And I’m floating in water, a perfect conductor of electricity.
I must not be moving quickly enough because Boone reaches over his shoulder and pulls off his T-shirt while toeing off his sneakers. Watching him, I hold the donut in front of me and kick my way closer to shore and the safety of the covered pavilion.
When he drops his shorts and kicks them off, I stop paddling.
“What are you doing? There’s a storm coming!” I yell at him. Now’s not the time for a swim.
Ignoring me, he runs into the water and then dives as soon as it’s deep enough. With strong strokes, he swims toward me.
I’m too stunned to move.
Lightning splits the dark sky miles away and the sound reaches us a few seconds later.
“Lose the donut,” he tells me from a few yards away.
Kicking my way toward him, I ignore his command.
“Stop being stubborn. Unless you want to experience what it feels like to be electrocuted by lightning.”
He makes a good point. With a sad sigh, I release the donut. The wind picks it up and skitters it across the lake, into a group of reeds near the cliffs.
“Can you swim?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I yell back at him.
“Then swim faster.” He’s directly in front of me now, encouraging me.
Thunder crackles and then booms over our heads.
We’re still a few yards from shore when Boone stands. I try to touch the bottom, but can’t. Doesn’t matter because he scoops me into his arms. By instinct, I loop my arms around his shoulders and hold on as he jogs out of the water.
A flash of light brightens the black sky and I can smell ozone right before rain pelts the sand like invisible bullets.
“Hurry.” I tighten my grip.
In seconds, we’re beneath the roof of the pavilion.
The hairs on my arm stand on end as electricity crackles through the air. Strange buzzing surrounds us a second before a line of lightning splits into a spiderweb that crawls above the lake, grounding itself in the rose-colored cliff. Simultaneously thunder booms overhead, so loud my ears ring.
And still Boone holds me in his arms.
The storm’s directly above us now. Pounding rain slams noisily into the roof. Clouds swirl overhead. Raindrops and wind churn the lake’s surface and the water appears to boil. Wind pushes rain through the lattice work of the covered picnic pavilion.
And Boone doesn’t put me down.
Without my phone I have no idea what time it is or how long we’ve been trapped by the storm. He’s been holding me for minutes; I must be getting heavy, but his arms never shake.
Not that I’m complaining. Warmth spreads through me from where our skin touches. My left arm rests across his shoulders, leaving my bikini-covered boob pressed against his naked chest. His right arm wraps around my back and his left is tucked underneath my knees, his hand resting on my bare thigh.
The way he holds me is intimate and way outside my comfort zone. Skin touching anywhere but our hands is above our friendship level, if anyone could pretend our few random conversations make us more than acquaintances.
His hand grips and then relaxes on my thigh. I feel more than see him gazing at me.
If I turn my head, our faces will be inches apart.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his breath warming my temple.
“You can put me down now,” I whisper, not looking at him. “Your arms must be getting tired.”
“They’re not. Body heat will prevent us from getting hypothermia.” I can feel the vibrations from his laughter against my skin. His back muscles tighten and release beneath my hand.
“It was a thousand degrees an hour ago. I think we’ll be okay.” I don’t know why I’m trying to convince him to release me. I must be an idiot. This is the most skin-on-skin contact I’ve had in forever. Sadly, it’s not sexual. After our encounter at Cowboy Pete’s, I don’t think he even likes me.
His hold on my thighs loosens and my legs tip down. My feet still don’t touch the ground.
“Are you going to let go?” His right hand squeezes my side above my bikini bottom as his quiet laughter rumbles in his chest again.
“Right.” Embarrassed, I unclasp my arms and slide down until my toes hit earth. I notice his hand still rests on my waist, warmth burning an imprint of his palm on my skin.
“Sure you’re okay?” With our normal foot of height difference restored, he has to duck his head to meet my eyes.
“I think so.” My brain is stuck between sleep and panic. Everything feels surreal and intense right now. A sunburn tingles on my pink skin. “I can’t believe I fell asleep in the lake.”
Standing next to him, I glance down at the wet ground. He’s in his black boxer briefs. They’re soaked through and clinging to his thighs. I should suggest he peel them off. He must be uncomfortable wearing wet underwear. Then he’d be naked. And we could have crazy thunderstorm sex. No one’s around to catch us.
I won’t let my eyes scan any higher for fear I might combust from embarrassment if I get caught sneaking a peek.
I might be wearing a bikini, but more of me is covered with the high-waisted bottoms and vintage-style bra top. Of course my nipples are standing at attention from the cold rain. Or maybe from Boone’s hands on my body.
“So much for keeping my clothes dry.” He points to the soggy pile of fabric on the sand.
“Mine too.” I spot my towel and bag farther down the beach. “Chair’s gone, too.”
The pink donut bobs in the reeds, barely visible through the monsoon. Once the storm passes, I’ll swim out to rescue it and locate the missing chair.
Lightning flashes to the east and thunder follows, a low, growling rumble rather than the sharp cracks from a few minutes ago. Above us the din of rain hitting the root softens.
“Storm’s moving away. We should be in the clear soon.” Boone runs a hand through his dripping hair; his bicep coils and muscles stretch over his ribs. His beauty doesn’t stop with his face.
I resist the urge to twist a ringlet around my finger or run my fingertips over his muscles. Barely.
We’re standing inappropriately close for two strangers who are practically naked.
Out of nowhere, he asks, “Did you really think Shari was my girlfriend?”
“How was I supposed to know she was your sister? I didn’t notice the family resemblance until after I opened my mouth and swallowed my foot. At least Shari found it hysterical.”
“I almost choked to death.” Water droplets hit my shoulder when he shakes his head while laughing.
“I know CPR. I would’ve saved you.” I give him a shy smile.
“Good to know you’re an expert in mouth-to-mouth.” He lowers his voice to a deep rumble.
I snort. I wonder if Boone’s ever had to use a line to get a woman to talk to him. They probably throw themselves at him like salmon climbing a fish ladder.
“Let’s pretend I didn’t say that. While standing in my underwear.” He covers his face with both hands and rubs, as if trying to erase himself from existence.
I chuckle, completely empathizing with how he’s feeling. “I’m usually the one who can make a situation awkward with a single sentence.”
Spreading his fingers, he peeks at me through them. “Tell me once when you did that in your underwear.”
He’s got me there. “You win.”
“Fantastic. What’s the expression? No good deed goes unpunished?” he grumbles.
“Speaking of, what are you doing out here at the lakes? Just driving by right before a storm and happened to see me asleep on my floatie?” I ask, because my mind is now focused on his mouth and I need a distraction. I decide to throw his words from Cowboy Pete’s back at him. “Coincidence?”
He moves his hands to the back of his head and stares at the roof above us. “Had the same idea you did. Swim on a hot afternoon.”
I’m not sure I believe him, and am about to question him further when
a loud clap of thunder snaps the air at the same time a flash of lightning zig-zags across the sky. The electricity in the air lifts the hairs on my arms. Scared by how close the strike is to us, I jump. “Shit, that was close. I wasn’t planning to die today.”
Chuckling, Boone wraps his arms around me before pulling me against his chest.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you,” he whispers, reassuring me.
If his mouth-to-mouth comment was the world’s cheesiest attempt at flirting, he unknowingly has spoken words that hit the most tender part of my heart.
Thunder rolls farther away but I still cling to his forearms.
His hands flex at my waist before he wraps them around my back.
Lightning brightens the dim light right before Boone crushes his mouth to mine.
I gasp, my fingers pressing into his warm skin. Shocked he’s kissing me, I hesitate.
He groans and begins to lean away, his hands resting gently on my waist like we’re at a school dance and got busted by a chaperone.
If he thinks I’m rejecting him, he couldn’t be more wrong.
Looping my arms around his neck, I tug him close again, pressing my lips to his. Thankfully he responds by tightening his grip on my hips. His mouth is commanding, ravenous. When he sweeps his tongue against mine, heat blooms across my skin. The contrast between the warmth of his mouth on mine and the cold rain blowing against us sends a shiver along my spine. Like standing in the cold water with the sun burning my back, my body is a giant contradiction.
I’ve never been kissed like this before. His slight shadow of a beard scrapes against my sunburned skin, sending a mix of pleasure and pain through my body right to my core.
I feel safe and fearless. Emboldened.
I think about stripping off his clothes and having my way with him on the beach.
Then I remember he’s not wearing clothes, boxers only.
His palm cups my breast through my wet bathing suit, brushing over the peak of my nipple. I squirm, breathless, rubbing my hips against his. My movement draws a moan from him when I come in contact with his hard length.
I lose all sense of time while my hands explore his upper body. Sweeping them over the hard curves of the muscles on his shoulders and chest, I struggle to believe I’m not still dreaming.
A few days ago I didn’t think he could stand me and now he’s claiming my mouth during a storm.
He trails kisses from the corner of my mouth along my jaw. His voice is a warm rasp against my ear, “Lucy.”
When he lifts his head, I kiss a line up his throat. “Yes?”
“Storm’s passed.”
I sense the sunlight before I open my eyes. Water drips from the roof, splashing into puddles around our feet.
The sky is split in two. Sunlight and blue sky contrast against the black clouds of the thunderstorm as it moves off to the east.
I press my hands on his warm chest, noticing a thin line of chest hair between his pecs. I focus my eyes there when I say, “We should go.
“We should.” He doesn’t release me.
“You should probably let me go, unless you plan to walk us over to your clothes like this.” When I wiggle against him, pretending to try to escape, his erection bumps against my stomach. “Oh.”
He rests his chin on top of my head. “Oh is right. Give me a minute so I don’t get arrested for indecent exposure.”
I still haven’t glanced down, but I can feel how long and hard he is.
When he finally steps back, I sneak a peek.
He’s no longer hard, but still completely indecent.
He tips my chin up with his knuckle. “Ready?”
“So ready,” I mumble under my breath.
I’ve never experienced storms like the ones in New Mexico before. On the high desert, lines of rain can be seen from miles away. One side of the road is dry, the other covered in puddles.
Before and after.
My lips still hum from Boone’s kiss.
For months I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Before today, it felt like a fantasy.
After this afternoon, I’ll always remember the feel of kissing him during a storm.
In the bright sunlight, I’m once again shy and awkward around Boone.
He returns to his quiet self, but I catch him staring at me.
We gather our drenched clothes and wring them out, laying them on the sand to catch the heat from the sun. My bag is soaked, but it kept my towel mostly dry during the storm. I offer it to Boone. No longer dripping wet, he pulls on his shorts but not his T-shirt.
I swim across the lake to recover my pink donut while he scours the shore for my beach chair. Successful in locating both, we meet back at the main beach.
My dress is still damp and I skip wearing it, opting instead for wrapping my towel around my waist.
A few families return to the beach from wherever they rode out the storm. If they had more sense than us, they would’ve hunkered down in the bathrooms.
Safer, but not as romantic. More private than the pavilion, though. My mind drifts back to our kiss.
“Earth to Lucy?” Boone asks, still holding my chair. “Where’d you go?”
I blink at him, lost in thoughts of us making out.
“I need to head out. I have an appointment in downtown,” he says.
“Sure. I’m going to leave, too.” I lift my bag over my shoulder and loop the donut around my elbow.
“Can I walk you to your car? I’ll carry your stuff.” He’s sweet and awkward and it reminds me of a boy who once carried my backpack in junior high.
I nod, unsure of where this is going.
On our way to the parking lot, I jump over puddles Boone steps around. We’re quiet and I find the silence comfortable.
At my car, I toss the chair and floatie in the backseat, then set my bag beside them. The rain has washed the dust from my old Honda, making it look less neglected and old. Boone leans against the side, waiting for me to finish.
“I’m busy this weekend, but I’ll see you on Monday.” He trails the back of his hand down my arm.
My skin pebbles in the wake of his touch.
“It’s a date. For breakfast.” I smile up at him.
“I like the sound of that.” Leaning down, he lightly touches his lips to mine. Once. Twice. Then he steps forward, switching our places so I’m pressed with my back to the car and he’s caged me between his arms. “We should do it every day.”
“I’m not sure about doing it every day. Maybe five times a week?” I give him a soft, open kiss.
He moans and kisses me deeper.
When we come up for air, I add, “I meant Monday through Friday at the diner.”
“Good point.” He chuckles. “We’re doing this all backward. I need to take you out on a date.”
“I’ve already seen you in your skivvies.” My eyes drift down his bare chest.
“I’m going to plan a date.” He nods as if he’s confirming his own idea. “Are you free next weekend?”
“It’s the Alien Festival.”
“Right. Not that. I don’t want any little green men competing for your attention.” He kisses the corner of my mouth.
A giant RV drives by and honks. The gray-haired man in mirrored RayBans driving it leans out the window and yells, “This is a family place. Get a room!”
Boone’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Easy enough to say for a man driving his home around town.”
My giggles join his. “He’s probably a pervert.”
“Or a genius.” His eyes crinkle in the corners before he gives me another quick kiss on the lips. “I’m going to be late. I wish I could stay.”
He didn’t suggest getting together this weekend and I’m being cool, so I give him a gentle shove and say, “See you Monday.”
He grumbles, but releases me. “No more naps in lakes.”
“Promise.”
ALONG WITH DECORATING the town with little green men, the annual Alien Festival br
ings hundreds of experts and believers to town for a convention of panels, discussions, and presentations of the latest theories about the who, what, how, why, and when of extraterrestrial travelers on Earth.
Taking time off of work, I spend four days in windowless ballrooms, listening and writing notes, hoping for some sort of proof. When I registered, I listed myself as Lucy Wesley Halliday, from Pine Bluff, New York—optimistic someone might make the connection between the name and my hometown. For a brief window of time, the story of my dad’s abduction was national news. If anyone out there might have information or clues, they’re also the type to attend a convention about UFOs and aliens.
I sit through panel after panel, making small talk in between sessions. I introduce myself over and over again. I hear way more than anyone ever should about probing.
No one says anything that convinces me my father was kidnapped by aliens.
I’ll never get these hours of my life back.
During one particularly New Age seminar, we follow a meditation to travel through time and space on a higher astral plane, seeking out our past or future selves.
I fall asleep within minutes and don’t remember meeting any other versions of myself.
Sadly, I leave at the end of the second day no wiser.
On the upside, I got in a decent nap before tonight’s festivities.
I’m meeting Boone and Shari in an hour at the main stage where local bands will perform before the parade of aliens after dark.
I haven’t seen Boone since the beginning of the week. Sadly, we didn’t make out in the cooler. He did give me a quick peck when he left, setting my cheeks aflame and Wanda all atwitter.
Alien Autopsies plays on the raised stage in the middle of the park in front of City Hall. The enthusiastic crowd bounces and dances along to the upbeat rock-pop music. Surrounded by little green men in every incarnation from two dimensional to three dimensional, the concert is the perfect mix of Coachella and Roswell.
The band is dressed in a combination of spacemen and aliens. How the drummer can breathe or see with the alien mask fascinates me, let alone hold his sticks with the long fingered green hands, is a miracle. That’s talent right there. In his mirrored helmet, the bass player captures my attention. Without a face to ruin the fantasy, I focus on his long, nimble fingers, broad shoulders, and the way he tilts his hips forward when he really gets into jamming. Not sure what it says about me that I prefer my rocker fantasy to be faceless, but I’m not questioning it right now.
Tinfoil Heart Page 8