Waylaid

by Sarina Bowen

  I move slowly, drawing out each shift of my hips. I’m sure I’ve never concentrated so hard on anything else before in my life. I don’t want to miss a moment of this bliss. Soft lips caress my own, and long fingers grip my shoulders as I move.

  Daphne strains upward against me, needing more. But the ground is hard beneath us, and I don’t want to bruise her. So I hook my arms around her and roll onto my back.

  She looks down at me a moment later, a little dazed. But she wastes no time bracing her hands on the earth and beginning to ride me.

  Sweat is dripping off me now. Everything is sweet, sweet heaven. Her steamy gaze holds mine as she moves.

  And even if I fall off three more walls—head first—there’s still no way I could ever forget this perfect moment.

  “Rickkkk,” Daphne breathes. Her forehead creases with effort, and she bites her lip. And a new wave of lust rolls through me as I watch the storm gather behind her eyes.

  “Have at it, baby,” I whisper, trailing my fingertips down her body. “Love watching you ride me.” Then I drop my hand to the place where we’re joined.

  On a high-pitched gasp, she turns her face away from me, catching her bottom lip in her teeth.

  “Christ, you’re beautiful. Eyes over here,” I rasp, as my balls tighten dangerously. I lift a hand to her chin and turn her head, begging her to look at me.

  When she does, I get a glimpse of everything she hides from the world. Her expression is pure fire, and pure need.

  And I’m done for. “Look out,” I say, clamping my jaw together to stave off my climax. But it doesn’t work. I break like a seawall in a hurricane. My hips slam upward and I groan as it slams through me.

  “Oh yes. Oh—” Daphne gasps.

  I roll my hips again, and she slides down onto my chest with a moan and a blissed-out shiver. I clamp my arms around her and hold on tight, unwilling to let go of her yet. And she flops her head onto my shoulder with a tired sigh. “Holy macaroni,” she mutters.

  I look up at the darkening sky and smile like the crazy man that I am.

  Thirty

  Daphne

  Wow.

  Just wow.

  I’m slumped onto Rickie’s body, feeling like I might never move again. But as my brain comes back online, a few important realizations are making themselves known to me.

  1. That was mind-blowing. Seriously. I had no idea.

  2. We’re still joined together, and his arms are braced around me.

  2a. I like it. A lot.

  3. I’m probably going to do it again. If I get the chance.

  3a. I hope I get the chance.

  Rickie lets out a low chuckle suddenly, and I wonder if I did or said something ridiculous in the throes of passion. So—with great difficulty—I pick up my head and look at him.

  He’s grinning broadly.

  “What?” I demand. I’m feeling the first twinges of a vulnerability hangover already.

  He pushes the hair off of my sweaty face. “I’m just happy, that’s all. I’ll probably be smiling for a week.”

  “Oh.” My face flushes with self-consciousness, and I lift my hips off his body, finally separating us. And he lets out a happy groan.

  I scramble to my feet and walk back over to the swimming hole, where I jump right in. Even this feels ridiculously sensual. I haven’t ever been skinny-dipping before. I was always the kid who was too self-conscious to throw off my clothes and jump in with the others.

  But I just had naked outdoor sex with my brother’s roommate. Now there’s something I never planned to do on my summer vacation. I guess I’m not the shy kid anymore. Go figure.

  There’s a loud Rickie-sized splash beside me, and I try to wipe off the look of wonder I must be wearing on my face and play it cool.

  But Rickie doesn’t give me the chance. He hauls me closer and kisses me, his wet skin seal-like against my own. “Damn, Shipley,” he says against my tongue. “We are totally coming back here. Probably tomorrow.”

  “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” I say, because I never was cool. “Eighty percent chance.”

  He doesn’t roll his eyes, or smile. He just looks at me with a serious expression, his gray eyes darkening in the fading light. “The hayloft then,” he whispers. And then he kisses me again.

  I manage to play it cool when we drive up to the house in our bathing suits and towels a little while later. Cool enough, anyway. My mother is on the phone, which helps. I don’t have to look anyone in the eye and try to explain why I look dazzled and frazzled.

  I head straight upstairs. And a half hour later I hear Rickie whistling in the shower. I hide in my room, lying curled up on the quilt, my body more relaxed than it’s been in ages.

  Desire is a wonderful drug. I’m happy for the dose I just had. But old habits die hard, so I’m already bracing myself in case he distances himself after this.

  Honestly, even if he forgets my name again tomorrow, it might have been worth it. Nobody has made me feel sexy in a long time. And even if Rickie is out of my league, I know in my heart that he’s no Reardon Halsey. He’s not going to lie to me or betray me.

  My hair is still damp, and my muscles are loose. The sultry summer air blowing into the window smells sweet.

  And when my phone chimes, I almost don’t bother checking it. I don’t want anyone to kill the high I’m riding. But maybe it’s Violet. And curiosity wins, so I peek.

  It’s not Violet. It’s Rickie. Gorgeous, can I come in for a second?

  Maybe, I say, playing coy. What do you need?

  A good night kiss, he says.

  All right, I agree.

  The door opens a few seconds later. Rickie appears, chest bare, hair damp. And my heart leaps at the sight of his smooth body slipping into the room as he pulls the door shut behind him.

  He wastes no time climbing onto the bed beside me and leaning in for a kiss that’s surprisingly sweet. “Promise me something,” he whispers.

  “What?” I ask, my brain temporarily scrambled by the way his strong arms gather me up and hold me close. My cheek comes to rest against his chest, and I can feel his stubble graze across my other ear.

  “Promise me you won’t climb inside your head and think up fifty reasons why that was a terrible idea.”

  “Okay,” I agree immediately. Even though it’s a distinct possibility.

  “Uh huh,” he says knowingly. “You may not realize it yet, but this is happening.”

  “Pretty sure it already did,” I mumble against his warmth.

  “I don’t mean the sex. Although there’s plenty more where that came from. I mean this.” He lifts my chin and stares deeply into my eyes. Then he gives me a slow kiss. “And this.” I receive another kiss. “But also more dates. Dinners out. I want it all.”

  I blink up at him, feeling a little dazed by another Rickie-inspired hormone rush. “All of what?”

  “All of you,” he says with a low rumble. “I realize you’re still getting used to the idea.”

  My stomach does the swoop thing. “I tried not to like you. But it didn’t work.”

  “I know, baby girl.” He gives me his cockiest grin. “Sorry about that. What can I do to help take away the pain of this failure you’ve suffered?”

  He’s joking, but I’m not. “Just don’t ever lie to me. That’s what I need from a man.”

  “Ah.” His expression goes serious. “All right. I promise.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I wish he’d stop being so dreamy. A girl can’t think with a man like Rickie holding her in her bed.

  “Don’t mention it,” he says. I get one more kiss. “Good night and sweet dreams.”

  “Good night.”

  He gets up and walks away. And just the view of his backside starts those good dreams flowing even before I shut out the light.

  Thirty-One

  Daphne

  It’s August, and the first apples are ripening, which means the farm is suddenly busy again. And my first semester’s tuit
ion has come due in full, so I’m a little stressed out about money, even though I know Mom already wrote the check.

  When you blow up your life, there’s a lot of damage control afterwards. I knew my summer would be complicated.

  But then there’s Rickie, with his hot glances and surreptitious kisses. As much as it kills me to admit I was wrong about someone, I’m a convert now. Maybe it’s the sex we’ve been sneaking around to have in odd places. Maybe it’s the way he sneaks into my room to kiss me good night every single evening.

  I like him a little more every day. That doesn’t mean I find it easy to say so again. I’m still wary, and still wondering whether he’ll get sick of me. I hope it’s not soon, because Rickie makes everything more fun.

  This morning he’s entertaining the whole breakfast table with a story about having a stare-down with a porcupine. And instead of scowling, I’m laughing along with everyone else.

  “See, I didn’t know what they might be able do with those quills,” he says, his glass of iced tea sweating in the grip of his strong hand. “I thought—can he shoot them like guns? Can this porcupine turn me into swiss cheese?”

  “No!” Dylan says, laughing. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “But I didn’t know that,” Rickie explains. “And I wasn’t about to sign myself up for some accidental acupuncture. So I just stood there on the path, holding my ground, you know? I flexed my biceps, just to make myself as fearsome as possible. Just in case this porcupine was easily impressed.”

  He flexes in his chair, and everyone howls.

  “He wasn’t, by the way. He just stood there, and I was afraid to turn my back on him. Finally I sort of made a run for it around him. And that is why I was five minutes late for breakfast. At least you’re not planning my funeral, you know?”

  “No one has ever been killed by a porcupine,” my mother says, dabbing her eyes.

  “As far as you know,” Rickie corrects, while Grandpa slaps his knee.

  I get up and fetch the coffeepot, because I want another drop before we get on the road to Burlington. It’s Wednesday now—my favorite day of the week. When Rickie drives me to work and kisses me goodbye in the parking lot.

  In the kitchen I grab both the coffeepot and the iced tea pitcher, because I’ve figured out that Rickie isn’t really a coffee drinker if there’s tea available. So I keep the pitcher full when I can.

  Back in the dining room I pour coffee for Grandpa and myself, and then pass the pot to my brother. Then I refill Rickie’s glass, and I feel his fingertips graze the back of my knee. It’s just a discreet touch of gratitude.

  But I love it. My pulse quickens whenever we’re in the same room, too. It’s been a long time since I let myself feel this kind of joy. It’s heady. It’s risky. But I can’t help myself.

  “You’re done with your class now, right?” my brother is saying. “What will you do after you turn in the paper?”

  “I’m picking up the keys to the house from the rental agent,” Rickie says. “My renter left town yesterday, and the house is all mine again. While Daphne’s at work, I’ll go to the storage unit and load up our boxes into your truck, and drive them back to the house.”

  “Oh, man,” Dylan says. “You should have said something. You want help?”

  “Nah, it’s fine,” Rickie says quickly. “I don’t mind moving your stuff around. It’s just a few boxes of books and clothes. You can carry it upstairs yourself, okay?”

  “Of course,” my brother says. Then he glances up at me. “Any more thoughts about your housing situation, Daphne? Have you been looking for a place?”

  “I looked at a couple listings,” I say casually. The truth is that I haven’t done much, and there’s only three weeks left. “There’s always the dorms.”

  “Maybe you should stop by the Spruce Street house after work,” Dylan says. “Take a look at Rickie’s extra bedroom and see what you think.”

  “What a great idea,” Rickie says brightly.

  I don’t dare glance at him because I’d probably blush furiously. He’s mentioned the house a couple of times, but I keep deferring the conversation. If everything goes south with him, I don’t want us to be roommates.

  On the other hand, I need somewhere to live, and I need a plan. Fast. “Sure, I’ll take a look.” Then I carry the coffeepot back to the kitchen to end the conversation.

  On the way into town, I become absorbed with reading something.

  So absorbed that I don’t notice we’ve arrived at the first delivery site until Rickie kills the truck’s engine.

  I look up, startled. A whole hour has gone by while I ignored him? “Sorry,” I say quickly.

  He snickers. “You used to fight me on who could drive the truck, babe. I’m not complaining that you’re busy reading…” He leans in to see my laptop screen. “A grad school application? UC Berkeley?”

  “They just went live,” I explain, clicking my laptop shut. “It’s application season again. And since my transcript is going to look incredibly strange, I need to do an A+ job on the essays and supplements.”

  “I see,” he says quietly. “California, huh?”

  “Maybe. Or Baltimore. Cambridge. New York City. I need to apply to every top program and pray that one of them can see past my senior year transfer.”

  He nods slowly. “Got a safety school picked out?”

  “Sure. I could probably stay here in Vermont. My summer job—which will soon become my all-year job—means I can probably win over the Moo U crowd.”

  Those gray eyes measure me. “But you don’t want to stay here.”

  “I can’t stay here,” I say quickly. “I mean I could, but I just can’t.”

  He cocks his head. “Come again?”

  “Well, it’s just that I—” How to put this in a way that won’t make me sound like a snob or a bitch? Seconds tick by while I come to the realization that there isn’t a way. Maybe I am a snob and a bitch.

  He waits.

  “I’ve invested everything into this career path,” I say slowly. “Other girls had lots of fun. And other girls had boyfriends. I studied. I put all my chips on one thing, and that thing was an Ivy League education. My family invested in me, too. Dylan went part-time to school when I went full-time.”

  “That was his choice,” Rickie points out.

  “Yeah, mostly,” I concede. “But it kept costs down at home. And now he’s behind and trying to catch up so he can graduate and get back to taking care of business. I have to finish what I started. That means getting into a top program and getting great funding.”

  “So this is about money?” He gives me the eyebrow quirk. “Burlington would cost more?”

  “It’s unclear,” I admit. “But it’s not a top program.”

  “What makes a top program a top program?” he asks.

  “Um…” This is not a question I want to answer. “Bigger programs do more research. They have more connections. For later. Berkeley is a huge program.”

  “I see,” he says calmly. But I hear something else in there. Like I’ve let him down somehow. “You like California?”

  “I’ve never been,” I admit. “But it’s really far away from Harkness, Connecticut. And that’s the other reason I need to get into a top program. If I don’t, if I settle for second best, then he wins the battle.”

  “Uh huh,” Rickie says flatly. “Course, if his actions send you five thousand miles away from people who love you, arguments could be made that he’s still driving this bus.”

  My jaw drops. But before I can formulate a response, he opens the truck’s door, gets out, and delivers the first crate of liquor of the day.

  I put my laptop away. And I’m simmering with irritation when he comes back to the truck. But I don’t say anything, because Rickie isn’t wrong. Everything I do is informed by My Biggest Mistake.

  Not that it’s any of Rickie’s business.

  And it’s not like I have a choice. My own mistakes got me here. All I can do is make the be
st of it. Berkeley, California would be the best of it.

  Not that I really want to move five thousand miles away and start over making new friends. Again.

  My thoughts fester as we make two more deliveries. And I’ve worked myself up into a Major Snit™ by the time Rickie pulls into a parking spot right in front of the School of Public Health.

  I grab my backpack off the floor and reach for the door handle.

  “Hey, Shipley, hold up.” He pulls the keys out of the ignition and turns to face me. “I’m gonna need a kiss before I go.”

  Even though I’m a little annoyed at him, my stomach does the same swoopy thing it always does when he trains those perceptive eyes on me.

  But a glance out the window shows me that Karim is standing right in front of the building, his phone to his ear. And I don’t want to make a spectacle of myself at work. “Make it quick, McFly,” I say. “My coworkers can see us.”

  He reaches up and cups my face in his hand. “See, I don’t have a problem getting you all hot and flustered in public places. But that’s just me.”

  I roll my eyes, even though his touch feels so nice. “Trying to be a professional here. Stop making it difficult.”

  He chuckles. Then he leans in and kisses me softly. It’s quick, and leaves me hungry for more.

  “Damn, Shipley. When you look at me like that, it’s tough to let you walk away.”

  I swallow hard. But then I open the door and climb out.

  “Daphne!” Karim calls out. He’s watching me now with a smile on his face. Oh boy. “How’s it going?”

  “Great,” I say as Rickie climbs out of the other side of the truck.

  “We’re doing karaoke tonight at the Biscuit,” he says. “You guys should come.”

  “What time?” Rickie asks, as if this were up to him. “I’m Rickie, by the way.”

  “I know,” Karim says, walking closer and offering his hand for a shake. “I was in the psych seminar last year when you were a guest speaker.”