by Mila Gray
I nod. ‘Yep.’
‘But where’d you learn to kiss like that?’ he asks.
‘I have kissed boys before,’ I say. ‘Last summer in England when I went to stay with my cousin. I was seeing a guy there.’
‘An English guy?’ Kit asks, his nose wrinkling.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘But don’t worry, he had nothing on you.’
‘Good,’ Kit says.
‘Anyway, like you can talk,’ I say. ‘You’ve been with hundreds of women.’
Kit pulls me into his arms so I’m lying on his chest, my hair hanging over us like a curtain. ‘I don’t remember any of them any more,’ he says, kissing me. ‘Only you.’
19
Kit
I can’t believe I just did that, asked her to be my girlfriend. It kind of came out of nowhere, but once it was out of my mouth I realized it was what I’ve wanted all along. And I meant what I said, too – I’m going to be the best boyfriend ever. Not that I have any experience of being one. But I’m a fast learner.
‘I’m going to cook you dinner one night next week,’ I say.
I can feel her smiling even without looking at her.
‘I like it that you can cook,’ she says. ‘It’s sexy.’
‘You should see what I can do with a whisk,’ I murmur against her ear. ‘And a palette knife.’
Suddenly the image of Jessa covered in whipped cream flashes into my mind.
‘I’m really turned on by that,’ she answers drolly.
I reach for a pastry with my spare hand and press it into her mouth.
She giggles and spits it out but then starts licking her fingers. ‘These are so good,’ she says. ‘Will you teach me how to make them one day?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘How about now?’
Jessa turns her head to me. ‘Now?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. We’ve been at the beach over an hour and a half and it’s getting hot.
‘Where?’ Jessa asks.
‘At mine.’
She props herself up on one elbow, giving me a distractingly great view of her breasts. ‘Yours?’ she asks.
‘My dad’s out,’ I say with a grin, hoping she can’t read my mind.
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Sure, let’s go,’ she says after a beat.
I drive like there’s a demon on our tail, but halfway home I glance across at Jessa sitting with her bare feet propped on the dash, legs coated in sand, and wonder if I’m running ahead of myself. What happened to taking it slowly and enjoying the anticipation? By the time we get back to my place I’m back in control and planning on just giving her a baking demonstration. That’s all. No making out.
I open the back door and lead her into the kitchen. Jessa’s been to my house before but not for a while, and I feel nervous, self-conscious, as she stands there looking around. All I can think about is how it looks like I’ve brought her back here so I can sleep with her, which isn’t true, but which automatically makes me think about sleeping with her, which in turn makes me picture her naked, which makes me then picture us making love on the kitchen floor. Fuck. Think about something else instead. I try to banish the thoughts but still they flood in thick and fast, taunting me. Focus on the baking, I tell myself tersely. That’s what you brought her here for. Baking. Not sex.
‘Let me check I have all the ingredients,’ I say, moving quickly to the cabinets and starting to pull down the flour, eggs, sugar and baking powder.
‘Kit?’ Jessa says.
I stop, holding the weighing scales in one hand and a baking tray in the other, and look at her. She’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, still barefoot, her hair hanging down her back and her T-shirt sticking to her with sand and salt-water.
‘I don’t want to bake,’ she says.
‘You don’t?’ I ask, trying to stay cool.
She shakes her head, a small and mischievous smile playing on her lips.
Oh, fuck it. I toss the things I’m holding onto the side, not even caring when I hear something clatter to the floor. I stride towards Jessa and pull her into my arms. ‘Works for me,’ I say, kissing her.
She presses herself against me and I lift her up. She wraps her legs around my waist and I run my hand down the smooth, warm skin of her thighs. I kiss her harder, loving the feel of her opening up to me. With one arm I swipe the objects from the counter top and place her down on it. She keeps her legs wrapped around my waist and I grip her thighs, loving the feel of it, of her wanting me, not knowing how the hell I got so lucky but not daring it to question it either.
I taste the salt on her skin as I trace my tongue up her neck. She breathes fire in my ear, whispers my name, as though urging me on. Her hands drop to my waist and ride up inside my T-shirt, smoothing over my stomach all the way up my chest. I bury my lips in the curve of her neck and shoulder and hear her breath catch in her throat.
I let my hands finally trace the shape of her breasts, though over her T-shirt, and relish the sound of her sighing when my thumbs rub over her nipples. She clutches me harder, clinging onto me when I let my lips wander over her collarbone.
She pulls back out of my arms and tugs on the bottom of my T-shirt. There’s a wildness in her eyes, they’re slightly unfocused, and I hold my arms above my head and let her peel it off. She tosses it to the ground and then takes a deep breath, her eyes wandering over me. I swallow, my heart beating hollowly. She runs her hands over my stomach, slowly, tentatively letting her fingers trace a path to my waistband. I’m holding my breath, fully aware that we’re on the edge of something here and not wanting to push her.
She leans forward and kisses me, biting my bottom lip, tugging it between her teeth and all I can hear is my blood roaring in my ears, my gut tightening in response. I’ve never wanted any girl the way I want Jessa. I grip her by the hips, pulling her against me and she lets out a gasp.
Then my phone rings.
It takes a second for the sound to permeate through the lust fog in my brain, to realize that it’s my phone ringing and it’s coming from my back pocket. I take an unsteady step backwards and Jessa’s legs drop from my waist, leaving me feeling unanchored and at sea; the room tilts violently. I pull my phone out my pocket, glancing at Jessa who’s sitting on the countertop breathing hard, her cheeks flushed.
Damn. It’s Riley. Great timing. I hit OK, noticing as I do the mess all over the floor. The bags of sugar and flour have exploded, and the kitchen is a winter wonderland. The scales lie on the counter beside six broken eggs, one of which is sliding down the side of a cabinet to meet the flour on the floor.
‘Kit?’
I close my eyes. ‘Er, yeah?’ I say, wondering why I answered the phone. I could be kissing Jessa right now. What a fool.
‘Where are you?’
Shit. I could say I’m home but what if he comes over? I glance at Jessa still sitting on the countertop, her eyes fixed on me, her hair in disarray.
‘Just chillin’,’ I say, hoping he can’t hear how out of breath I sound. ‘It’s Riley,’ I mouth to Jessa. Her eyes widen in panic.
‘You wanna hang out? Go to the gym maybe?’ he asks.
‘Um, nah,’ I say. ‘I’m kinda busy.’
‘Doing what?’ Riley asks, then he pauses and I hear the chuckle in his throat. ‘Oh, I get it. Are you with a girl? Are you getting some?’
I don’t answer. Shit. Am I that obvious?
‘Who? Wait,’ he says, his tone switching to anger, ‘It’s not Didi, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Oh yeah, she’s at school. Who then?’ Riley asks, back to his normal teasing tone. ‘Where’d you meet her?’
‘Just around,’ I say, not able to look in Jessa’s direction.
‘Is she hot?’ Riley asks. ‘Man, how’d you do it?’
I cringe, rubbing a hand over my eyes. ‘She’s beautiful, yeah,’ I say quietly, though I’m sure Jessa hears.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Tell me all about it later. I want details, bro.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ I say swallowing drily.
He hangs up, still laughing. I picture how quickly the laughter would die if he knew I was with his sister. I close the phone and put it back in my pocket. Jessa hops down from the counter, pushing her hair behind her ears and straightening her T-shirt. The mood has been well and truly killed.
‘Maybe we should clear up,’ she says, looking around at the mess.
I follow her gaze and then look back at her, noticing how flushed her cheeks are still. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’
Jessa looks at me. She doesn’t make a move to start clearing up. The energy starts to ripple again – I can feel it – making us move towards each other as though we’re magnetized.
‘When’s your dad back?’ she asks, her gaze falling to my lips.
I look at the clock on the wall. It’s almost three. ‘Not till later. Six maybe.’
Jessa does a silent calculation in her head, then glances at me shyly. ‘Show me your room?’ she says.
20
Jessa
I really do just want to see his room – I’m not suggesting anything. Though when Kit takes my hand I realize that’s a lie. I’m totally suggesting something. He leads me in silence up the narrow stairs. It’s a small house and clearly the home of a bachelor. It hasn’t been decorated in years. On the walls are photographs of Kit in uniform, of Kit’s cousins at various weddings, and Kit’s mom with Kit and his sister when they were babies.
There are four rooms off the landing. Kit opens the first on the right and I smile straightaway because it looks like it belongs to a nine-year-old. There are soccer and baseball trophies on the shelf, and a narrow single bed pushed under the window. There’s even a baseball pendant on the wall. The room is neat and tidy. I notice the dresser is piled with diaper bags and toys.
‘Is there something you need to tell me?’ I ask.
He grins at me. ‘Yeah, I’m incontinent.’ He laughs. ‘Nah, it’s for my niece and all my cousins. At last count I’m a second cousin about thirty times over.’
‘Wow,’ I say. I only have one cousin in England. I’d love a big family.
I pick up a photograph in a heavy silver frame that’s sitting in pride of place on the bedside table. ‘That’s my mom,’ Kit says.
He didn’t need to tell me. It’s so obvious. He looks just like her. She’s dark-haired, with almond-shaped brown eyes and beautiful high cheekbones.
‘She looks like a film star,’ I say, taking in the red-painted lips and the glamorous white dress she’s wearing.
‘That was her on her wedding day,’ Kit says.
I set the photograph down and turn to Kit. His focus is still on the photograph but after a moment he turns and looks at me. I see a shadow of sadness in his eyes that I want to chase away, so I rise up on tiptoe and kiss him gently on the mouth. Slowly he puts his arms around my waist and draws me nearer. Unlike in the kitchen, this time we kiss each other slowly, gently, our hands staying chastely at waist-height. Things heat up fast, though, as they always seem to when we start kissing. I wonder if this is how he felt with all the other girls he’s been with, because I’ve never felt this way with a boy before, like I want to crawl beneath his skin, melt into him, lose myself in him completely.
A sudden burst of confidence makes me take a step back from Kit and pull off my T-shirt, glancing up only briefly to check his expression. He looks surprised, but then this gaze drops to my bikini top, and he closes his mouth, tugs me by the arm and leads me towards the bed. He lays me down gently on top of the covers and then lies down beside me, resting on his side. The bed is so narrow the two of us couldn’t both lie flat anyway. I look up at him as he rests his hand on my stomach and watch his face, which is completely transparent. It’s awe – that’s the only way to describe the way he’s looking at me, as though I’m made of gold, or sunlight.
‘Fuck, you’re so beautiful,’ he says, stroking his hand across the flat of my stomach. He runs his fingers along my hip bone as though he’s playing an instrument, learning the keys, and then he traces the outline of my ribs all the way up until he meets my bikini, and goosebumps chase themselves across my skin which is drawn as tight as a drum. Then, without warning, Kit dips his head and kisses the top of my breast. I suck in a breath and hold it as his tongue starts to trace circles across my skin. His other hand comes up and cups my other breast, making it swell against his tongue.
Holy shit. My eyes fly open as he presses his mouth over the thin material of my bikini and sucks on my nipple, drawing it hard into his mouth.
He hasn’t even made a move to take off my bikini top, but I can feel a pulsing between my legs, a strong pull which turns into a sweetly painful ache when Kit brushes his thumb over my nipple and squeezes it.
I stop wondering where we’re going with this, stop caring about anything. My mind disconnects as the sensations pulsing through my body take over, obliterating everything else. All I can think is all I can feel, every single touch magnified until it seems like my cells are exploding in a chain reaction. Kit’s hand slips beneath my back, curves up my spine, finds the knotted string of my bikini. He’s just about to release it when we both hear someone calling his name.
Kit’s off me in a flash and I sit bolt upright. My head is spinning, my body still burning from his touch, but now adrenaline scores through my bloodstream too. I scramble frantically for my shirt, which is lying on the floor, as Kit crosses to the door. Who is it?
‘Kit?’
Oh my God. It’s his dad. I grab the T-shirt to my chest and start hyperventilating in panic. Kit is standing by the door, holding onto the handle, his head bent. He takes a deep breath. ‘Yep?’ he shouts. He’s trying to keep his voice casual but there’s a note to it that shrieks his guilt.
‘What’s the mess down in the kitchen?’ his dad asks. He’s just outside the bedroom door. Kit glances at me over his shoulder. I dart behind the door not needing to be told. Kit pulls the door open, blocking it with his body, so his dad can’t see inside. I try to press as close to the door as possible so he can’t see me through the crack.
‘What’s going on?’ his dad asks.
‘Nothing,’ Kit answers quickly. Too quickly. ‘I was baking. Dropped something.’
‘Looks like a hydrogen bomb went off in there.’ He pauses. ‘You often bake shirtless?’
‘I . . . er . . . I spilled something on my T-shirt. Had to put it in the wash.’
‘In the wash?’ his dad asks. ‘I found it on the floor in the kitchen in the middle of all that mess that you’re about to go downstairs and clear up.’
Kit doesn’t say anything for a moment and I wonder for a heart-stopping few seconds if he’s about to come clean, but he doesn’t, he just nods and says, ‘Yep, I’ll be down in a minute.’
His dad hovers for a few more seconds and I imagine him narrowing his eyes at Kit and trying to peer over his shoulder into the bedroom. Kit finally shuts the door. He leans back against it, wincing. ‘Shit. That was close.’
‘I thought you said he wasn’t back until six?’ I say.
‘Must have got it wrong.’ Kit shrugs at me, that dangerous grin tugging at his mouth.
I shake my head at him as I pull on my T-shirt. My heart is still pounding. It’s not funny. I look at my watch. ‘I need to get home,’ I say.
Kit frowns. ‘I’m not sure how we’re going to get you past my dad.’
I stare at him. He’d better find a way. My dad will kill me if I’m not home by dinner.
‘OK,’ Kit says, pacing the room, ‘let me think.’ I cross my arms over my chest and watch him. ‘OK. I’ll go down and clear up the kitchen and act like nothing’s up. You wait up here, and when the coast is clear I’ll come and get you.’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘Or we could just come out and tell him.’
My arms drop to my sides. ‘Tell him?’
‘Why not?’ Kit asks.
‘Because . . . he’ll wonder what we were doing up here . . . and
in the kitchen.’
Kit shrugs. ‘He won’t mind.’
‘I mind.’
Kit nods. ‘OK. Well, wait here then and I’ll come get you.’ He crosses to the door and is about to open it before he stops and walks towards me. He puts his arm around my waist and hooks me to him, then cups my face and kisses me.
‘You’re so goddamn sexy, you know that?’
I don’t get a chance to answer before he lets me go and disappears out the door.
21
Kit
I start sweeping up the mess, thinking of Jessa upstairs. Man, my dad’s timing sucks. If he hadn’t come home would we be having sex right now? No. I can tell that Jessa’s not ready. And besides, I think it would be her first time and if it is her first time it needs to be special, not some quick wham bam, thank you, ma’am with one eye on the clock. I would want to spend all night making her ready, making sure she remembered it for the rest of her life.
I glance at the clock. I need to figure a way to get her out of here. My dad’s in the front room listening to Miles Davis, which means he must be working on his Sunday sermon. If I’m lucky he’ll stay put and I can try to sneak Jessa down the stairs.
I sweep up the remains of the flour and sugar and then sprint up the stairs. We have fifteen minutes. Jessa’s sitting on the edge of my bed, her foot tapping silently. She jumps up the moment I open the door and I beckon her over, taking her hand.
We jog down the stairs and straight through into the kitchen, my ears pricked for any sound from the front room. We make it into the truck and I gun it out the driveway at breakneck speed. We make it halfway before the front door flies open and my dad comes out. I consider for a moment keeping on going, but then I see he’s holding something in his hand. It’s a bag. Jessa’s bag.
I pull the handbrake on.
Jessa doesn’t say a word. She’s just staring out the window. We watch as my dad strolls over. I wind down the window.
‘Hey,’ I say, feeling like I just got caught fleeing the scene of a crime.
My dad’s eyebrow is twitching in amusement. So is his mouth. I give him a shrug as if to say, Cut me some slack, have you looked at this girl?