Secondary Colors

by Aubrey Brenner

  Who cares why. I’m relieved. But I say yes anyway.

  “Because,” he steps into me, “she isn’t you.”

  My eyes level with it, I stare at his mouth, his strong, pink, kissable mouth. “What’s happening between us?”

  “Attraction, lust, a basic human need for sex and connection.”

  “Not what’s happening chemically.”

  “You’re leaving at the end of summer. I never stay any place very long. You want me. I want you. Let’s get naked and see what arises.”

  I laugh, one of those laughs that’s silent at first and then the sound comes bursting out. I slap him on the arm for his crassness, but I can’t stop cackling.

  “I like making you laugh,” he admits, brushing runaways from the loose knot of hair atop my head away from my face. “Your eyes smile, and your nose crinkles.”

  I’m not laughing anymore.

  “Holt.” My eyes focus on his mouth again, his pouty, pink mouth. I’m transfixed by his observation. He doesn’t merely look at me. He sees me, every line, every imperfection, every secret I keep.

  “Evie,” he breathes, as if my name were oxygen. He steps into me until no space remains between us, his arms at his sides. His lips tease mine, rubbing them up and down, side to side, never letting them settle.

  “Take me to your bed,” I breathe into his slightly open mouth. I nibble on his bottom lip. “Please.”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he pants and then kisses me, moving us over to the bed. His hands hover protectively around my back without actually touching it. Our mouths take each other in, deepening and becoming more eager. My hands disappear under his shirt and remove it, our lips parting for the briefest second before discovering each other again. We tumble onto the bed, the solid weight of his body over mine, his arms holding me. My hands find his lower back, moving from the bow to the gnarled broadness of his shoulders.

  The last time I touched the puckered skin, he retracted from me. This time, he whimpers into my mouth, grabbing hold of me with rib aching strain. I reach a hand down between us, ready to release him from the confines of his jeans.

  He stops me.

  “Are you sure you want this, Evie? If we do this,” he says, running his fingers down the side of my breast, barely covered by my thin white nightgown, “it’ll be different between us. Sex blurs lines.”

  He’s right. But the only lines I care about blurring are the lines of our bodies.

  “Whatever the morning brings,” I whisper, lost in my lust, “I want tonight.”

  He unbuttons his jeans, and my hands dive under the waistband and clasp the firm cheeks contracting under my palms. I urge him into me, moving against his increasing erection. He moans, “Violet,” into my hair as his head falls next to mine.

  His fingers draw on my nipple rising under the lightweight cotton of my nightie.

  I shed his pants the rest of the way, using my feet when they rumple around his calves. His hands skim along the suppleness of my thighs, the feminine width of my hips, and tapering of my waist, bunching my thin nightie up and over my head.

  He reaches to the nightstand next to the bed, producing a condom wrapped in a colorful packet from the drawer. A euphoric high courses through my blood as reality sets in. This is really happening. Staring into my unblinking eyes, he sheaths himself in the ribbed rubber casing with swift dexterity. This is obviously isn’t his first rodeo. I wonder if he’ll spot my inexperience.

  My concerns wash away when his lips melt over my skin, hot from the increased blood flow of my heart wildly thrashing under my tender breasts, cradled in his labor-worn touch. The mushroomed head of his penis dances near my entrance. The weight and width of his hips spreading my thighs like butter on toast. The warmth of his hard stomach against mine, lightly streaked with faint reminders of my pregnancy.

  I rest my hands to the low of his back where it meets the mound of his supple backside, my palms pressing him into me. His hand slides into my hair, the heel of his palm against my temple, and his lips caress the other side of my face, my cheek, my jawline, my ear, and my neck. He rears his hips back and grasps himself in his hand, aiming to fill the void between my thighs.

  “Ready?” he breathes into my ear through trembling lips.

  I nod my consent against his stubbled cheek, my nails sinking into his back as he disappears within me in a steady surge of his hips, and I disappear within him.

  a point of extreme brightness or reflection

  The room is bathed with the morning sun. I squint my freshly opened eyes and turn over. Holt is awake, watching me with a ridiculous expression mirroring my own. He throws the sheets over us and climbs on top of me, wedging himself between my legs. He holds my gaze, his fingers brushing through my hair, his lips fluttering over mine. I shut my eyes and feel him.

  “You’re better than coffee,” I confess. “I’m wide awake.”

  “I agree,” he lets his lips settle on mine, kissing me briefly but deeply, “but I could still use a cup.”

  He rips the covers away and backs out from between my thighs. I lay naked and watch him grab his jeans from the floor and slide them on. He doesn’t button them, though, leaving the fly open in a V to expose the root and course dark hairs dusting the tempting skin above it. It’s the sexiest thing ever.

  “What time is it?” I yawn and scratch the back of my head.

  “Nine thirty.”

  “And why are we not sleeping?”

  “I’m going to run an errand,” he says, throwing on a plain white shirt. “I was thinking about getting breakfast, too. Want to join me for pancakes?”

  Morning-after pancakes with Holt.

  I’m in.

  “I could eat.”

  “I have to take Max out.” He walks toward the stairs, fastening his fly, and slaps his leg twice. The youthful Lab jumps up from the floor and runs to his side. “I’ll meet you at my truck in ten.”

  I meet Holt at his running truck out front, Max already in the bed. I give his head a hard scratch and then jump into the passenger seat. Holt pats the empty space between us, suggesting I fill it. I bounce to the middle and buckle myself in. He stretches his arm behind me and keeps it there until we park on Main Street in front of Dine and Dash. It’s the same place my parents met.

  “Figure I’d feed you before subjecting you to boring man errands.”

  I laugh mutedly.

  “Thanks for the consideration.”

  He reaches across me, his face close to mine, and opens my door with an ear-grating groan.

  “Thanks for wearing those cut-off shorts.” He smirks, his mouth poised near mine. Lips parting, I drink in his breath like water and wait for him to make contact. Instead, he recedes and jumps out of the truck.

  I follow him inside the diner, a seat yourself type deal. We choose one of the booths along the wall of windows overlooking the major artery through Aurora, ordering two cups of coffee first thing. Once we have our morning stimuli, we give the waitress our order, two large stacks of buttermilk pancakes with bacon.

  When she leaves to put our order into the kitchen, he says, “I’m runnin’ on empty,” mixing sugar into his black coffee.

  “We really built up an appetite.”

  “Last night was pretty great,” Holt comments as he brings the cup of sweet black coffee to his lips.

  “Yes,” I agree, a soft pink flush warming my face.

  The jingle of the bell over the door announces someone entered. I take my first taste of my coffee, nearly wasting it when my eyes curiously wander to the person who stepped inside. It dribbles from my mouth, but I wipe the little bit that spilled out.

  Standing at the entrance, Aidan frowns back at me with a broken anger. My heart sinks in my chest. His eyes move between the back of Holt’s head and my face. He hightails it out of the diner. Excusing myself hastily, I jump up and chase him, but what do I say once I’ve caught him? ‘I broke your heart, and now I’m screwing the other guy. How’s your da
y going?’

  “Aidan,” I call after him, “wait.”

  He continues walking at a brisk pace, his long legs keeping me steps behind. I move double time and catch his hand. He turns on a dime, his face like stone.

  “He’s the reason you didn’t kiss me last night,” shoots out of his mouth, catching me off guard.

  “No,” I move my head from side to side, my eyes dropping to my shoes. Whatever’s occurring between Holt and I isn’t steel, but it’s what I want, even if it isn’t permanent. If I keep Aid on a hook any longer, I couldn’t call myself his friend. Above all else, he is one of my dearest friends. I owe him at least this truth.

  “He’s only one part.”

  “If I’d been smart, I would’ve stuck around after our night together, and then it would be me you wanted now.”

  “Aidan,” I repeat his name at a loss for words, the ache in my chest straining my voice.

  “I gotta go.”

  He turns and resumes striding down the sidewalk. Thinking it’s best to let him deal with it at his own pace, I watch him evaporate around a corner and then head back to Holt in the diner. Our breakfast arrived while I was talking with Aidan, pancakes and bacon sloppy with butter and syrup, and completely unappetizing.

  What a waste.

  After we’ve picked up parts at the junkyard outside of town, we drive back to the house in silence. I’ve pretty much been quiet since Aidan walked in the diner. I didn’t tell Holt about it. I didn’t want to ruin our day together.

  We drive the back road toward home, the confines of the cab of his truck making me claustrophobic.

  “Are we going to talk about what happened at the diner?”

  I gawk at him, frozen like a deer in headlights. The truck hits a bump, and I bounce out of my stunned trance.

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Yeah, that was a tip off, too, and I’m sure Max thanks you.” I glimpse into the bed of the truck where Max is still licking the syrup off his chops. It makes me smile, glad someone enjoyed it. “I meant you chasing him down.”

  My eyes avoid his.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m observant, remember? It wasn’t hard to figure out you weren’t using the ladies' room when you disappeared.”

  We break from the tree line into the openness.

  “I don’t regret my choice.”

  “I know,” he says with a calm certainty, like there’s no need to gloat or worry since he won. He stops the truck in front of the house and shifts the gear into park. “Are you alright?”

  His understanding about Aidan is almost off putting.

  “No.” He needs to understand exactly what I’m feeling and why, but I’m scared he’ll see me once I do. “I’ve been lying to him. I was going to tell him the truth yesterday, but then it all went downhill. I didn’t want the next time I saw him to be—”

  “With me,” he says what I won’t.

  “Yes.”

  He takes a drawn-out breath and stares out the windshield toward the lake, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip with faraway contemplation. He startles me when he jumps off his train of thought and claps his hands together.

  “Let’s go somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere.” He takes the hand over my heart and holds it on the seat between us. “Everywhere,” he says softly, staring down at our connecting parts. “Where is your favorite place on this whole property? Somewhere you go to get away from everything.”

  I know the exact place.

  “We’ll have to hike a little ways, if that’s alright with you?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Driving the dusty trail, the ancient shocks squeak with each imperfection. Max is thrown around the bed of the truck, his claws scraping occasionally whenever he attempts to stand. When the road widens into a clearing, a dead end, Holt parks. We have to hoof it from here, along a well-hidden trail. He retrieves the pack loaded with necessities out of the truck’s bed and offers to carry it. Max leaps out when he catches sight or scent of a small critter.

  “Come on, Max,” he calls for the dog with a sharp whistle.

  We trek into the trees and the shrubs, following the overgrown path shaded by the skyscrapers’ leafy canopy. The sun’s rays breach the seemingly impenetrable cover in patchy streams of mystic light.

  After ten or so minutes, there’s a break in the darkness, our destination not far ahead. Making it to the edge of the trees, we stop, staring into the blinding brightness of unfiltered sunlight. Once our eyes adapt, a meadow with vibrant purple lupine and other wildflowers in whites and yellows and pinks comes into focus.

  I take Holt’s hand and guide him out into the sun and over near the creek, the long blades of grass tickling my calves and thighs. The curious black Lab explores and marks his territory.

  “This is my favorite spot on the whole estate.”

  He sets the bag on the ground, opening it.

  “Why?” He recovers the floral blanket from the top of the neatly packed sack, shaking it out and laying it flat with a flick of the wrists. It gracefully falls to the floor, a pocket of air doming the center.

  “Besides how beautiful it is,” I kneel at the bag to rummage out the contents, “it’s peaceful. No one bothers me here. I’m the only person who journeys this far into the woods on the eastern side of the lake. It’s my own private place.”

  I arrange the containers of food, a thermos with ice tea, my mp3 player, and portable speakers on the blanket, unaware of Holt’s thoughtful eyes on me until I finish. The sun really brings out the gold, two topaz gems with fire dancing in the depths.

  “Have you ever brought your friends here?”

  “No,” I answer, realizing I’ve shown him my secret spot. I hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. Especially since I’m not sure what I mean by the gesture.

  He sits on the blanket, peeling the lids from the food containers.

  “Why keep this place to yourself?”

  “I like spending time with myself, just me, maybe read a book or sketch. I can be.”

  “What made you come here in the first place?” he asks, placing a reusable plastic plate in front of me.

  “You don’t want to hear more about my boring past,” I state, rationing out the chicken Meredith made this week, giving him the meatiest pieces.

  “Of course I do.” He takes a generous serving of macaroni salad and plops it on my dish.

  “Isn’t it—personal?” I hand him a napkin.

  “Sex is personal.” He takes it from me and passes me a glass of tropical ice tea.

  “I thought we wanted to keep this thing between us simple.”

  “Thing? Are we a thing?”

  I laugh.

  “Don’t play dumb, Holt. I’m serious.”

  “Whatever this thing is, we’re way past simple.”

  “Yeah, but the less involved we are, the easier it’ll be to call it off when I leave.”

  He considers my statement, the corners of his eyes creasing with serious thought.

  “Things would have to end by then, I guess.”

  “What do you expect?”

  “Nothing,” he says, but there’s something. I hear it in his dulled voice. I see it in his drooping body.

  “I figured we were on the same page about things.”

  “We are,” he says distractedly.

  With a shift in the mood, we eat our lunch, stuffing our mouths so we don’t have to talk. It’s a beautiful day. I’d hate to ruin it with awkward conversation.

  He pulls out a book when we finish and lays on the blanket with an arm under his head. His eyes skim the lines at an impressive rate as he thumbs through page after page. I collect white and yellow flowers, picking the prettiest and fashioning them into a crown by carefully braiding the stems. I place it atop my head.

  Rising, I remove my sneakers and step into the creek, the cool water washing over my feet. When Holt notices me over the pages of his book, one
eye squinting out the sun, a smile cures the melancholy that’s plagued his lips since lunch.

  “You look like a wood nymph,” he comments, setting his novel down beside him.

  This is my opportunity to lift the mood. I kick cold water in his direction. He springs up when it soaks his clothes and tears off his shirt. He comes after me and snatches me up from behind, spinning us around. I scream gleefully, the world whirling about me in smears of blue and green. Max barks and splashes and dances around us in the water.

  “Put me down,” I shout. “I’m dizzy!”

  He stops and sets me on my feet, his hands steady about my waist. When I find my center, I step forward and slip on a mossy rock, falling ass first into the stream.

  He reaches out a helping hand.

  “Eye for an eye,” he mutters with a vindicated grin and hauls me up. “Now you’re all wet.”

  His hands vanish under the skirt of my clingy dress, lifts it over my head, and chucks it onto the blanket.

  “Is this where you kiss me?” I ask, hoping against hope that’s exactly what happens.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes.” I tilt my lips to his.

  “Good.” He grants me what I want, bringing his scorching mouth onto mine. It’s one for the ages.

  I part my lips, inviting him inside. He accepts, sinking his tongue into the warm breach. His hands travel to my face, intently memorizing my bare skin on their ascent, awakening every molecule, a sensation I’ve only felt under his touch. It’s exciting and new and frightening, wrapped into a single clouded emotion. Hidden down in the center, I’m petrified to let it go.

  The grass sways with the sweeping wind, abating the late afternoon sun’s rays on our skin, raw in its most natural state. Our clothes drying on a flat rock nearby.

  I lie on my stomach with the stem of a fallen daisy pinched between my thumb and forefinger, gently plucking the white petals from the yellow center. One by one, I watch them twirl to the wavy surface of the whispering brook. My mind drifts miles away, similar to the petals littering the leisurely-moving water.