Landslide

by Jenn Cooksey

  “Yeah, but you do still have ‘em, and you use something to color in your eyebrows too, and my point is, how I know you do. These guys never let anything go, so, unless you want ‘em pestering you incessantly, you might not wanna tease me too much around them.”

  “Or what? What are you gonna do? So I have lowlights and use an eyebrow pencil, big deal. A lot of women do.”

  “Erica, I have so much dirt on you. Don’t forget, I know you superbly well.”

  “Oh, please. You do not.”

  Cole’s eyes flutter closed for a moment while he shakes his head slowly, breathes deeply, and works his teeth together. Then with an ominous chuckle, he turns to me, his voice dropping into an octave that resonates with sheer seductive masculinity, which only makes his point even more effective. “Oh yes, I do. I know how you got that itty-bitty scar right below your left ass cheek, what color the bottle was and what kind of beer was in it, and I know you didn’t flinch a single muscle when the glass was pulled out, and because I know about that, I also know that you have an almost invisible dimple in one cheek but not the other one.

  “I know that moths and even butterflies freak the shit out of you, that you call maggots baby flies because the word maggot grosses you out, and that up until you were ten, you thought babies literally came from birds and bees. I know that you cry if you even hear a Mother’s Day Pampers commercial on TV, and I know you’ll say hickies are vulgar yet deep down you fucking love how it feels getting them, and that if you were to take your bra off right now, you can probably still see one you got…” he pauses to check the date on his phone, “eight days ago. I know that you can serve up a seriously mean Beef Wellington but you cannot get a simple over-easy egg to come out right no matter what you do.

  “I know that if you can get away with it, you’ll sleep in the raw or only your underwear even if it’s twenty degrees out because clothes make you feel claustrophobic when you sleep, however, you’ll sleep like the dead all through the night if someone’s holding you. I know it took you more than a year longer than everyone else your age to learn how to read, and once you finally learned, you went to the hospital every weekend for years and read to all the kids there who couldn’t for themselves yet, and I know that despite having a beautiful singing voice, you only use it to sing children to sleep or to comfort someone when they’re sick or hurt. I know that you have a strawberry birthmark smaller than a pinhead all the way up on the very inside of your right thigh.

  “To this day I know what your menstrual cycle is, I know that you’ll inevitably puke if you get high because you hoover everything you can get your hands on, I know using my teeth on any part of your body makes you shiver. Every. Time. I know what’s written on your birth certificate and even what your weight is on your driver’s license, which I’m guessing is about eight to ten pounds shy of what you actually weigh. And, I know that you shave the tops of your big toes because you think the two or three little hairs that grow on ‘em make it look like you have hobbit feet. You really wanna risk getting in the ring with me?”

  I’ve been sitting here with my jaw dropping further and further and my eyebrows raising higher and higher, although when he finally finishes putting me in my place, my mouth snaps closed and my lips purse together automatically as I grumble, “Fine. You win. You’re no fun though.”

  “I’m plenty fun and you know it. Or should we go back to how I know about your lowlights? ‘Cause I can do that. Your choice.”

  I don’t know what his deal is tonight, but he is in one wicked mood, ping-ponging back and forth from playful to almost vindictive, and I find all I can do is cross my eyes at him and shake my head with a baffled laugh. And, of course, keep my mouth pretty much closed. I’m not a big risk taker and I have no doubt that if I push him, he’ll grab the mic up at the snack bar and announce at the very least what my middle name is to the whole freaking bowling alley, or, that I got my damned period the morning after we ran into each other at the bar and that it thankfully ended the same day that he gave me the hickey that is, in fact, still visible.

  Half-way through the second game, I’m sitting across from the guys and Cole has just finished his turn and is sitting down next to me when up marches this teapot of a woman in jeans and a homemade sweatshirt with red and green children’s handprints forming a wreath on it. She stands directly in front of us with her hands on her hips and an irritably expectant look on her face as she stares at Cole. He just looks up at her, clueless, with his eyebrows both raised high and his eyes shifting from side to side in a fruitless search, like the answer to the woman’s unasked question might be floating in the ether around her.

  “What? Did I do something? Am I in trouble?”

  “Well, hello to you too.”

  He takes a breath. “I’m sorry. Hi, Violet.”

  She purses her lips and raising her eyebrows to indicate me, she asks Cole, “And who’s this?”

  “Hi, I’m Erica,” I immediately answer before Cole can, and as an added precaution, I plaster as bright a smile as I can onto my face for the woman, not having any idea who she is but hoping that if I’m as nice as I can possibly be, I won’t be found guilty by association.

  Surprisingly, she gives me a kind smile and issues a warm welcome by taking my proffered hand in both of hers. “Lovely to meet you, dear. Do you bowl?”

  “Uh, no, not really.”

  “Hmm. What a shame.” She turns back to Cole and literally starts tapping her foot. “Well?”

  Cole’s mouth is hanging slack, as he’s completely at a loss and isn’t even trying to hide how confused he is. “Seriously, what did I do?”

  “What did you—Cole Hastings, what is today’s date?”

  “Uh—Thur—” he starts to blow it and I can see Violet’s expression start to darken again so I quickly elbow him in the ribs and whisper out the side of my mouth what the actual date is… “December eleventh?”

  “Yes, it is, and what were you supposed to do no later than December fifth?” Her toes start tapping overtime now.

  “Ooooh…buuuusted…” both Jerry and Joel quietly heckle Cole from behind Violet.

  Cole’s face lights with remembrance and then his chin promptly falls to his chest. “RSVP to Henry’s surprise party. I am so sorry, Violet…things have been kinda crazy…moving into the house, my buddy, Payton, was here, Erica…I had the flu!”

  “Oh, save it. Are you coming or not?”

  Cole looks at me for his answer, or permission, like I’m suddenly his boss or the keeper of his calendar. My response is opening my eyes wide, intending to remind him that I don’t have the faintest clue who Henry is, let alone when his party is scheduled for, and even if I did, it’s not up to me whether he goes to a party or not. I mean I’m not his mother for crying out loud.

  “You know you can bring,” Violet starts saying to Cole but then transfers her questioning eyes to mine, “your…?”

  “Friend?” I supply in a more snarky tone than I intend to. With that, my eyebrows raised as they are, matter of fact and probably looking irritable, I feel like a bitch. But, shit, I want to like Violet and I think I would, although right now, I feel like I’m personally in question and have been put on the defensive by a complete stranger. Truth be told, I’m finding the whole situation to grate a little, so maybe she and I are both lucky that my period did end a week ago.

  Violet looks at Cole’s completely unaffected face for confirmation of our relationship status and not getting any argument or indication of anything more from him or me, she begrudgingly let’s out a “humph” of acceptance.

  “I don’t know what Erica has going on Saturday night, but I promise, I’ll be there,” Cole tells her, standing up and walking over to the counter to pour himself his first beer of the night.

  “You better be.”

  He nods while taking an exceedingly large gulp. Then he heads to the bathroom, taking two steps at a time and calling over his shoulder as he walks away, “I’ll be there, Violet.”
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  Violet purses her lips again as she follows him up the steps. “You’re lucky I like you as much as I do.”

  He throws her a wink over his shoulder and continues on to the bathroom, leaving me with the guys who are all quietly snickering at the two of them.

  It’s then explained to me that Henry is Violet’s husband and happens to be the owner and operator of the bowling alley. His fiftieth birthday is Saturday and she’s been planning a huge party for him for more than six months now. She’s even flying his family from back east out, and all four of their children who are in college in various states are coming in tomorrow for it. And incredibly, Henry has absolutely no idea. I mean I have to give the woman credit, even if she was on the overbearing side, I kind of don’t blame her now that I know the situation and all the hard work she’s put into this single event for the man she’s loved since junior high school.

  When the third game has finally wrapped up, I come back from the ladies’ room and look at the score card on the counter while Cole and Jerry are busy talking with their backs to me. I can see now why Cole felt he needed to be here for his team; he’s practically carried each of them all night, only leaving four frames open in three games when the rest of the guys left that many open in each game. I open my mouth to compliment Cole but just as I do, Joel comes rushing up from where he and Ryan had just been at the front counter. Using his chin to call our attention to someone approaching behind us, he also taps Cole in the shoulder and says, “Heads up, Hastings. Just heard Jailbait’s heading this way.”

  Cole’s head swings around, his eyes quickly scanning his surroundings.

  “Jailbait?” I ask and look around too, although for who or what, I have no idea.

  “Aw, shit. I’m not gonna make it out of here in time.” Cole throws himself into the chair next to me anyway and hurriedly pulls his bowling shoes off, almost like he’s considering making a run for it in his socks if he can’t get his street shoes on in time.

  Jerry leans over and rather seriously informs me, “Mindy. She’s like the resident babysitter for all us parent people. She’s hardly sixteen and has a wildly inappropriate crush on our boy here. We used to tease him, but…it stopped being funny when Jon up in the pro-shop overheard her talking to a couple of her friends, and then that same night, she sorta tried to kiss Cole by fake stumbling right in front of him so that he had no other option but to catch her before she landed on old Mrs. Hinkle, who woulda no doubt broke a rib or her hip.”

  “Yeah, and I almost caught a break there three or four weeks ago when she transferred all her attention to Payton. But nooo, the queen just had to tell her he’s gay. She grabbed my ass when we were leaving that night,” Cole mutters, shoving his shoes on as fast as he can.

  “Why doesn’t someone say something to her parents?”

  “Her dad is out of the picture and her mom is a drunk. She’s a good kid, gets good grades, and all our kids love her, and plus, we all remember what it was like having crushes like this when we were her age. I mean before I went into kindergarten, I taught ninth grade and I saw it all the time…there’s no harm in a little fantasizing here and there, and as long as no one encourages her, nothing’ll really come of it.”

  “Joel’s right,” Jerry nods, “And I think she’ll get bored and look to guys her own age once she realizes that Cole’s an adult and it just ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Yeah, well until that time, I get to continue feeling like a fucking gazelle being stalked by a goddamned rabid cheetah,” Cole grumbles and then looks up at me with a sarcastic grin as he stands, “You ready to make a run for it, sugar?”

  “Umm…” I mumble, taking a quick glance over my shoulder to see a perky brunette who does not look sixteen, with bigger boobs than me, a smaller waist, and wearing just a little too much makeup on her flawless skin. Her determined gait has me narrowing my eyes and her deviously hopeful expression provokes me to, in a way, serve her a wakeup call that should make it crystal clear that Cole really and truly is not now nor will he ever be interested in playing her teenage reindeer games. “Hold on. I wanna try something…”

  “Seriously, sweetheart, I gotta get out—” he shuts up immediately when I stand in front of him, moving so close there isn’t enough room to breathe without my breasts brushing his chest. One of his hands habitually takes its position on my hip and the other finds its place on my butt, his eyes sharpen and his lips quirk. Then he purrs, “Am I about to get eaten alive?”

  I lift up on my toes to lean in and whisper across his lips, “Not by a sixteen-year-old.” I run one hand up his steely torso and over his shoulder to his nape, my fingers curling into what they can of his hair. My other hand slips around his waist and underneath his shirt, continuing until just my fingertips are tucked between denim and warm flesh. Simultaneously, I feel the hand he had at my hip skate its way up my side, floating light as feather over the side-swell of my breast, and finally moving backwards over my shoulder to settle at the back of my head. His other hand pulls me against him even more, both his hands and arms holding me steady for what we know is about to take place. He bends his head further and right before our lips meet for the first time in public, ever, I press my body fully to his and murmur, “Feel free to use your teeth though…I’m going to.”

  Sure enough, a delectable shiver races throughout every one of my extremities when Cole nips my bottom lip just before our tongues touch, and the audible gasps and snorts of surprise from our audience fade into irrelevance.

  I don’t count the passage of time, but when I can feel him winding the kiss down, I silence a sigh and instead moan through the soft, not quite open-mouth kiss I’m fairly certain he’s going to conclude with, and clinging to his lips, I ask, “Mmm…did it work?”

  His hand leaves my ass to cup my cheek while he cracks open his eyes, first peering at me and then taking a stealthy glance behind me from under his lashes. He closes them again and pulls my bottom lip into the sultry deliciousness of his mouth, very briefly nibbling and then letting it go to touch his tongue to mine one last time before the final parting kiss…the kiss that’s simple yet full of meaning; the kind of tender joining of lips that a girl wishes could last forever and, in a way, it does. It stays with her in memory all her life long. At least that’s what it’s like for me, and I’m able to be inwardly grateful, as I have an entire summer of these kinds of kisses to last me quite far into my afterlife and beyond.

  “Mmhm.” Cole pulls back to look at me; heated pools of chocolate brown, his eyes melt into mine.

  I feel like I’m falling and I don’t care. I just want him to kiss me again. The sounds of clapping and whistling struggling to be heard above the din of bowling brings me back to Earth though. Cole’s lips lift into a grin and he clears his throat, apparently just now noting the spectators applaud us as well.

  His hands drop to my hips and I go to take a step away, but he stops me. Instead, he turns me around and wraps his arms around my waist, holding me in front of him like a shield and whispering, “Sugar, I, uh…need a minute, do you mind?”

  Realization slaps me in the ass when I lean back against him intending to look up in question. So trying to appear as nonchalant as one can with a semi-erect penis pressed against one’s backside, I nestle further back into his embrace. Feeling sure now that he can take all the time he needs to cool down without his friends making mention of his physical state, Cole casually rests his chin on my head, as if standing like this is normal for us.

  His arms tighten around my waist, giving me a quick, appreciative squeeze, as he quietly chuckles, “So…do I thank you for that, or…buy you another plate of nachos?”

  “Eh,” I shrug, “What are friends for?”

  “Damn,” another bowler in the neighboring lane comments, “Can I be your friend?”

  “Right, Clint?” Joel agrees, shifting a bit and rubbing the No Shave November scruff on one side of his jaw that he apparently didn’t rid himself of once it became December, “That was�
�well, sorta like watching Skinemax on high def.”

  “Uh, try genius?” Jerry throws out, “Seriously, the look on Jailbait’s face when you didn’t even acknowledge her presence! She was clearing her throat to get your attention…huffing and puffing…whewee! I helped out and called her kiddo when I asked her if she needed anything, but, pretty sure after that display, you’re golden from now on, Hastings. Erica on the other hand…well, don’t be surprised if your house gets TP’d at some point.”

  Way to think things through, Erica… Cole and you kiss in public for once and you end up stuck standing for what could be all night with a hard-on against your back and slighted sixteen-year-old girl as an enemy.

  Yeah, but that just means that it worked.

  Huh. You are a genius.

  That’s all I’m saying…

  37

  “Battle Scars”

  —Cole—

  I couldn’t have asked for a better first round of PDA with Erica than when she rescued me from Mindy Thursday night. We weren’t animals by any stretch, and neither of us ended up devoured by the other, but that kiss… Jesus. That kiss was hot. No ifs ands or buts about it. I think it took upwards of ten minutes for my dick to fully comprehend and accept that it was a kiss, not groundwork for something to get truly worked up about. And bonus points, it sent a riotously loud message to my teenage admirer.

  I know that’s why Erica did what she did and I appreciate her efforts, I do. One of the premiere reasons I’ve never kissed her in public though is that I knew once I did, I’d have to battle myself close to constantly to not do it all the time. Because kissing Erica is like being hooked on heroine. Not that I’ve ever even tried heroine, but…just saying. Knowing I can get away with it any time I want, regardless of an audience, would be akin to an addict living someplace where their choice narcotic has not only been legalized, but is also openly handed out on every street corner. And not that kissing in public even regularly is something to be avoided at all costs or even at all, it’s just that…well, we both tend to get heated when we kiss, and it takes a lot of self-control to not do more than that. As if there’s an ever-present gateway before us; one we haven’t stepped through yet. However, kissing each other throws those doors open and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to not cross the threshold each time.