by Mimi Strong
“Let’s go for that swim,” I said, reaching into the drawer around him and pulling out what looked and felt like swim trunks. “It’s been a long day, and I’d love to go for a swim with you.”
“Swim first, then we find and kill Sven.”
“The hippie boy has a caveman side.”
“Grrr.”
I ran my fingertip down the center of his tanned chest. I would have much rather posed with him all day, but at least we were together now.
“I bet we can think of some other things to do after a swim,” I said.
“Just like a woman. Always trying to prevent war and homicide.”
“I do what I can.”
As he pulled on his red swimming trunks, I stripped off my clothes down to my underwear. The bra and panties I had on were black, and as long as nobody looked too closely, they would pass for a swimsuit.
Keith pulled me in for a kiss, and his lips felt good, but he smelled of something I didn’t like—maybe whiskey—and I held back.
“I’ll go brush my teeth,” he said, picking up on my reluctance right away. “I’ll grab some towels for the pool, too.”
I followed him out of the bedroom and waited on one of the chrome kitchen counter stools, checking my phone messages.
There was a reminder for my commercial shoot on Monday, along with directions to be wearing loose-fitting clothes when I arrived. Thinking about that little adventure in my future made me glance over at the booze available, but luckily the wooziness passed in a minute.
A message from Amy, my junior staff member at the bookstore, simply said: I’m sorry. It was really fun working with you.
The next message was from Gordon Oliver, my boss and the owner of Peachtree Books, telling me that those sheep-fuckers from the other bookstore in town (hate them!) had poached our employee, and he was on the verge of shutting the whole thing down. I don’t want to get Gordon in trouble, but he seemed awfully vengeful. He actually used the words “fire” and “collect the insurance.”
With my hand on my forehead, I shook my head like a weary father in a TV sitcom. I leave Beaverdale for business, and before a week goes by, all hell breaks loose? Would there be any buildings left standing amidst the rubble when I returned next week?
As I was holding the phone, it tickled my hand with another message. The number wasn’t in my address book, but the sender seemed to know me, because he or she said: Hey, Peaches.
I asked who it was, and the tickle spread all through my body when he said: Adrian Storm.
Hot buttered noodles with cheese.
Me: What’s going on?
Adrian: I’m your new coworker.
Me: You didn’t.
Adrian: Oh, yes, I did. Gordon hired me just now. And I’m going to reorganize this whole bookstore before you get back. I think there should be more of an emphasis on Men’s Adventure books.
Me: Don’t touch anything! You are my subordinate!
Adrian: Yes, boss.
Me: Your secondary job is to sell books. Your main job is to speak to Gordon in a soothing voice and talk him out of expanding the wine store into our space.
Adrian: HOLY SHITSNACKS! I think that wall just moved.
Me: Very funny.
Keith came out of the bathroom, two bright orange towels in his arms. “What are you getting all giggly about?”
I felt my cheeks flush hot, like I’d been caught lying.
“Everything’s falling apart at home without me.”
“And that makes you giggle?”
I batted my eyelashes, and in a funny voice, said, “I’m not like other people.”
“You can say that again.” He went to the front door and pulled it open.
I followed him out to the courtyard in nothing but my black underwear, and the sun’s evening rays glanced off my milk-hued, Washington-white-girl skin and blinded everyone in a thirteen-block radius. (Sorry, LA.)
I watched Keith lower himself into the pool, which was rectangular and tiled with mostly blue and green tiles, dotted with the occasional yellow tile, standing out like a dandelion in a lawn. Surrounding the pool were a few weathered teak loungers, some potted palm trees, and a trio of ceramic turtles that made me look twice—not because they were realistic, but because I am gullible.
“Hey!” Keith said. “Some kids left their pool noodles.” He grabbed two of the long, foam pool toys and wrapped them under his armpits so he could float easily.
I came around to the side with the steps and stepped down cautiously, pleased to find the water was warm.
“You need those to float,” I said. “You have no body fat.”
We were alone in the courtyard, and if there were kids living there who owned the pool noodles, they were quiet ones.
I swam up to Keith and wrapped my legs around his waist playfully, pretending to pull him under like a shark.
Smiling, he said, “Be gentle. I’ve had a tough day.”
I looked down at my body under the water, warped and rippling, a distorted version of myself.
“I feel awful about what happened today,” I said.
“Don’t. It wasn’t your fault.” He gave me a pretend-serious look. “Unless it was. Did you have me fired?”
I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him in for a hug, the two plastic pool noodles between our chests keeping us afloat without effort.
“Of course I didn’t,” I said.
He stared down at my lips for a moment, then kissed me. Despite the cool water surrounding us, I felt a heat rise from my core.
Pulling back, he said, “I’m going to be fine. Please don’t let any of this stuff take away from what is actually a victory.”
“A victory?”
His hands found my buttocks and massaged me there, and up and down my legs as I continued to hold on tight to him.
He kissed my eyelids, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, and then my mouth, before moving down my neck. The pool water splish-splashed with our movements. I ran my hands through his damp hair.
“Today is a victory for curvy women,” he said.
I reached down into the water with both of my hands and grabbed his firm, muscular ass. “Today is a victory for my hands,” I said.
“Be serious for a minute. You’re part of something that’s bigger than just you.”
I reached around between us and grabbed something interesting through his shorts. “Speaking of bigger…”
He took in a quick gasp of air, raised his hands over his head, and quickly sank, slipping out of my grasp. He reappeared at the other end of the pool, slicking his inky hair back with both hands.
“You’re not very patient, are you?” he asked, grinning at me.
“My roommate flips to the last page of every book to read the ending. I’m a lot more patient than she is.”
He swam close enough to retrieve one of the pool noodles for himself, then swam away again.
“When you were ten, did you long to be twelve?” he asked.
“Doesn’t everyone? I wanted to be sixteen, so I could drive a car.”
“I wanted to stay ten forever.” When he said that, his youthful face looked even more innocent, his brown eyes wide and honest. He continued, “When our eleventh birthday came, I told everyone that only Katy was turning eleven, and we weren’t twins after all. I said I was younger than her, and the whole twin thing had been a prank.”
I took the pool noodle he’d left behind and wrapped it under my legs, balancing on it like a chair.
“I didn’t know you and Katy were twins. Did people believe you?”
“Yes. Even teachers believed me. I knew it wasn’t true, of course, but the idea that people would just believe whatever an eleven-year-old told them—it shook me. That’s my first memory of realizing how chaotic the world is.”
“That’s a tough age for a lot of people. I was about that old when I figured out that eventually everybody dies. Not just sheep dogs and goldfish, but everyone.”
“It’s tough
to be a kid,” he said solemnly.
“It’s tough to be an adult.”
The courtyard was so quiet, I could hear cars in the distance and people inside their apartments running water and washing dishes.
As the sun set and the light disappeared, Keith’s muscle contours picked up shadows, and he looked less like a boy and more like a man—like a sinewy god of the sea, with a lavender pool noodle.
We both started paddling, moving in a clockwork direction. We moved slowly at first, then sped up, like each was trying to catch the other by the foot, but pretending that wasn’t the real goal.
Finally, Keith snarled like a dragon and shot out of the water, seizing me around the waist. I let out a startled cry, then was pulled under.
Once underwater, he released me, and we opened our eyes and found each other under the surface. He opened his mouth like he was speaking, but only bubbles came out. I did the same, and he smiled. We repeated this until we were both out of air and had to surface, laughing and gasping to catch our breath.
He caught me in his arms, and as his skin connected with mine, I realized the water had cooled me, and I craved his heat. With one look into his brown eyes, I craved even more than his heat.
He asked, “What do you like to have after swimming?”
“Hot chocolate with mini marshmallows.”
“You’re in luck. I actually have the stuff to make that.”
I leaned over and slurped the water beads off his beautiful shoulder. Once I started, I couldn’t stop, and soon I was slurping my way up to his ear, sucking on his earlobe.
He growled with enjoyment as I gave him a nibble, then he steered me over to the side of the pool, so he could hang onto the tiled edge and grind against me.
We kissed, my legs wrapped around his waist again, then he said, “Would you like me to fuck you before, or after the hot chocolate?”
“How about after? I’m trying to practice my patience.”
“As you wish,” he said, in his best Westley-from-Princess-Bride voice.
For the second time, he jumped up and then slipped down and away from me, through the water. He surfaced, and started up the steps. Once out of the water, he picked up the two orange towels, holding one between his knees for himself, and holding the other one open for me to walk up to and get wrapped in.
I stepped up out of the pool and into his waiting arms.
“You make me feel pampered,” I said as he rubbed me dry with a towel for the second time since we’d met.
“It’s the least I can do for someone who makes me feel so happy.”
He gave me a quick kiss, then switched to drying himself.
Oh, Keith, I thought. You’re too good to be true.
Sure, the meditation stuff was kookier than a barn full of cuckoo clocks, but sweet mercy, the man was as thoughtful as he was gorgeous.
Following him back into the apartment, I tried not to think about how this short-term relationship of ours was doomed.
As we stepped inside and he pulled me into his arms and rained kisses all over my shoulders, I tried not to think about how a long-term relationship would be equally doomed—assuming he would even want one.
“I was promised hot cocoa,” I said, pushing him away playfully.
After a sly wink, he moved into the kitchen and started preparations.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Ten. I refused to blow out the candles at my birthday parties, so I’m only ten. Ask any grown-up. That’s how it works.”
“How old is your sister?”
“Old enough to manage the landscaping business on her own, just as soon as I catch my next big break.”
I sat on a kitchen stool and looked down, feeling worse than ever about him losing his big break.
“Maybe I’ll ask around on your behalf,” I said.
“I didn’t tell you about Milan, did I?”
I looked up, surprised by how upbeat he sounded, considering he’d been drinking when I got there.
“Flying scares me,” he said. “I actually turned down another job to do Peaches Monroe.” He laughed.
“Uh, to do me?”
Still laughing, he said, “Little did I know that doing Peaches would lead to doing Peaches.”
“Keep saying my name like that, and you won’t be doing anything tonight but listening to whale songs and playing a five-finger solo on the man-banjo.”
He stirred some hot cocoa mix into boiled water, in two matching red mugs.*
*The only thing better than hot cocoa is hot cocoa in a red mug.
He said, “I need to call my agent and do a little B-B-B, but I think I can still book the job. They really liked me.”
“What’s B-B-B?”
“Beg, Bribe, Blow. A great business plan for anything you want to do in life.”
“Gross.” I accepted my mug of cocoa and took a sip, inhaling the tiny marshmallows into my mouth. “Perfect. Tell me more about this other modeling job.”
He scrunched his face. “You’ll just find the details boring.”
“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.” (Wow, I totally just quoted my mother there.)
Keith got a happy look, and started telling me about the clothing line. As he talked, some of the details flew over my head, but I discovered something beautiful. When Keith talked about this job, his face lit up the same way it did when he named the different tree species at the big garden.
I was relieved to see he wasn’t turning away from his life’s passion of gardening to do something his heart wasn’t into. He was really excited—about everything but the plane ride. He said the idea of facing his fear had scared him into drinking earlier that evening, but he assured me he was feeling better.
“Quite the day we’ve both had,” I said.
He took the empty mug from my hand and kissed my palm.
The stool I was on rotated, and he used my arm as a handle to spin me around, so my back was to the countertop. He knelt down on the hardwood floor at my feet and rested his chin between my knees, then looked up at me, a glint of mischief in his dark eyes.
CHAPTER 11
I was still wearing nothing but the black underwear I’d worn in the pool, and my gleaming white thighs squished out on the stool, making me feel self-conscious, but I didn’t move or draw attention to my nervousness.
He kissed my knee, then rubbed his chin along the edge of my thigh. He’d shaved that morning, but had just enough stubble to accentuate his touch and make me shiver.
Inch by inch, he made his way slowly inward, toward my underwear. He pushed my legs apart with his chin, and when I wouldn’t budge, he grabbed my knees with both hands and helped me.
He was certainly right about one thing: his face did look even more gorgeous between my legs.
Once he reached my underwear, he extended his tongue and artfully licked all the way up, over the black fabric, still damp from the swimming pool.
“This is happening,” I moaned, leaning back against the countertop for support.
He continued to tease me, through my underwear, for several more minutes. After a while, it didn’t matter anymore that I had underwear on and his tongue wasn’t against my skin. I still felt him, still saw his gorgeous model face between my thighs, and the idea alone sent multiple waves of pleasure through me.
When he finally reached up to the waistband of my panties and started to tug them down, well, I’ve never gotten a pair of underwear off so quickly.
With my bare bottom back down on the seat, Keith pushed my knees together and moved back. He kissed the same knee as he’d started on, then rubbed his chin along my thigh the same way as before. We were starting over and doing the same thing again. Knowing what was coming next made the waiting more painful and delicious.
When his hot tongue finally hit my pink inner ridges, I couldn’t believe how good it felt. And how right, as if balance in the universe was being restored—like rain on Sunday night, after a blistering hot weekend.
He wrapped me up in his tongue and clutched me with his lips. I held my breath for an instant, when it was almost unbearable to not come yet, and when I started breathing again, I felt our energy entwine, like our bodies had in the pool.
He slowly pulled away again, kissing his way down my legs and to my knees, which were now sensitive to the point of being ticklish. I realized my arms were outstretched, my hands gripping the edge of the countertop like I was riding into battle. I shook out my hands and laughed nervously.
Keith bit my knee and gazed up at me with a playful expression.
“You bite me, I’ll have to bite you back,” I said.
“Promises, promises.”
“Trade spots with me and find out.”
“If your bite’s as mean as your bark?” he asked, laughing.
“Just get your man-shorties off and take a seat.”
I jumped off the bar stool and gasped in horror at the little puddle of saliva and whatnot sitting there. Keith pulled off his bathing suit shorts and gave the surface a quick swipe with the shorts. “No worries,” he said casually, like it was no big deal.
“About that,” I said, thinking about splashes.
He sat on the bar stool now, completely naked, and pulled me toward him using his foot as a hook. “C’mere. Kiss me some more. I really like it when you kiss me, and when you run your fingers through my hair.”
He was lower than me, seated as he was, and I bent down to kiss him. Everything felt different this way, like I had more control as the taller party.
As we kissed, our lips and tongues tangling, I thought about the thing I’d been meaning to mention—the fact that if I had an orgasm after a long build-up, it might be more than intense. It had only happened once so far, but a torrent of fluid, healthy and natural though it was for some women, could be upsetting if it was unexpected.
My hands moved up Keith’s thighs, my fingers moving through his leg hair to where his legs were nearly smooth, by his hips. I felt him shudder with anticipation as I traced back and forth along his hip creases with my fingertips. The heat of his cock let me know when my fingers got near it. We kept kissing, and I put the warning out of my mind. Strange and surprising things happen during sex all the time, and people keep banging away on each other.