Coming Up for Air

by Miranda Kenneally

  I bite down on my lip to distract myself from how much I want to make out. I bite until I can’t take it anymore. I glide through the water to sit closer to him.

  Levi tenses. “What are you doing, Maggie?”

  I press a light kiss to his neck. “I like what we did the other night.”

  He sinks into me. “Me too.”

  “Teach me more.”

  His breathing speeds up as my lips nibble the skin beneath his ear. “I thought we already established that you don’t need lessons.”

  “You decided that, but I really do need you to teach me. I totally bombed the condom race. If I can’t do right by a banana, how can I do it with a real guy?”

  “Why me?” he asks. “You’re pretty. Lots of guys would be interested.”

  I blush at his words—they definitely make me feel good. “I’m looking to explore,” I explain. “I want to fulfill my urges—”

  “Mags, seriously, please stop talking about your urges.”

  I swallow hard, working to find the right words to explain how I feel. “I need to stay focused on swimming, and you’re equally as focused. If I were to hook up with a guy I don’t know well, it could get dramatic. He could want me more than I want him. Or vice versa.”

  “I know what that’s like,” Levi says quietly.

  “Or what if I can’t find somebody who’s good at fooling around like you?”

  Levi smirks a little, and I keep on rambling.

  “And if I hook up with someone random, I could get a bad reputation. Or he could end up being a crazy person.”

  “Like the Cal guy who wanted you to spank him?” He snorts at his own joke.

  I give him a look. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t need drama right now.”

  I kiss along his jaw as I work my way over to his lips. He cups the back of my neck, bringing my mouth to his. After a few soft kisses that feel like lemonade on a hot day, he pulls back to stare at me.

  “I’m nervous,” he says.

  “About what?”

  “I like this. But you’re the best thing in my life. The only thing in my life.”

  “That’s not true. You’ve got your mom and Oma and Opa and Pepper. Hunter and Georgia.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I do. I know what he means. He’s been my rock since we were kids. My constant.

  But…I can’t help wanting to make out with him. The pull is too strong.

  I slide onto his lap. Any other guy and I’d feel like a giant oaf, but with him, the way his hands play across my back, drifting up and down the ladder of my spine, makes me feel feminine.

  “We promised we’d tell each other how we feel,” I say.

  “And I told you, I’m nervous. I’m worried. I’m not sure if I want to do this, but you’re still in my lap.”

  I swallow hard, and start to move to the other side of the hot tub, away from him, to respect his wishes and maybe rush home to hide under my bedcovers in mortification. But then he pulls me back against him. The water ripples around us.

  I touch his muscled chest, look into his blue eyes and choke out, “I thought you were worried.”

  “I am. But when you moved away from me just now, I realized you’d never push me.”

  I lean closer to him. “So what does that mean?”

  He shrugs. “I can give you a few more lessons.”

  “Lessons in how to be full of yourself?” I tease.

  “You bet.”

  We ease into kissing again with a few simple pecks. Those tiny seeds bloom into a field of bright sunflowers. He slides one of my bathing suit straps down. Presses his mouth to my collarbone. When I let out a little sigh, he slides his hands to my waist and further down to cup my bottom.

  “Can I ask a question?” I pant, my breath ragged. “Why is it you’re supposed to be teaching me how to make a guy feel good, but you’re doing all the work?”

  He gives me a smile that’s all mine. “Lesson number one: you’ll know a guy’s worth it when he can’t keep his hands off you.”

  A New Way to Breathe

  The week leading up to regionals, I can’t keep my hands off him.

  We don’t touch each other at practice, obviously, but the minute we’re alone, I am all over him. Monday night my parents are catering a retirement party at a law firm, so I go over to Levi’s house to mooch some of Oma’s beef stew.

  After we finish second helpings, he passes me a tiny envelope. I carefully open it to find a Batman valentine that says:

  To: Magpie From: Levi

  I smile. “Why’d you get me this?”

  “Oma bought me some valentines to give out at school. I guess she doesn’t know that kids don’t exchange them past fifth grade.”

  “Aww,” I say. “Now I feel bad. I didn’t get you one.”

  Wheel of Fortune is blaring from the TV room, which means Oma and Opa are properly distracted by Pat Sajak and Vanna White. So I scooch around to Levi’s side of the table.

  “Here’s your valentine, Batman,” I say, and press my lips to his. When I pull back to look at him, he gives me a quizzical look but doesn’t object when I dive back in for more.

  “Am I doing this right?” I ask between kisses.

  His eyes flare. “Guys like it when girls take initiative…so yeah, this is pretty hot.” He twines our fingers together and tugs me closer so that I’m straddling his lap, his chest rising and falling as he works to catch his breath. But I don’t let him catch it—I kiss the daylights out of him.

  The next day in study hall, Levi and I grab our usual spot in the back corner near a sunny window overlooking the soccer field. I like this table because somebody etched into it: math is a tempestuous lover.

  Georgia and Hunter have study hall during a different period, so it’s just me and Levi. I’m working on the first draft of an essay for my English class, and he’s making faces at his biology book.

  “I don’t see why I have to do this,” he complains. “I already got into college. Besides, I am an expert.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask.

  “Definitely. I’ve been teaching you all about biology.” His eyes sweep the library. No one is looking our way, not even the librarian who constantly shushes me. Levi reaches over to grip my knee, sweeping his hand up my leg, gently playing my inner thigh like piano keys. Mouth at my ear, he whispers, “The knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone.”

  His fingertips leave me trembling in their wake. I breathe deeply, to try to calm myself, but Levi undoes me. Taking his hand, I stand and lead him back into the stacks, peeking over my shoulder to make sure no one’s following us. When we reach the books on business, I figure it’s safe (because who would want to read about taxes?), and I get up on tiptoes and kiss his neck.

  His arms come around me, drawing my body close.

  “The thigh bone’s connected to the hip bone,” I whisper-sing, and he brings two fingers to my jaw, turning my head so our lips can meet. He moans softly as we kiss, gripping my hips. His warm, soft mouth glides against mine. My heart thumps. My knees go weak. My hands need to touch him everywhere. My, my, my.

  The bell rings loudly. We jump apart.

  At first we both make freaked-out eyes at each other, because we got totally carried away at school, but then he starts to laugh.

  “Yep,” he says, straightening his sweatshirt and smoothing his hair. “Definitely don’t need any more biology lessons.”

  That night at my house, we’re sitting on the den couch doing homework. He’s reading Fahrenheit 451 for English and I’m doing my calculus, which I do not understand in the least and I’m hoping will click real soon. Reclining against the armrest, I put my feet in his lap. Yeah, it’s forward of me, but he’s just so cute and it seems only fair after he riled me up in study hall today. He looks down at my socks
for a long moment, then rests a hand on top of them.

  We keep working in silence. When I rub my foot along his thigh, he responds by massaging it. His thumb grazes my arch, sending shivers up my spine.

  “What are your parents doing?” he asks.

  “Event over at the chamber of commerce.”

  “Do you know how long they’ll be gone?”

  “Another hour, I think.”

  He sets his novel on the coffee table, plucks the calculus book from my fingers, and tosses it on the floor. Then he pushes me back on the couch and teases my neck with his lips.

  “I have lesson number two for you,” he says.

  “What is it?” I gasp.

  “I’m gonna teach you what happens when you feel up a guy with your foot.”

  He slides a hand under my shirt. I’m wearing a sports bra, which is so not sexy. Shit. Why am I not wearing something lacy and pretty? He caresses me gently, though, which helps me to relax and somewhat forget about my bra. I pull the knit cap from his head to weave my fingers through his soft hair.

  Our lips meet as we get tangled up on the couch. My breathing races when his fingertips trail over my stomach. After pulling the sweatshirt over his head, I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. His back is strong under my exploring fingers, his skin smooth beneath his T-shirt. My hand moves from his back to stomach, gently tracing that line of hair pointing down from his belly button. It makes him gasp and shudder, and I love it.

  He talks constantly: you feel great, you’re so pretty, should we take a snack break?

  I giggle along with him at that one, our featherlight kisses growing harder and more intense.

  I’m squirming beneath him and feel dampness between my legs, and it’s like he knows because he whispers in my ear, “I’m going to touch you, okay?” His fingers trickle to the top of my yoga pants. My entire body is trembling with electricity. Him touching me down there is a lot more personal than anything else we’ve done, but my body wants it. I freak out again when I remember I’m wearing cotton underwear and not something silky or lacy. At least they are black.

  “Okay,” I say quietly, sucking in a deep breath.

  “Tell me if you have second thoughts,” he says, sounding as nervous—and excited—as I am.

  He pushes past my waistband, gently grazing against me through my underwear. It feels so good, better than I imagined. His breathing is shaky as he edges my panties to the side and begins to explore the skin where I’m most sensitive. When he enters me, his finger feels bigger than I figured it would.

  “Eee!” I yelp.

  He immediately pulls his hand away. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  “Sorry, it just felt a little different than I expected.”

  We can’t seem to meet each other’s eyes. He sits back up, putting space between us, his face blazing red and confused.

  “Wait,” I say. “Can we try it again?”

  “You’re sure? You should never do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

  I touch his strong chest. “I want to.”

  He drags a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in places. Without looking directly at me, he squeezes back down between me and the couch. He caresses my back and thighs, trails kisses down my neck and whispers things in my ear: your body is incredible, relax, do you like this?

  Our skin grows damp as we make out, and a full-body tremor rushes through me. When his hand dips into my panties this time, I’m ready. Wanting. Aching. His fingers move inside my underwear until I’m as shaky as he is.

  “Levi,” I say, gasping into his mouth. “I need…I need—”

  “I know.” He gazes into my eyes, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. “You’re close.”

  How can he know my body better than I do? I decide to ignore that he has experience with other girls and focus on right here, right now, until an intense tingly feeling zaps through my body and a blinding, hot white light fills my eyes with stars.

  So that’s what I’ve been waiting for.

  “Wow,” I pant, dizzy, and he grins.

  I relax against the armrest. He rocks back onto his haunches, kneeling between my legs, and sweeps his hair back with both hands.

  We stare at each other, panting like we sprinted a mile.

  “Um, shouldn’t I do something for you?”

  His breathing is still a little frantic. “You already did.”

  My eyes drift to the front of his shorts. He is ready to go.

  “You don’t want me to spank you?” I ask, and he erupts in laughter. My joke kills the tension, at least for a few seconds. Then I lick my lips and take another peek at his shorts. I reach to touch him, but he takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles.

  “Not tonight,” he says.

  “Another time?”

  He doesn’t answer, just slides down next to me, and spoons me from behind. His warm breath tickles the back of my neck.

  “That bad?” I ask.

  “Huh?”

  “Was I that bad?”

  “Mags, don’t be silly. Can’t you feel how turned on I am?”

  It’d be hard to miss the bulge pressing against my lower back. “Then why’d we stop?”

  He doesn’t answer. He sweeps my hair away from my neck, and lays his chin there, lips close to my pulse. I think about what we just did. I screeched “Eee!” in front of him. I can’t imagine how embarrassing that would be with another guy. I’m glad it happened with Levi, someone I feel safe with.

  But the experience gap between us is so clear. Levi lost his virginity to an older girl when he was fifteen at a swim meet in Miami. He knows what he’s doing. Meanwhile, I’m squealing.

  He and I lie in silence until my heartbeat returns to normal, and that’s when the front door opens and shuts.

  Levi quickly sits up and grabs for his tennis shoes. I twist my shirt and yoga pants into place and pull my hair back into a messy ponytail. His cheeks are still red when we walk into the kitchen where Mom and Dad are bickering.

  “I told you no one would appreciate the secret sauce,” Mom says. “We’re not McDonald’s.”

  “I know, I know,” Dad says. “We’re—”

  “King’s Royal Engagements,” Levi and I say in unison.

  My parents smile at us, and Mom looks from me to Levi, pausing on our faces longer than usual. My best friend’s skin is still flushed from making out. Is mine? Mom regards us skeptically, like that time in junior high we stayed out at the lake way past dark and didn’t answer our cell phones.

  Levi, thank the heavens, breaks the tension. “You got any of that secret sauce left?” he asks, and within a minute Dad is serving him up a cocktail plate packed with tenderloin and a reddish-orange sauce.

  Levi tastes it, then starts chowing down enthusiastically. “It’s your aioli sauce. Why not just call it that?”

  Mom sighs. “That’s what I said.”

  “Because I thought secret sauce sounded mysterious,” Dad says.

  “Mom’s right,” I say. “It sounds like McDonald’s, which isn’t exclusive enough for King’s Royal Engagements.”

  “You could call it ‘Not your mother’s aioli sauce,’” Levi suggests.

  Dad snaps and points at him. “You’re on to something.”

  Mom and I groan.

  She checks her watch. “Shouldn’t you two be getting to bed? You’re gonna be tired in the morning.”

  Being a swimmer means having the bedtime of an elementary schooler. “I’ll walk Levi out,” I say.

  After he takes a final bite of tenderloin and collects his books and backpack, I lead him to the front hall. I stand in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He glances over my shoulder into the house, then leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. Our breath mingles toget
her, hot in the cool February air.

  “Why’d you stop me before?” I ask.

  “Because I worried if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

  He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, then heads toward his truck, not looking back.

  • • •

  When Coach told us a USA Swimming representative was coming to speak with the elite swimmers at our club, he failed to mention the Knoxville Krakens and Memphis Marines were coming too.

  USA Swimming wants to keep an eye on the talent all over the country, but it’s easier for them to meet with us on a state level. That’s why Susan Kennedy is meeting three regional club teams here in Nashville after school today.

  Once I’ve changed into my swimsuit and sweats, I join Levi in the stands next to the pool. His nose is buried in the paperback he’s reading.

  “Hi,” I say, sitting down so close our hips touch.

  His eyes don’t leave the words on the page, but he smiles. “Hey, Mags.” He gently pats my knee. Part of me wishes he’d leave his hand there, to calm my nerves, but he uses it to turn the page in his book, which, based on the cover, appears to be about a trio of warlocks and their girlfriends on a beach vacation.

  The heavy double doors to the aquatics center open, and in march swimmers from Knoxville and Memphis, the Krakens in silver sweats and the Marines in green. Roxy leads the Marines to the stands. When climbing the stairs past me, Roxy pretends to trip, ramming her foot into mine.

  “Ow,” I say.

  Levi looks up from his book, giving me a weird look. Then he sees her.

  “Hi, Levi,” she flirts, moving to a seat directly behind us. We ignore her.

  “What are you doing here, Maggie?” Roxy asks. “I thought this was a session for elite swimmers.”

  “I know, right?” I say. “Considering I’m way better than you, this session’ll probably be a waste of my time.”

  Levi smirks at me sideways.

  Coach Josh blows his whistles. “Okay, everybody, settle down. Everyone put your phones on silent please.” Coach waits as everyone quiets. “Levi, put that book away.”