A Mess of Reason
Page 3
“You keep that up, you’re gonna be in trouble, Sass.” Her hands are on my right leg—the inside of my upper thigh, to be exact—her palms dragging down to my knee as she pushes my legs apart.
“Oh, please, you love my hands on your ass.”
“I do like them there…just a little longer, please.”
After circling around me like a shark, she grabs the top band of my briefs. Her fingers steal just inside the edge as she glides them around the front to straighten them. And, as science has it…I’m hard. No one should be surprised by this revelation. I’m certainly not. Like it or not, she’s gonna see it in about ten seconds.
“Maybe we should get a room, sweetheart.” Oh, my baby Tess… Her hands are back down between my thighs and she tugs a tiny bit on the bottom of my briefs, her knuckles brushing my balls. My very blue balls, that is. Then she comes around to my front to start showing me how to pose again and, well, what can I say? It’s not a light switch.
“Okay, now, do this,” she says as she puts her hands up. Then she notices…it.
“Scout. Jesus. I think your undercover career is over. So this is why all the girls are beating down your door—besides your pretty face, that is. I mean, we’ve gone skinny-dipping…I guess the water’s been cold. Holy Jonah and the whale.”
“Gettin’ an eyeful, Tess? This shouldn’t exactly be a spiritual crises.”
“Well, I practically tripped over it. Guess I missed the warning sign. Roadblock ahead?”
“Baby, you had your fingers about two inches from it thirty seconds ago—you might be my best friend, but you can hardly blame me. It’s just what happens to cocks: they have a seismic shift and go north when wandering fingers cross into their territory.”
“Got it. Heat-seeking missile. Well, it’s a good thing we’re onto the back shots, then. I’m not sure I know how to graphically map over something the size of a small country yet.”
I can’t help but wonder if she realizes it’s all her doing this to me. Her hands, her heat, her eyes. Not to mention the smile that’s plastered on her face, as if she just caught the tooth fairy in action.
“I want you to come over later so I can show you what I’m going to do with these shots. This, along with the video stuff we did this morning, is going to give me a whole new way to play Ken doll with you.”
“I’m starting to feel a little emasculated. You want to play Barbies with me and I’m coming with you for your wedding dress fitting? Where the hell is Roxanne in all this?”
“She’s meeting us at the fitting; her dress is ready, too. Just relax. Do you need me to take you for a bull ride later so your nuts drop back down?”
You think she’s kidding? Nope. She was the captain of our high school rodeo team, and yes, she won the bull riding national championship her junior and senior years of high school. There’s really no going back after riding a bull, now is there?
“When’s the last time you rode?” I asked. “Hell, your bull Legend died what, five years ago now?”
“It’s been too long. I mean, I could ride, but I might get hurt. I have no interest in another shoulder dislocation. Remember that really bad one before my championship? You got to me before the clowns did. I swear it was like you dropped out of the sky and pulled me out of that ring in seconds. You were such an idiot to jump the fence—you could have gotten some serious anal from Legend.”
“Idiot? I saved you. Jeez, Tess. I’m feeling crestfallen. A little ‘thank you’ would be nice.”
“Oh, puh-leaze, you’re so soft. Well, I mean technically not now. I thanked you. I’m grateful. I just…well, you could have really gotten hurt.”
“Yeah, well, you were in the dirt facedown. I was closer than the clowns. I wasn’t exactly gonna let you get skewered by him.”
“Okay. So you saved my life. I owe you a big one.”
“Just remember those words. I’m going take you up on that, Sass. You have been warned.”
“Put your clothes on, big shot. We’re running late already.”
She claps her hands, then tosses my jeans over. Her eyes watch every move I make as I slide them on. As I’m zipping up, I catch her gaze pinned to my crotch. She’s dragging her tongue along her bottom lip as if I’ve just wrapped a tenderloin to go. She doesn’t even realize I’m watching her check me out. Then begins the clamor of voices in my head: So, is she into me? In that way? Is she looking at me because she likes what she sees? Or is she just curious…having a voyeuristic moment? It’s not exactly the Concorde but yeah, it’s worth a gander.
“So do I get to adjust your panties the way you did my briefs? Or is this fitting more of a spectator sport?”
She snaps her eyes to mine as I’m throwing on my T-shirt. I think that’s when she realizes I caught her watching me. It’s truly poetic because she’s five shades of fuchsia, except this time I don’t call her on it. She’s beyond adorable.
“No panty adjusting for you, buck-a-roo. You’re sittin’ in the stands…not the fitting room,” she tells me as she buttons my denim shirt like she’s my mom…or my girlfriend. Her comfort level with me is just this. She doesn’t ask—she moves in and does.
“Can we at least grab a six-pack on the way over there? All the estrogen in that place might be too toxic and affect my testosterone levels.”
I grab her hand as we walk off the set and head to our helmets, bags, and stuff that sit on the floor just beside the back door. I put her helmet on her head as she throws on her leather jacket, then I scoop her hair out from under her collar. She’s sexy as hell in a helmet, a dangerous delusion if ever there was one, not to mention how she looks in her studded leather biker jacket that she’s worn since she was seventeen. I kiss her on the forehead part of her helmet as I zip her coat. We got our first motorcycles together when we were sophomores in high school to celebrate our sixteenth birthdays. She still has hers. It’s a piece of shit—she could replace it in a snap—but she’s so sentimental about the damn thing that she never would. Tess named her Gypsy Girl. One of these days I’m gonna have that girl re-skinned with some vibrant bohemian design that Tess’ll flip out over. The bike needs a full-on makeover; I just need to find the right bike doctor to deal with the surgery.
“You know, Scout,” she says as she pins me against the back door, one hand searing my chest, the other just left of my neck. “Based on the big tent showing today, I don’t think you have any worries in that department. Estrogen hijacking your testosterone, that is. But yeah, let’s get a six-pack. I’m gonna need a beer when I put on that dress. You think it’s gonna look good with my biker boots?”
She giggles while doing a little twirl, showing off her new boots that look edible along with her skin-on-skin leopard-print pants. Personally, I’d like to see her nude with just the biker boots on. Well, black stilettos even more so, but why torture myself with that image?
“Naked would look better with your boots, but sweetheart, you’re going to be smokin’ in your wedding dress regardless of the shoes. But, yeah, I vote for biker boots and beer in your hand when you come out of the dressing room, okay? Can you do that just for me?”
“How else did you think I was going to come out? I’m certainly not wearing any of those stupid dyed-to-match shoes they’ll have there. Oh Scout, you’re going to die when you see my dress!”
We walk out the back door and head over to the garage where I keep my Ducati. All the while Tess is waving her arms around while she talks in animated tones about her dress as though she’s a second grade teacher trying to hold my attention.
“Die? Really, Tess? I don’t have a vagina, just a reminder. Guys don’t ‘die’ when they see a wedding dress.”
“Such a jerk. You know what I mean!”
Then, whaaap! Hard as she can across my ass comes a slap. You see the pattern? I swear she hits me about ten times a day, each one a more electric connection than the last. It’s all I can do to stop myself from just giving her shit nonstop just so she’ll swat me again.
“Hey, Rox, how they hanging?” Roxanne, Tess’s other best friend, has beat us here. She’s already—no big shocker—imbibing champagne while donning a long, vintage-looking dress.
A little background on Rox. She went to high school with us, too. She’s a riot and makes the perfect BFF for Tess because she’s a strong-headed woman who takes shit from no one. And yes, we’ve fucked. It was high school and as Tess has likely told you, I was a player. Still am, I suppose. The only reason for that is because I can’t have what I really want, so I keep knocking the bottom out of anyone who seems willing and able. Don’t judge—I’m still a good guy, just a horny son-of-a-bitch in search of one girl who is as unreachable as the last unicorn.
“Hello, QB. Mine are awesome. How ’bout yours?” Rox says, cheering us with her glass.
“A little off today, I’ll admit; this wedding dress fitting BS has them shriveling up. You look hot in that dress, sweetheart. Striker’s gonna shit himself.” Striker is my other best bud and Roxanne’s current beau. Striker is also the douchebag I mentioned earlier who Tess lost her virginity to in high school. The fact that he’s still alive and my best bud proves that miracles do happen.
“You think? Might need to give Striker a little preview, huh?” she says, flashing us. This is classic Rox, FYI.
“I’m gonna put money on the fact that you’ll be banging him within seconds post walk back down the aisle. Might want to go commando for ease of access,” I tell Rox.
“Is there any other way to show up at your best friend’s wedding?” Roxanne says while snaking her dress up her thighs as if we’re about to get an undercarriage preview.
“Oh my God, Scout,” Tess says, “please tell me you’re not going to bang little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes at my wedding? Please. I can’t bear the idea of that. Vomit is not a good look on a new bride.”
Tess pops the tops off two beers using her bottom teeth. It’s the only way she has ever opened a beer. Amazingly, she has not yet cracked a tooth, but if you recall she did crack one on the gumball-machine wedding ring that I gave her when she was sixteen. Bad omen? Nah. I don’t believe in superstitions.
“Baby, I’m not bringing Liberty to your wedding, don’t worry. She’s on tour, remember?” I grab one of the beers and we all do a little clink.
“Oh, that’s right. Thank God. Nice, so you’re going stag, then?”
“Well, that’s only if your Great Aunt Myrtle won’t dance with me. You know I like the ladies with baggy ankles.”
“Yeah, Myrtle has such a crush on you, Scout. She’ll be the perfect date as long as you flirt heavily and keep a fresh martini in front of her at all times.”
She’s peeling off her jacket, boots, socks, and pants, and throwing all of them on the blue velvet couch in the stadium-sized fitting room the three of us are standing in. I know I’m gonna get shooed out of here in a minute, but I’ll stay and watch the strip show as long as she’ll let me.
“Oh, you know it. Hopefully she doesn’t show up commando, right?” Sick, I know. She told you I’m a perv, didn’t she?
“Scout, ew. God.” And she smacks me again. You see there? That was more of a sucker punch, though. She thinks she so damn tough. But inside she’s all gooey—I love that about her. My little Milky Way.
“You need to leave now. Both of you. I need to get my princess on.” She’s waving her hands at us and then shoving me in the back, pushing me out the door.
Rox and I saunter over to the waiting area just outside the room. “Why the hell aren’t you staying in there?” I ask.
“You know Tess. She never changes in front of anyone. Never has.”
“Yeah, but it’s you. Not just anyone. What the hell is up with that? I mean, you’ve seriously never seen her Full Monty naked? Never?”
“Never. Not once. Not at one sleepover. Not at one anything. I mean, yeah, I’ve seen that snow-white derriere of hers skinny-dipping. But not once has she taken off her shirt in front of me.”
“Have you ever asked why? Or is it too lesbo to ask your girlfriend why she’s never taken her shirt off in front off you?”
“No. I’ve never asked. You know Tess. She’s her own girl. What do I care anyway? I’ve got enough tit for both of us, as you very well know.”
“Hell to the yeah to the amen corner, Rox.”
She gives her chest an earthquake-shake as we clink beers.
“Do you think she’s self-conscious that she’s small?” I ask. “I mean, maybe we seriously gave her a complex back in high school. Maybe she’s terrified to actually show them. Though, I will say they look bigger now, don’t you think?”
“Look at you, hot shot, checking out Tessie’s titties, are you? You always have been a tit man, haven’t you?”
“You’ve got me there. I do love to look. I like to touch, too, but…” Time to shut my mouth. Rox has no idea how I jones for Tess. I can’t…too many reasons.
“But what?”
“But I’ve got that covered with Liberty, now don’t I? So, what do you think of Creed? I’ve been clear about my feelings. She deserves better.”
“He’s a fuck-stain, but you know, he asked and she’s kind of at that point where she’s ready for the next stage. She’s getting nest-y and all that. I like one thing about him. No, two.”
“You’re way nicer than I am, Rox. What, I beg of you…what redeeming qualities have you found in that hair-bag?”
“He’s hot. Not hot like you, Scout, but hot in a grunge way. Plus he’s never around, so we get all of her. That’s a good thing, right? If he wasn’t always on the road, then we’d have to share. That would suck; I hate sharing Tess. Especially now that we finally have her back. He’s the perfect man for us, Scout. She gets what she wants and we get what we want!”
She has no clue. Good God. How can Rox not know how in love I am with Tess?
“I’m coming ouuuuut! Close your eyes, both of you!”
Tess is singing like a bird. That beautiful voice of hers stings me in the gut. I close my eyes, readying myself to see “my girl” in her wedding dress. I put on some armor, because this, my friends, is not something I’m very happy about. Now, if she were coming out in a dress that she planned to wear for our wedding, I’d be crooning right about now, but in that case, I wouldn’t have been invited to this little estrogen tea party.
“Okay. Open them.”
I prepare to die. But not in the way that she thinks.
*
“Tess.” It’s all I can say. It comes out a lovesick whisper.
In a self-possessed second I stand, feeling my noodle-like legs moving toward her without my brain ever engaging them. My need to touch her, hold her…feeling is more essential than oxygen in this moment. My body needs to be against hers, because she’s the only thing that will keep me from crashing through the floor, sinking straight into the bowels of the earth.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close, carving another chunk from my heart. I feel my heart pounding helplessly along with hers. I can’t swallow—can’t do anything but keep her pinned to me.
Pulling back the tiniest bit, I look into her sparkling eyes, filled with glassy tears mirroring the ones pricking the corners of my own. We stand at a soundless, raw juncture that rockets through me like a burning asteroid. I could give a shit that she sees how emotional I am right now; I couldn’t be any other way in this moment. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. A shared conviction of lust and want. A leap of faith via a silent conversation between our eyes and hearts.
Two tears the size of miniature rosebuds spill out of her eyes, gliding like honey down her pale, freckled cheeks. I kiss each one off, watching her eyes, which seem to be looking forward into another world. Holding her
chin in my hands, I kiss her lips. I linger, as does she, my tongue moving into her wet, soft pout on its on accord…as though she’s mine and it’s just us, standing at the altar. I’m kissing her like a groom kisses his new bride on their wedding night, and not for a second does she pull away… She kisses me back.
Pulling the air straight from my lungs, she inhales me—literally taking my breath away. My body can’t stop what my heart is reacting to. Every fiber of my being brushes against the parameters of carnal want. A sugared, full-throated moan oozes out of her as I cup her face in my hands, not wanting to let go—unable to let go.
I couldn’t give a fuck who’s looking. I don’t care that Rox sees us or that the seamstress ogles us. Or that the three salesladies have all gone dead silent. All I care about is that my baby is standing in front of me looking like a dream that’s just walked out of a movie, in a dress that’ll be lying on another man’s floor in a few short weeks.
“Tess. Tess, baby, so beautiful… You…you…I…”
I go from flying to drowning as I slide down the soul-deadening slippery slope I realize I’m on. I can’t breathe, can’t talk, suddenly realizing I’m an imposter. I’ve crossed the line. Wronged my girl. And in that few seconds of thought I feel fate strong-arm me, forcing me to turn and walk away like a helpless idiot needing to be put out of his misery. As though the devil’s own shiv has just cut my tongue out in favor of her union to Creed. She’s right, I do want to die—the hole in my heart bleeding out from the snag in my delusional moment. Sinking down into the couch, beer in hand, I finish it all in one long guzzle, then let out an indulgent, scathing chuckle.
“Scout? Do you like it?” she asks, taking a few steps toward me while wiping her tear-stained face with the backs of her hands. Her chest moves up and down in deep breaths, lips trembling, as her face lights up in shades of scarlet.