Two Weeks

by Andrea Wolfe

  Jackson starts laughing and pulls away. "You're nuts." He sighs deeply and plunges himself under the water again, returning to the surface just as quickly as he departed. "Now it's like we didn't cool off at all."

  "I know," I say.

  A brief pause fills the air. "Does this mean I'm allowed to see you naked now?" he asks hopefully, interrupting the silence.

  I start giggling, a product of my state of prolonged ecstasy along with the realization that I'm skinny dipping with Jackson Ames on a whim—and we both just came in the water. I feel like a teenager more than I feel like an adult—and I really need that.

  "Maybe," I say.

  "Well, I'm hopeful," he says.

  I press myself up against him and kiss him. "You have every reason to be."

  We swim to the shore, and I get out first. When I stop to stare up at the moon, I forget that I'm standing right beside him, butt-naked. "I had a feeling your boobs were perfect," he says. "Now I know they are."

  "Hey," I chide. I put my arm across my chest and cover them defensively. "The show's over," I say. He stands there utterly shameless, his cock comically swinging between his legs whenever he moves.

  "Go ahead and keep looking," he says proudly after noticing what I'm looking at. "I don't even charge admission."

  "I thought what I said was funny," I say.

  "Well, now the show's over," he says, mimicking my tone of voice and covering his crotch with his hand.

  I give him an evil look. "You're a total asshole—and you're great."

  He smirks. "Let's go towel off before we put on our clothes. Maybe we should take a shower since we were in pond water."

  "Only if you dim the lights," I say.

  "I can do that," he says, smiling.

  We grab our clothes from the ground and head inside. Jackson turns on the dimmest light there is in the bathroom and I reluctantly step into the shower with him. While I'm sure he's catching glances of my body when I'm not looking, he's being very respectful and we actually shower.

  "All I've got is body wash and shampoo for men," he admits. "Sorry."

  I take the shampoo from him and lather my hair anyway. "Nothing we can do about that, I suppose. I'll just have to reek of sport scent. Do you have a bar of soap?"

  "Yeah, actually." He leans out of the shower and I hear him digging in a cabinet. I catch a glance of his perfectly trimmed pubic hair and I'm shocked that I'm staring down there. "Here," he says, handing me a sealed bar of Dove soap.

  "Thanks." I tear it out of the paper wrapper and mindlessly discard it on the bathroom floor.

  "Are you staying tonight?" he asks.

  "I don't know if I should," I say. "With my parents and the sudden breakup and stuff. I feel stupid when I think about it too much."

  Jackson continues washing himself. He's lost in the ritual. "So they don't know about you coming here? And seeing me?"

  "I guess they kind of do. I told them we went running and stuff. I definitely mentioned you. At least once."

  "You probably hate lying, but with my history with Jeff, maybe they shouldn't know right now. I wouldn't want him to find out."

  "Wait, what?" I ask. "Why would that be a problem?" I study his face as he prepares his response.

  "It just wouldn't be good. It might be awkward since you just told them about Max. Isn't this just a passing thing?" he asks. "A couple of weeks together and that's it? Why get everyone involved if we don't have to?"

  I'm so frazzled by bliss that I'm not thinking clearly. I don't really remember who I am and what my life is normally like.

  "No way," I say and then immediately catch myself. "I mean, it's not meaningless, but it is only for a couple of weeks, yeah."

  "Well then, why complicate things? Then again, you're the one that has to lie. But Jeff finding out would be weird."

  I sense some hidden motive. "What's going on with you and Jeff? I thought you just grew apart."

  "Right," he says. "Nothing is going on with us now. But how would you feel if Jeff was suddenly dating Liz or something?" He quells my suspicions with that single well-executed sentence.

  "Oh, God," I say, "that would be so awk—" I stop. I see what he means now. "Okay, fine. I'll do what I can."

  I still want to be honest with my parents, but I feel pretty conflicted. Then again, I'm also an adult and I know that I want to do this.

  "But I want you to stay over here," he says. "And I think we should go up to the beach in Carsonville for a few days. My parents had a house up there right on the water and so by extension, I have one now. It's a secluded spot and everything."

  The thought of spending a few quiet days on the water with Jackson is really clouding my judgment. "That sounds awesome," I say.

  "So are we done in here?" he asks.

  "Yeah."

  Jackson kills the water and steps out of the shower. A moment later, he hands me a towel and I dry myself off before climbing out. When we're both dry, I put my bra and panties back on and head to his bed. I cuddle up in his arms after slinking under the blankets.

  "I'm really happy," I say quietly as I replay the evening's events in my mind.

  "Me too," he says. But there's still an elephant in the room, despite our declared happiness. We're barely clothed and alone in his bed. He addresses it immediately. "I thought we could wait to, uh, y'know," he says awkwardly. "I think we already did enough tonight."

  I start laughing and kiss the hard edge of his jaw. "That's fine," I say. "I'm kind of exhausted after all of that excitement. This is still new to me too."

  "I know what you mean," he says.

  Not long after, I fall asleep in that protected place in his arms. For me, it's the most peaceful place on earth.

  And just as I did the previous day, I wake before the sun rises and gather my things, sneaking out before Jackson notices. He's sleeping so peacefully, and although I want to tell him goodbye, I don't want to disturb his slumber.

  On my drive home, I realize how much I need this puerile routine to stop, even if it means Jeff might hear about Jackson and me. Even if it means my parents might think I'm getting over Max a bit too quickly for comfort.

  I want to wake up next to Jackson while I'm here.

  And I'm gonna make it happen.

  8

  Jackson

  Ally's not here when I wake, but that's okay, especially since I encouraged her furtive behavior. The more I think about it, the more I worry that Jeff might definitely take our relationship the wrong way. Although I've forgiven him for his actions, he still probably doesn't believe me and just would assume I'm acting in retribution.

  I'm not sure why I hadn't considered this before, but it's clear as day now. Dealing with the past is never easy.

  My morning run feels incredible. I keep thinking about Ally's body, despite the fact that I'm trying not to. But I can't get her out of my mind. She's just beyond incredible.

  Those perfect, perky breasts, her dark pink areolas, pointed right at me.

  That little mole on the side of her right breast.

  The dimples as she smiles.

  Her perfectly toned, smooth legs.

  God, and the fire inside her as she finished me off in the lake. I hadn't even expected her to reciprocate and it makes me feel bad now that I judged her and assumed that she'd be a little bit prudish.

  If she had expected me to perform after I made her come, she would have been very disappointed because I wouldn't have been able to control myself. She's just too damn hot.

  I think about these various items the whole time I run, and unsurprisingly, I have a hard-on that won't go away, no matter how many muscles I clench or how many times I try to direct my salacious thoughts elsewhere.

  Ally has infected my brain like some sort of girly virus. I deny myself any sort of relief, hoping that it will make the real thing all the more better.

  I'm really infatuated with her, and that scares me because of our already-declared, transient relationship.

&n
bsp; I just have to make the most of it, I remind myself. It's better than nothing, that's for sure. What the hell would I be doing with myself otherwise?

  It wouldn't be much different than what I'm doing already, but it would be a lot lonelier.

  I decide that I'm just in a clement period in the storm of my life and I should celebrate it before things become numb and pointless again.

  After I finish running and breakfast, I see that Ally has sent me a text:

  Ally: I wanna train today. Are you up for it? :)

  I decide to be playful:

  Me: I'm a bit tired out, Ally. I just don't know if I can handle it today.

  I sip my coffee and await her response. It comes immediately:

  Ally: Don't bullshit me. YOU? Too tired? I'll be over in 15.

  I start laughing and nearly spit out my coffee. She called my bullshit immediately and I'm reeling from her blunt response.

  I wash the pan I used for breakfast and tidy up the kitchen. My stomach is full of butterflies as I anticipate Ally getting here. I can't wait to watch her wallop the punching bag again. She's so cute, yet so ferocious when she gets going—like a kitten that bites off your whole hand when you try to pet it.

  I feel so good I can barely believe it. It's already Wednesday, and I have the fight coming up on Saturday. I can't believe how fast this week is flying by. It's going to be a tough match, but if I keep feeling like this, I'm going to win for sure, no matter how tough the competition is.

  When I hear Ally pull into the driveway, I'm as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. She comes jogging up to the porch in that same sports bra/shorts combo she's always wearing.

  I finally connect the dots and realize that she had no intention of staying this long and probably only brought one set of workout clothes.

  "Hey," she says. "I'm ready to kick some ass."

  "Figurative ass or real ass?"

  "Both." She raises her fists defensively. "I'll shift my weight as I punch and I'll hit you with a one-two punch and then a jab and an uppercut and I'll be defensive while I'm doing it."

  "Have you exhausted your entire boxing vocabulary now?" I ask sarcastically. "Do you know any other words?"

  She gives me an exaggerated frown. "No, I don't. You got me. That's why I'm ready to train. I need more words."

  "Okay."

  I lead her into the garage and we start on the punching bag again. First, I correct her stance, trying desperately to keep my sexual arousal at a comfortable level as I use my hands to shift her body into place. As always, she's both cute and hot as hell, and I'm juxtaposing the naked memory of her in my mind with the real thing in front of me.

  She circles the bag, one-two punching. Her weight shifts perfectly, and it's actually pretty clear that with a little more training, she could do some serious damage to an attacker with her bare hands. That's comforting.

  "I'll show you a hook now," I say. "And remember to start the punch from the ground."

  I demonstrate the motion once, telling her to focus on my feet. "See how my knee shifts out? And my foot twists?"

  She nods and follows along in slow motion. I love watching her learn.

  "And then your shoulder follows the stuff down below. Foot, knee, hip, and then your arm."

  Ally perfectly executes the move, albeit very slowly. Great. "Is this okay?" she asks.

  "Yes. Slow is ideal when you're building muscle memory." I follow along with her, purposely moving at her sluggish pace to encourage proper practice.

  God, she's so sexy. I think about what went on last night constantly, the details on endless repeat in my head. I keep thinking about the next step, when we'll finally—

  I get slammed in the gut, and jarred back into reality. "Hey!" I plead. "What the hell was that? That was cheap." The shock gets me, but the punch is nothing major.

  Ally blushes. "Sorry. I thought you were ready since your hands were lifted."

  "Not unless I say I am. We're not actually fighting. You're supposed to be hitting the bag. No sucker punches."

  "Well, I got bored. I've been hitting it constantly for the last five minutes straight."

  I shrug. "Okay. I'll teach you an uppercut then." I demonstrate the motion first with the right hand, since it's new for her. She studies me carefully.

  After I'm done explaining, she makes a terrific first effort, and I guide her with my hands until she's ironed out all of the kinks. "This is pretty fun," she says.

  I demonstrate the uppercut on the left side, showing her how it basically just mirrors the right. Ally gets it down quickly.

  I can't believe I even remember any of this stuff since the sexual tension feels like heroin withdrawal.

  I realize that I should have taken care of my own business this morning because it would have made this a lot easier. How stupid to think that I'd be okay watching one of the hottest girls I've ever seen in my life prance around in a sports bra and a pair of shorts that leave nothing to the imagination.

  On top of that, my testosterone levels are through the roof since I'm training. I'm a big, dumb, ape of a man right now.

  Oh, God.

  She circles the bag, switching between the hook and the uppercut—and I keep losing my mind. Back to earth, I shout inside my brain, hoping desperately that the rest of me will follow the order.

  However, witnessing her making a mistake gives me a much needed jolt. "No, no," I say suddenly. "Sorry. That's not right."

  Ally turns her head and gives me the most innocent look of confusion I've ever seen. "Huh?"

  "Put the hook or the uppercut after a series of punches. Set them up, don't just do them randomly."

  "Oh, so I should do a one-two punch and then an uppercut or hook?"

  "Right," I say proudly. "That's it. You've got it already."

  She grunts and starts pounding the bag again. As always, I'm impressed at how quickly she gets it. She combines all the punches I taught her with ease, creating a fluidity I never would have expected so quickly.

  In a way, she's speaking eloquent sentences in a violent language.

  Tirelessly, she ravages the punching bag, like it's her worst enemy vulnerable before her. I watch in fascination as she circles.

  And it makes me think about her in bed.

  "Okay," I say, redirecting my chain of thoughts to something more relevant. "You need some variety. Let me grab the punch mitts." I find them in my box of goodies in the corner and fit them over my hands. "This will be more realistic."

  She charges at me with great fervor, and begins her assault on my protected hands. I follow the trajectory of her punches quite easily, absorbing every blow as she gives me everything she's got. I try to remain focused on her hands and not her shaking breasts.

  "Pause," I say and she stops obediently. "I see a problem when you do the uppercuts." I want to quiz her.

  "Well, I'm starting at the ground. And turning my hips and rotating my shoulders down."

  "Give me an uppercut," I say. "Very slowly."

  Ally goes through the motion. Her chin is out, and her other arm is out of place. Before she lands the strike, I shift my body and gently connect my fist with her chin.

  "You see? Keep your chin down and keep your other hand up. You want this to be a powerful strike, not an opportunity to be taken advantage of."

  "Damn, this is tough," she says, her chest rising and falling rapidly as exhaustion finally catches up with her.

  "You're doing really well though," I say. "Be proud."

  "Well, thanks. I'm just trying to get a good workout. I think we should take a break." She smiles at me. "I mean, I need one at least."

  While my workout has only just begun, I acquiesce—after I get in ten minutes of furious punching on the bag. She watches me from the side with her inquisitive, beautiful eyes. I'm just trying to get my primal urges under control since we're supposed to be working out and I'm barely doing that since I'm still showing her the ropes.

  I punch and punch and punch and punch
until Ally announces that ten minutes have passed.

  "Shit," I say. Sweat trickles down from my forehead and I'm out of breath.

  "I don't know how you do that," she says. "That takes so much stamina."

  "With a lot of training. Think about the first time you went running."

  She nods. "Makes sense. And now it's break time."

  We walk into the house together and sit down with a couple glasses of water, chatting idly. There is a strange vibe in the air, but I'm not sure what it is, and I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing.

  Ally stands and walks into the living room, peering out the front window. "It's nice out there too. A big front yard. You could fit a lot of cars in that driveway. Host big parties."

  I follow her in there, standing beside her. "I guess. But I don't throw too many parties."

  My heart is pounding, and I can't seem to slow it down. The room is full of blaring silence. What the hell are we doing here? I ask myself. What am I doing here? I'm going crazy.

  I'm nervous, and I don't know why.

  "Ally?" Before I can finish saying her name, she cuts me off.

  "Okay," she says matter-of-factly, "let's get this over with. I can't wait anymore. I'm going crazy."

  "Huh?" I say the word, but it comes out too late. She presses up against me and holy shit, all of that carnal energy is back with a vengeance. My muscles tense, and I'm totally hard in less than half a second.

  She kisses me with the same intensity I saw her using against the bag. I try to match her. I fight her tongue with my own, fight her breaths with my own breathing. Oh my God, she's on fire—and so am I.

  I run my hands through her hair, tracing all the way down her back until I'm planted firmly on her ass. I pull her against me, and she grinds her hips against mine, fully aware of my arousal. Her hands clench my back, holding onto me like a life preserver.

  We kiss like that for a few minutes, the intensity ebbing and flowing. I've never had an experience with a woman like this, and so I try to savor it even though we both know exactly where it's going.

  My hands instinctively grab at her sports bra and pull the straps over her shoulder. We try to keep our lips together, but the kiss breaks for just a second as she tosses the bra on the floor. I cup her breasts with my hands. I'm filled with desperate energy. Her skin is so soft, and I gleefully play with her nipples between my fingertips.