew it. My dad sucks at poker. But Preston let him win, and now we'll never hear the end of it.

  When our plates are empty, and our cups drained, Preston asks for the check. The waitress runs it and brings it back. He angles his head in the direction of the car parked right outside the window.

  "Let's roll.”

  The skies are cloudless, a light breeze occasionally cutting through the heat. I'm full of my favorite breakfast from my favorite restaurant and riding in the car next to someone who used to be my favorite person.

  Someone who could make that list again.

  Preston heads back to my apartment and pulls into his usual spot. The luxury machine doesn't make a sound as it idles.

  "So, what are you doing today?"

  He shrugs a shoulder, his gaze intently on me. "I just did the only thing I wanted to accomplish today."

  "Oh." I can't help but smile. "And did you enjoy it?"

  "Very much. I'd say it was perfect if I could get an answer to my question."

  I know that I have minimal time to say the words on the tip of my tongue before I lose my nerve or change my mind.

  "Uhm. You should come up."

  19

  I don't know how he can't hear my heart beating out of my chest.

  I unlock the door, letting us into my dark apartment. The door closes behind us, something that strikes me as symbolic. It's the first time I've ever invited Preston up to my apartment. He's barged in uninvited plenty of times, but this is the first time I've ever asked him to come in.

  "Did you want anything? Something to drink?"

  Preston reaches for me, pulling me to him with one arm curled around my waist. I step between his legs, as naturally as if I’d been doing it all these years. He bends to kiss me and I actually lift my face to him. My shoulders don’t hunch when his lips brush against mine. My lips part at the gentle teasing of his tongue.

  My body is entirely more ready than my mind is to be with Preston again.

  “Relax, Evangeline,” he whispers, when he releases my lips. “It’s just me. You wanna sit?”

  Preston settles onto my couch. I sit, then move closer to him. Preston offers his hand, and I slide my palm across his. The feeling is so familiar, like time has never passed since I last held hands with him. I hear Preston chuckle.

  "Know what this reminds me of?"

  "Hmm?"

  "The rules our parents had for us hanging out together."

  I laugh, the ridiculously stringent guidelines rushing to mind. “Remember how we could only be in the kitchen or the living room? And we had to be sitting up or standing. No leaning against each other."

  "Hands must be visible at all times," Preston says, reciting from memory. "No laying down. No touchy-feely. Remember how I had to negotiate to be able to have an arm around you?"

  "Your dad would have a fit if he came into the house, and I was there. Even if we were following the rules."

  "Compared to what other kids were doing, we were good."

  "Yeah, we were."

  "Until I started driving..." Preston grins, rolling his head toward mine.

  "And your dad found those condoms..."

  Preston throws his head back in laughter. "I remember that. Yeah, why were they in the Jeep, Angie?"

  "We got a new cleaning lady. I thought she'd find them, you know, being extra thorough. I put the bag in the Jeep, but then I forgot about it."

  "My dad about had a heart attack. I thought your dad was going to kill me." He laughs, tipping his head back to rest against the tufted cushion of the couch. Then sighs at the memories. "They calmed down after a while."

  “I knew I was going to law school after I argued my dad down about us having sex. I wasn't breaking up with you because he couldn't deal."

  Our conversation lapses into a comfortable silence. It’s less and less odd, as the minutes tick by, to be sitting in my apartment next to a man I have claimed to hate for so long, with my hand tucked into his, reminiscing about the good old days.

  “So…you think there's something still here?” I motion between his chest and mine, lifting our jumble of fingers. “Between us?"

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. The question is, do you?"

  That's the million-dollar question. Can I forgive so much, in so little time? Can I forget? Can I set aside a lifetime of hurt in what seems no time at all, but I know has been months... years in the making?

  I know that I can't hate him anymore. I can't be angry anymore; I don’t have the energy for it. I haven't been angry that he slept with Stacey first. I've been angry because I felt special to him. The blow that I wasn’t the original, the unique, the first? Was mighty.

  But wasn’t I, though?

  What did she win, anyway? Preston's reluctant virginity, but not his heart. After everything she tried to give him, he came to me. He shared his heart and soul with me. He fell in love with me.

  And he is still in love with me, after all this time and everything we've gone through. I'm overwhelmed at the enormity of that. I can't wrap my brain around it, and I don't want to try.

  I tilt my head up, so I can see him. The expression on his face is not expectant or sarcastic or even smarmy. He's waiting for me to say something.

  I tip forward enough that our lips meet. He pulls back for a few seconds, the shock registering on his face, before leaning in and kissing me back. Gentle presses, subtle swipes of his lips against mine. Feather soft. My body responds as if it was just yesterday that he last kissed me.

  “Oh my God, Evangeline…” He moans into my mouth.

  He untangles his hands from mine and shifts, so he's facing
me, freeing his hands to cradle my chin and pull me forward, his mouth desperately, fiercely assaulting mine. I maintain balance by holding onto his forearms, delighting in feeling the muscles underneath the skin ripple as he moves himself back against the couch cushions and pulls me with him.

  I hike up the hem of my dress and climb on top of him. His mouth, his lips, his tongue refuse to let me rest. He sucks and bites and strokes while his hands wander down my thighs and upward again. He caresses the swell of each breast and then gently cups one and then the other. His thumbs find my nipples rock hard, standing at attention. He rubs them gently, bringing a sensation so pleasurable, it makes my entire body sing. I move closer, so we are pressed chest to chest, only his hands between us. My hips buck and roll, rocking my clit up against the tip of his erection, making itself known through his jeans.

  I moan, willing him never to stop. He groans in appreciation, dipping his head to suck and bite the skin on my neck and across my shoulders, then push my dress down. He lays light kisses over my breasts as if he means to cover every square inch of me. I don't object.

  I grab the folds of fabric and begin to pull it up. "Let's get rid of this." He helps me pull it over my head.

  I'm acutely aware of being in my living room on Preston's lap, nude except for a pair of panties that are barely there in the first place. I move to cover myself, but he grabs my wrists and holds my arms out.

  "Don’t. Don’t cover up. I haven’t seen you in so long.” He takes his time, drinking me in from the dip in my neck to my teardrop breasts to my thick waist and wide hips, down each leg alongside his thighs. His eyes move slowly, trying to memorize me. Again.

  He releases my wrists, and warm hands crawl my skin again. One finds its way around my back and cups my ass. The other drifts down my midsection, past my navel, under the band of my panties. My eyelids flutter as his fingers find their mark. He presses, then rubs my clit in a steady rhythm. His head tips forward, and he captures a dark nipple in his mouth, moaning along with my rising cries of pleasure.

  I am writhing and thrusting against his fingers, and despite living in a small apartment with thin walls, I practically scream with wild abandon.

  "Please. I'm so close..."

  "So close to what?" He asks, my nipple still in his mouth.

  “Make me come."

  "You want that? From me?”

  “Please!"

  His finger slips inside me, then another joins it, and they begin to thrust in and out, driving me even higher. "You're so wet, Angie. For me. Do you have any idea what this is doing to me?"

  I'm on the verge of exploding or imploding or whatever it's called when you fall apart, and it's all I can do not to hyperventilate. My nails sink into his skin; I rock my hips and ride his fingers until my core pulses, tightening and convulsing around him.

  Preston's lips claim mine again. I wrap my arms around him and hold on for dear life, wildly, passionately kissing him through the throes of my climax. When fabric and cushion press against my back, I realize that he has moved me off of his lap and laid me down on the couch.

  When I open my eyes, Preston is hovering and grinning like the cat that caught the canary. I smile back, stroking his face, delighting in being able to touch him.

  "What?"

  Preston bends to kiss me. His fingers are at my hips, around my thighs, pulling at my panties. I lift my hips so he can pull them off. When they clear my feet, he breaks the kiss and sits up. With a snap of a button and whir of a zipper, his jeans are on the floor. With them go a pair of black boxer briefs.

  His dick is stiff, jutting out, pointing nearly north.

  My mouth is dry.

  He looks the same... but different. Familiar, but thicker and longer, glistening with his arousal. He removes his t-shirt, letting it drop to the floor. I'm now free to run my hands over every inch of his body, a task that I intend to complete, relishing every moment.

  I reach for him. I need his skin against mine, his chest pressing against my breasts, his hardness against my belly. My thighs open, making room for him, and for a few minutes, we lay there, enjoying being together.

  "Any second thoughts?"

  "Not one," I say, shaking my head. "How about you?"

  "Nope," he answers quickly. "I regret not coming to this conclusion sooner. We could have had this much fun all along."

  I laugh. "Six months ago, I cursed your name and made you promise to get out of my life."

  He tips his head side to side while staring at something off in the distance. "Yeah," he finally says, coming back to me. "And I agreed. So maybe neither of us would have been ready."

  "And now we suddenly are? What are we doing?"

  He dips his head to kiss me again. When he pulls back, he says, "We're letting things happen and hoping for the best."

  We kiss again, this time, less passionate and manic. More slow, loving, and romantic. I'm fully aware of him rubbing and teasing, sliding up and down, and around me but not entering. I lift my hips and put myself directly in his path. I catch his gaze and send him a pleading look.

  He answers my plea with a forceful thrust. My eyes slam shut.

  "Oh God, yes!" falls from my mouth as he fills me. My mouth hangs open in sheer pleasure. I hold onto him, welcoming every thrust with a loud, throaty moan. He matches my sounds with a grunt and answers the bucking of my hips with more thrusts. Our noises, our breathing, even the sound of skin slapping against skin is so sexy. I'm on the verge of another orgasm but will myself to wait for him.

  It doesn't take long for him to reach the recognizable point of no return. His breathing takes a turn toward the erratic, and his steady rhythm turns into a wild flurry of pumping, pushing himself deeper into me as his climax overtakes him. He breaks a sweat, drops of which land on me. I savor those droplets of effort and pleasure.

  "Come with me," he growls into my ear, while madly hunching his hips into mine.

  He snakes a hand between us and with a few flicks on my clit, my back arches and I scream his name. My climax thunders through me from the top of my head to the curl of my toes. He groans deeply as his thrusts slow and then stop. His hips jerk through the aftershocks. He pants, trying to catch his breath.

  I grab him by the cheeks and pull his face down to mine and kiss him, working my tongue around his mouth. I taste the saltiness of sweat. And peanut butter and coffee.

  My legs lock around him. His body goes slack, sinking onto mine.

  After a few minutes, I can form words again. "Wow," is the first word that comes.

  "What are you thinking about?"

  I didn’t know he was awake. And not only awake but conscious that I was awake. And thinking.

  I inhale and stretch the arm I'm not laying on toward the ceiling. I arch my back and chuckle while I listen to my bones creak and pop. It's honestly been so long since I had sex, vigorous sex at that, that despite all my running, I out of shape.

  The last rays of sunlight stream between the slats in the blinds, sending a striped pattern across the carpet and the foot of the bed. Across the floor, piles of bedding lay where they landed hours before. Except for the sounds of Preston's breathing and hearty laughter at my struggle to wake up, the room is silent.

  I roll over, the crisp sheets making a ‘swish' sound as I readjust myself. I'm still mildly shocked to find Preston in my bed. Even more shocked that I have a smile for him and not a grimace or a witty, snappy comeback to something ugly that he said to me. He's covered from the waist down by the ecru top sheet, but it's not covering much.

  Preston opens his arms, inviting me to lie close to him. I take him up on it, molding myself to his body. I lay my cheek on his chest and smile at the sensation of the baby soft hair that covers his torso. And, if I remember correctly...

  I lift the sheet to confirm. Yep. And he doesn't seem to be much at rest at the moment.

  "Checkin' me out?" I laugh, though silently. "You're not talking to me? You're not mad, are you?"

  "No," I manag
e to mumble, my tongue still thick with sleep. I'm exhausted. Satisfied, but exhausted. More than a minute goes by before I get the courage to whisper. "I'm embarrassed."

  Preston’s arms around me are tight and growing tighter. His lips brush my forehead. I already hear the protests rising in his throat. "We were both fighting feelings, but we couldn't have forced this to happen any sooner than it did."

  I sit up and lean on an elbow so I can see his face while he's uttering these feel-good phrases. "You don't think I could have not been a raging bitch? That maybe I could have been mad for a week or a month and then let it go?"

  He seems amused at my phrasing. He doesn't want to agree that I was a raging bitch, but I was. He shrugs both shoulders and pouts. "Maybe if I hadn't given up on getting you back, maybe if I had been honest in the first place. If you think I'm not counting how long we would have been married, how many kids we would have had, how many happy years we would have had together, think again. Ever since that night on my patio, it's all I can think about."

  The warmth from that night washes over me as I reminisce about the first moment our lips touched in so many years, the surprise that gave way to passion after building for so long. In hindsight, that was the moment I knew I was in trouble. I also knew he was holding back, and if I hadn't run away from him that night, we might have unleashed some lava-hot animal sex right there in front of the fire pit.

  The flush deepens; my nipples stand at attention. By force of habit, I bring the sheet up to my chest, tucking it underneath my armpits.

  Preston frowns, grabs the lip of the sheet and yanks it down. "Don’t. Don't be ashamed of what thinking about us does to you.”

  "I'm not," I protest, grabbing the sheet again. "I'm… cold."

  His grin is evil, maniacal as he leans forward and presses his lips against mine, then pushes so I have to lean back. He tosses the sheet away, so there is nothing between us and lies on top of me. I wrap my legs around him while his tongue invades my mouth and dances with mine. The moans that crawl from deep in his chest rumble through my body. I sigh into his mouth as we part.