“Oh. Yeah.” Now he smiles for real, dimples and all. “Sorry ‘bout that.” Moving lower, he nudges the top of my swimsuit aside and kisses what he sees. His lips feel good, but getting this close outside gives me butterflies—and not just the good kind.
Bringing his face back to mine, I kiss the corner of his mouth. There’s a smudge of sand on his cheek, and I brush it off with my thumb. “I’m freaked out someone’s going to see.”
“No one’s going to see.” But he pauses, fixing my suit. “Do you...want to come over?”
Everything else fades, then. Our eyes meet. His, this close up, are melty and warm, like honey. I feel melty and warm. Like honey. “To your house?”
“Yeah.” He kisses my neck, my ear, and yes; melty.
“What’ll we do there?” I hear myself ask, already adrift in the possibilities.
“Whatever you want.” Another kiss. “I just want to kick it. Alone.”
“To have sex?” I whisper.
“Yes.” His breath comes out in a small whoosh. “No. We don’t have to. We can just…”
But I want to. I’ve wanted to for quite some time. “Okay.”
The Thomas house is, for once, quiet. No barking or scrabble of puppy paws across the tiled floors, no reggae echoing from the yard. No Diana singing, or Rory giggling, no Leo in the zone with oversized headphones.
I follow Rigel up a narrow staircase and down a dim hall, into his room where sunlight spills across the wooden floors. Locking the door, he turns to me and runs his hands down my arms. His fingers touch mine, and I tangle them together, my heart fluttering like a trapped bird. He brings me to his bed, where he sits, drawing me close so that I’m standing between his knees, gazing down at him as he gazes up at me.
I touch his face, his hair, closing my eyes when he responds by kissing my stomach. He unties the top of my bikini, letting it fall to the floor, and then he pauses, hands on the small of my back. “We can do whatever you want to do, Isla.” He kisses one breast, and then the other.
“I know.” My heartbeat is crazy, my stomach tight with anxiety, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I tug on one side of my bikini bottoms, loosening the knot. Rigel pulls on the other side, and then I’m naked. He wraps his arms around my waist and I wrap mine around his neck. Gentling me onto his bed, he kisses my thighs and my belly, my breasts and my neck, not holding back now, his hands everywhere. Making out this way is so different; I feel everything. He stands long enough to shed his board shorts, and then he’s on top of me, skin to skin, every part of him touching every part of me.
“Do you”—pausing, I try to catch my breath—“do you have…”
“Yeah.” He grapples around the sheets, holding up his wallet.
“Okay.” We kiss; I come up for air. “Did you plan this? Because I want to— ”
“Kind of...I wanted to...I hoped you wanted to.”
Nodding, I clasp his face between my hands. His cheeks are flushed. “I want to.”
He sighs, kissing me, reaching down between us. “You have to talk to me, though,” he says, eyes searching mine. “I’ve never done this.”
“Really?” I grin, raising my eyebrows. “That’s not what you told me…”
“I mean”—he pauses, smirking—“I’ve never taken someone’s virginity.”
“Have there been a lot of someones?”
“Just two.” Another kiss, on my neck. “And you.”
I watch silvery particles of dust dance and float through the sunlight coming in the window. Looking around for Rigel’s phone, I find it on the floor, beneath his shorts. It’s two fourteen, but it feels later.
Two texts, both from Orion, come through. Not wanting to be a snoop, I leave the phone where I found it and tell Rigel when he comes back from the bathroom. Frowning, he responds to the messages and then tosses his phone aside.
“You okay?” he asks, joining me in bed. Beneath the sheets, his hand rests on my stomach.
I put my hand on his. “Just wondering if the school’s gonna call my mother.”
“Probably. She won’t mind, though. Didn’t she go to the Palms back in the day?”
“Yeah.” I sneak a peek at him. He’s got a peaceful vibe, probably staring at the same dust motes I was. It could be like this always, if we stayed together. If. Who knows what’ll happen once colleges choose us and we choose them.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“You’ve got sand in your hair.”
“Yep.” He nods, matter of fact. “And all over my bed. Nothing new.”
“It’s in my hair, too.” I scratch my nails lightly over my scalp. “Which probably looks like a bird’s nest by now.”
“I like you like this,” he says, mischievous. “You look well f— ”
“Don’t even!” With a quickness, I’m on my knees, bringing a pillow down on his head. I’m attempting to smother him when he flips me over, caging me in. Wrestling turns to kissing, but the distant sound of a car door slamming has us scrambling for our clothes.
Or, in my case, my swimsuit. Rigel’s dressed in seconds, handing me the same hoodie I wore on New Year’s.
“I can’t wear this.” I hold the hoodie up, helplessly. “It’ll look like I have no pants on!”
Looking pointedly at my bikini, he says, “You don’t have pants on.”
“No pants because I’m in a bathing suit is totally different than a top and no pants in your house.” My face flames in response to what I just said, and he grins, waggling his eyebrows. I cover my face, laughing. “I can’t even look at you right now.”
Wrapping my damp towel around my body, I follow Rigel downstairs.
“It’s just my dad,” murmurs Rigel, peeking through a window. “He’s over by the garage.”
Relieved, I sidle up beside him and take a look. Raymond Thomas is across the yard, opening the hood of a car. Reggae drifts over. “I’m going to grab my stuff so I can change.”
Rigel nods, following me out the door. “I gotta talk to him...I’ll be right back.”
Once I’m dressed, I check my phone. Surprised there are no messages or voicemails from Mama, I give her call.
“Hello, Isla,” she says, and I swear she sounds amused.
“Hi Mama!” I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror—I’m all pinked cheeks and messy hair. Smoothing the rumpled material of my tank top, I leave the bathroom. “We had Senior Skip Day today.”
“Yes, I had a feeling,” she says. “When the school called...and then Greta called about Camille…”
“Are you mad?”
“No, we did it too,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “I knew you girls wouldn’t just play hooky like that.”
A pinch of guilt prickles through me: I haven’t exactly been with the girls all day. Still, in this case, what my mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “No, we wouldn’t. But listen, I’m just calling to check in. Is it okay if I hang out a little longer?”
Promising I’ll be home for dinner, I pocket my phone and look for Rigel. Outside, I spot him talking to his father near the fence lining their property. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the light heartedness of their conversation carries. Raymond glances over, waving when he sees me. “Afternoon, Isla,” he calls.
“Good afternoon!” I wave back somewhat self consciously, wondering if he’s wondering what we’re doing here.
Rigel meets me at the door of his truck, smiling. He bends to kiss me, his hand on my hip. “Nando said Camille’s mad you’re not at the barbecue yet.”
A burst of wind spins through the yard, lifting the hair from my neck. A half hour ago we were doing the most intimate thing we could possibly do, but it’s the way his eyes track over me now that make me feel wanted. Seen. Maybe even loved. I tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Then we should go.”
He half-grins. “You want to?”
I give him a push so I can open the door and climb in. “Yeah.”
It takes awhile, but e
ventually I’m pulled from sleep, yawning as I reach blindly for the phone. It glows momentarily in the dark before blinking out again. Turning it back on, I see there are three texts from Rigel, all sent within the last ten minutes.
I peer at the time: it’s just past two. Hoping nothing’s wrong, I quickly scan the messages.
Isla Isla
Isla
You up?
Now I’m just wondering if he’s drunk. The last message came through seconds ago—it was the one that finally woke me. Yawning, I peck out a brief response.
I am now. This better be good.
Can I come over?
kidding, right?
no
Did something happen?
can’t sleep.
Climbing out of bed, I open my bedroom door and look down the hall. The house is silent and dark, although if I listen closely, I’m pretty sure I can hear Grandpa Harry’s snores.
Come in thru front door. Be quiet.
Ok. 5 minutes.
Five minutes? He’s closeby. I tiptoe down the hall and through the darkened living room. Man, this is really brazen. My mother has insomnia sometimes, and even if she didn’t, she’s got mom-sense. Squinting through the window, I offer up a prayer of gratitude that Larry sleeps in Grandpa’s room at night—otherwise he’d be barking hysterically at Rigel materializing like a wraith. The door squeaks as I open it, and I wince, pulling him inside.
He grins, squeezing my hip. His skin is cool to the touch. Locking the door, I lead him back to my room and plug in my fairy lights. Rigel sprawls across my bed, sneakers thumping to the floor. “Hi.”
Nerves quicken my heart—what we’re doing is dangerous—but that’s nothing compared to the heat in my belly having Rigel here. In my bedroom. At two a.m. “Hi?” An incredulous laugh escapes me.
I didn’t learn one thing at school this week. All I could think about was Rigel, and how we spent Senior Skip Day. Of course, he hasn’t been helping, with his lingering touches and private smiles reassuring me he’s on the same page. We haven’t really been alone together since last week, so I assume tonight’s visit is one of desperation.
It’s nice knowing I’m not the only one with feelings. Rigel hooks a socked foot around my calf the second I’m close enough. I climb onto the bed, intent on sitting beside him, but he brings me into his lap, squeezing my hips.
“So is this a booty call?”
“Only if you want it to be.” He bucks for effect.
I laugh, smacking his chest. “I’m serious. What on earth is so important you couldn’t wait til tomorrow?”
“I wanted to see you.” He pauses, smiling and biting his lip. “You’d rather be asleep, eh?”
“Yep.” I nod, yawning again. I can’t stop.
“It seemed more romantic in my head.”
“You sound like your brother with those lines,” I say, arching an eyebrow.
“Real talk, then. I couldn’t sleep. And you’ve been on my mind all day.” He brushes the backs of his fingers along the inside of my thighs, but his eyes stay on mine. “All week.”
I shift on his lap, delicately avoiding the situation in his pants. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”
His gaze is so heated, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he brings his hands back to the safe zone of my hips. “Orion called,” he admits, sighing. “And I couldn’t fall back asleep afterwards.”
Orion’s in the States now, apparently living by his own clock. This isn’t the first time he’s called Rigel at odd hours.
“So you want me to put you to sleep or something?” I tease.
Rigel draws me close for another kiss as his hands wander up my shirt and over my spine. “Or something.”
“How's Orion doing, anyway?” I ask, once we break apart.
“He says he like it. Says he wants to establish residency in Miami and start going to school again.”
Surprising. I wonder if Jasmine has any bearing on his decision to stay in Miami. “That was fast.”
“That’s Orion.”
“Does he have a job yet?”
“Orion’s a lot of things, but he’s not lazy,” says Rigel.
“Legitimately.”
“He’s an Uber driver.”
I snort. “No he’s not.”
Rigel tumbles me onto my back, establishing control. “Yeah, he is. I’m serious.” More kisses. Our shirts go. I hold him close, arching into his touch when he tickles his fingers down my ribs. “Making good money, too.”
“I’m glad y’all are talking more.”
“You really want things to be good between us, huh?”
“Don't you?”
“Yeah. I do. But it's easier having him gone.” Wariness flickers over his face, like he expects me to judge him for the harsh sentiment.
I don’t, though, because I get it. “My mama says some people are easier to love from a distance.”
“She’s right.” Scooting down, he rests his head on my belly. Warmed by a rush of tenderness, I run my hands over his curls. Some are so blond, making me wonder what his hair would be like if he wasn’t perpetually swimming in the sun. “You know he's still doing the same shit out there though, right?”
I haven't really given it much thought. “Yeah.”
“Mom wants him to come back for graduation.” He kisses my belly button. “I told him not to bother.”
“Why?” I sigh, exasperated. “Why can't you just let him be your brother, Rigel?”
“It gets old, having unmet expectations.”
“I know all about that. My daddy’s an alcoholic.”
Rigel halts his little foray into my underwear. “I didn't know that.”
“He’s in recovery, but there have been plenty of disappointments over the years. Believe me.”
“Is that why…” He trails off, perhaps searching for the right words. “Why he stayed up there?”
“Partly. The house, though, too.” I scrub my hands over my eyes, sleepy. “Which they’re now selling.”
“They’re selling your house?”
I nod.
“Are you okay with that?”
“Not really,” I admit, shrugging. “But it’s not like I have a choice in the matter.”
“You grew up there.” I know he’s thinking about his house, and how it’s the only one he’s ever known. We’re alike in that way, I guess.
“I did, but…” I resume playing with his hair. “They’re behind on the mortgage. My daddy’s employment has been iffy. I get the impression this is the worst case scenario, you know?”
He nods, tracing his thumb around my belly button.
“And anyway,” I continue. “So much has happened. I feel like things would be different if I went back now.”
“Different how?”
“Different like I’ve missed stuff. My friends are living the life I would’ve been living, except I’ve had a life of my own down here. A parallel universe...where going home would feel like visiting.”
“If it’s visiting, does that make this home?”
“I haven’t decided.” Our eyes meet, and I smile. “This still feels new sometimes. Temporary.”
“Is it? Temporary?” His tone is neutral, but he’s stopped moving.
“I don’t think so.” I sit up a bit, balancing on my elbows. “Now when I think about coming home for Christmas, this is what comes to mind. My mama loves being back. She’s got Grandpa Harry and Aunt Greta...and she loves that Alex is growing up here, and that I’m going to the Palms and hanging out with my cousin...”
“Is your dad planning on coming down, ever?”
So many questions. It’s deeper, a little uncomfortable, Rigel asking me to put words to the stuff that’s been floating around my mind. This particular question puts a pain in my stomach. My parents seem to be okay, talking on the phone all the time, but they’re still apart and there’s no reunion happening any time soon. “Nothing’s certain, Isla,” Mama said just this morning, hovering in my d
oorway as I got ready for school. “But don’t worry about me and Daddy. We’re not broken.”
“No.” My gaze wanders to the football blanket folded on the edge of my bed, the one my father snuck in with my boxes when we moved. “He’ll be here for my graduation, but then he’s gotta go back for work stuff. He’s getting an apartment.”
“So you’ll get to see him when you move back,” Rigel says. “For college.”
“Yeah, I will.” The thought of it brings a smile to my face, and I can appreciate, not for the first time, the silver lining.
He tugs on my Adventuretime sleep shorts—a birthday gift from Sage—and slides them down my legs. I catch a glimpse of Finn and Jake as they go sailing off the bed, wishing I’d shaved earlier. Rigel wiggles out of his grey sweatpants and then we’re kissing, all bare skin and tangled limbs.
And then the words that have been tickling at the edges of my mind slip out. “Do you think we’ll stay together?”
He pauses, pinning me with his gaze. “You mean in college?”
Nodding, I press my thumb to the wrinkle between his brows, smoothing it. “There’s a pretty good chance we’ll end up at different places.”
“Haven’t really thought about it.”
“Really? I think about it all the time.” It’s easier, admitting this, than I thought it would be.
“I guess I just thought we would.” He shrugs. “We can make it happen if we want to.”
“I want to.” I kiss him, deciding to just go for it: “I really, really want to.”
“So do I.”
Camille’s the first to get a response from a college. It’s a rejection letter from Columbia.
“That was my reach school, anyway,” she says, but it’s apparent the letter’s shaken her. She crumples it into her backpack, stone-faced.
I want to be supportive, but her dismay is contagious. Who knows? This could be me tomorrow. Letting my bag slide to the floor, I give her a hug. “One down, four to go, right?”
“Five.”
“Five?” I pull back, looking at her. “I thought — ”
“I applied to UCF at the last minute,” she blurts. “Just in case. Jasmine convinced me.”
Rigel’s back to two-a-days in swimming, so I’ve been driving myself to school. After picking up dry cleaning for my mother and lottery tickets for Grandpa Harry, I head home.
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