All Things Pretty

by M. Leighton

  They run the exact same play the next two times. Tommi misses the catch both times. “My turn,” I yell.

  I take the ball from Travis and walk back to my side, bending down and eyeing my two opponents. “Think either one of you can catch me?” I ask.

  Tommi and Travis look at each other and I take off running around Travis, scoring easily.

  “No fair!” cries Tommi.

  “How was that not fair? It’s two against one.”

  “But I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. Give me that ball.”

  I toss it to her. “Take it. It’s your turn anyway. Seven-zero.”

  Travis takes the ball again and he whispers something to Tommi before they get into position. They’re both grinning, the same devilish look in their identical green eyes. Maybe they’re finally getting into the spirit of the game.

  Suddenly, Tommi takes off around me and Travis falls back to throw to her again. But then, before I can turn around, Tommi is jumping on my back, screaming, “Run, Travis! Run!”

  Travis takes off flying and I run after him, Tommi clinging to my back like a damn monkey. I could dive after him and take him down by the legs, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt Tommi, so I let him go.

  He scores, throwing the ball between his legs like some of the pros do. At least he’s seen a football game before.

  “That was dirty,” I tell him as he gloats by me, throwing the ball into my stomach this time.

  “I thought that was the point,” Tommi says from my back. I turn my head to look at her, her mouth level with mine. Her lips part, like she knows what I’m thinking, and somehow I resist kissing her. Instead, I sink my teeth into her chin.

  “Oh, it’s on, little lady. It. Is. On.”

  I reach around and pull her off my back, dumping her gently in the mud. Her mouth makes an O and her eyes get all round, which forces me to bend and get a handful of mud to smear on her leg.

  I walk off to take my position on the field again, whistling over the sound of her indignant sputtering. Travis is still smiling as he crouches down in front of me.

  When I do my solo version of snapping the ball, I fake left, fake right and then run back left, zipping around Tommi who reaches out for me and misses. Travis isn’t going down so easily, though. He shoots up at me from my right and launches himself at me. I could stay upright, but I don’t. Instead, I go down, both of us skittering through the mud. I come to a stop with Travis pinned beneath my back, wheezing for air.

  “Take that, bitch,” he says, pushing at me.

  “Who you callin’ bitch, lil man?” I ask, putting more of my weight on Travis and pushing. We both scoot through the mud, most of it getting on Travis.

  “Get off me, you goon.”

  Tommi walks up, smiling down at us, shaking her head. “You two are gonna be filthy.”

  I lean up and glance back at Travis, who gives me a shit-eatin’ grin. We both nod in silent agreement and I stand, offering him a hand to get up.

  I get the ball two more times, giving Tommi and her brother every opportunity to jump on, run after, try to trip and fly at me as I half-heartedly make my way toward the makeshift goal line. I score on my last drive, dragging Tommi (holding onto my arm) and Travis (wrapped around my leg) into the endzone with me.

  “You can’t stop this,” I tell them when I fling the ball up into the air and catch it again.

  “Hey, you haven’t won yet,” Tommi says with determination. She puts her arm around Travis’s shoulder and they walk off, her whispering in his ear all the way back to the line of scrimmage.

  They run the same play again–Travis throwing, Tommi receiving. This time when Tommi takes off, I start off slowly after her. Travis gets the ball to her with a fairly decent, not entirely disappointing arm and Tommi clumsily catches it, squealing in glee.

  “I caught it! I caught it!”

  Travis is yelling from behind as he runs forward to stop me, “Run, dumb ass! Don’t just stand there.”

  Shock registers on Tommi’s face and she turns to take off. Catching her easily, I sweep her up into my arms and throw her onto the ground. Nothing that will hurt her, just enough force to make her feel well and truly caught.

  I fall down on top of her, my body resting between her legs, and I take the ball from where it’s gripped tight in her arms. I tap her on the end of the nose with the laces. “Still didn’t score, sweetheart.”

  Her chest is heaving beneath me and her eyes sparkle like dark emeralds at midnight, glimmering with a passion she’s having trouble containing. I know because I’m struggling, too. I stare down into her face, desire zinging between us like exhilarating bolts of lightning.

  I flex my hips ever so slightly and am gratified when I hear her soft gasp. I lick my lips, ready to give in and kiss her, when I feel a heavy thump on my back.

  “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” I say, speaking to Travis, but winking at Tommi, who is still staring at me with her lips parted. “Unnecessary roughness!”

  I roll onto my back, trapping Travis beneath me until I can wiggle around to get my hands on him. When I do, I flip him onto his stomach, putting his face right in the mud. “You asshole!” His squeal is muffled, but there’s laughter in his voice.

  “How do you like that, tough guy?”

  He struggles and I let him squirm out of my grasp. I turn to grab Tommi quickly, before she can get away. I take her in my arms and tickle her mercilessly. When her gasps are almost pained they’re so breathless, I finally let her slide off my lap. But I’m not done. I take two handfuls of mud and throw one on her stomach and one at the watchful Travis, who’s standing off to the side watching us. He deflects and bends for his own ammunition as I scrape up more goop.

  Touch football quickly turns into nothing more than a mud fight, full of lots of cheap shots and laughing. At one point, I just sit back and watch Travis and Tommi smear each other with thick globs of the stuff, aiming for each other’s mouth and hair and ears.

  When there are literally no clean surfaces visible on their faces and arms, they turn to me, panting and exhausted. “Now what?”

  “I think you’ve both had enough, but I’ll leave it up to you. More football or hot shower?”

  Travis and Tommi look at each other and grin. “Hot shower,” they say simultaneously.

  Tommi eyes her brother, shaking her head. “You’re filthy! You should probably change back into your other clothes so that at least we won’t get the back seat dirty,” Tommi tells him. When he starts off, nodding in acknowledgement, she calls after him, “And take those shoes off before you get in.”

  Her lips are still curved when she turns her attention back to me. Something about the moment hits me like a punch to the gut. I think for a second that I could stand here and stare at her, just enjoy her smile and her happiness for hours. Days, maybe. But I can’t. We can’t. So, instead, I brush a clump of mud from the end of her nose. “Have fun?”

  “I did. Thank you. This was so good for him.”

  “And you.”

  “And me,” she concedes.

  “You can be the real you around me anytime. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “So you prefer this?”

  “Oh, hell yeah! I don’t need glamorous. Or proper.”

  “I’m not proper.”

  “You forget that I heard your…expressiveness that day on the side of the road. And it didn’t consist of ‘darn’ or ‘golly gee’. But I haven’t heard anything like that come out of your mouth since then.”

  “Ladies aren’t supposed to talk that way, according to Lance.”

  “I don’t want a lady. I want a woman. One who knows her own mind. One who wears what she’s comfortable in, one who says what she’s thinking.” I take a step closer. I can’t help myself. Her scent draws me in. Even covered in mud, she smells like sexy sunshine. “I want the woman who kisses like she’s on fire and makes me feel like I’m the only one who can put her out.”

  “Sig,” she begins.
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br />   I break in to cut her off. I know her objections. And I know how much I don’t want to hear them. “I’m just being honest. I’m not even touching you.”

  Her eyes are glued to mine, a damn near irresistible gravity pulling us together. “It’s not like you can anyway. I mean, we’re in public. With my little brother. What could you possibly touch?”

  I reach down and smear my hand in mud. With her eyes locked on mine, I reach between us and flatten my palm on her chest, right over her heart. “This. I’d touch this.”

  Her eyes search mine for a couple of heartbeats, looking for my meaning. I know when she finds it. Clear green crystal melts into liquid. I see it just before she closes her eyes. She squeezes them shut, like it hurts to look at me. Rather than touching her anywhere else, like I want to, or saying anything else, like I want to, I just press my palm flush against her, feeling the steady, rapid beat of her heart.

  After nearly a minute, I lower my hand, reaching for hers. “Come on. I’ve got towels in the truck,” I say, tugging her along behind me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE- TOMMI

  After he drops us off at my house, my eyes follow Sig’s truck until it disappears around the corner. I don’t want him to go. But he can’t stay.

  I try to smother my sigh as I turn toward the front door. I let us in and Travis goes immediately for a quick shower and then into his room, where he’ll undoubtedly stay until dinner and then, afterward, until morning. I can’t decide how much is typical teenager or typical Asperger’s and how much is something I should worry about. At the root of the problem is that Travis is hardly typical in any way, so I’m a continuous ball of worrying yet trying not to worry. And probably making a load of mistakes along the way.

  “How about pizza for supper?” I call down the hall. “I didn’t really plan anything.”

  I was too busy lying to Lance to plan dinner.

  And I had to lie because I can’t get Sig out of my head. Or out of my blood. He seems to have stormed the carefully guarded castle of my mind and taken over. And if that’s not bad enough, I’m starting to feel things other than just desire for him. And that is trouble that I don’t need.

  That’s what my brain tells me. But my body and my heart have different arguments. Like the fact that I’ve never really felt this way about someone before. Like the fact that everyone needs some pleasure, some comfort, some…substance to their lives. Things other than obligation and responsibility. Right?

  I never really craved the touch of another person before. Every hand that’s ever been on my body has been there for a specific reason, not because I’ve wanted it there. Until Sig.

  I never really craved the company of another person before either. At sixteen, my life changed forever and I haven’t had time for simple pleasures like laughing or being frivolous or falling in love. Even though I don’t really have time now, I’m beginning to feel like I need it. Like I need Sig. Not his help or his protection, just his presence. I like being with him. A lot. And there’s a big part of me that says he’s worth the risk.

  But I can’t. I shouldn’t. It could go so very, very wrong.

  Or it could go right, my other half argues. So very, very right.

  And then what? Where do we go from there?

  There’s nowhere to go. It can never be anything more than just a fling, no matter how much I wish it otherwise. Our paths are too different.

  But maybe that’s enough–an amazing fling. It would have to be.

  A one-time indulgence. Just to get it out of our system. To slake this undeniable hunger. Just one time, one night and no more. All things return to normal after that. Hands off, strictly professional.

  But we’d get the one time.

  One perfect time.

  As I call in the pizza and empty the dishwasher while I wait for it, I give myself over to the back-and-forth of my internal arguments. But in the end, after all is said and done, one side wins. One thought continually flutters to the surface. Just once.

  We’re both adults. We can handle what will amount to a one-night stand. We’ve both had them before. I mean, I have. Many years ago, but still… And I’m sure Sig has. I mean, a guy like that…who looks like he does…and flirts like he does… He’s probably had several.

  I go motionless, standing perfectly still with a plate in my hand, frozen by the thought. Even though the one-night-stand contention was just supposed to have been a case in point for going through with this, the thought of Sig with another woman sends a furious streak of jealousy speeding through me. It’s almost painful it’s so intense. The intensity of it, however, serves to reinforce the consideration of being with him once. So does another thought.

  If it were possible to completely erase all other women from a man’s mind in a single night, I’d choose that. The mere suggestion that I might be the only person on his mind brings me comfort and a happy smile. Which is insane because it doesn’t work that way. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing it did.

  Travis and I eat in silence. He seems especially sulky, which surprises me.

  “Didn’t you have fun today?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” comes his glum response.

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  Travis pushes his plate across the table at me, almost violently, standing up so fast his chair tips over. “We’ll never have a life like that. Normal.”

  He stalks off, back down the hall to his bedroom, leaving me sitting at the table with my mouth hanging open. After I recover, I follow him.

  I knock softly and then crack the door, sticking only my head inside. “Travis, that’s what I’m working toward. It just takes time.”

  He’s lying on his bed, his chin on his chest, with his hood pulled low over his eyes. That damn hoodie!

  “Even then, we’ll never have a life like that.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I tell him, hoping that maybe one day, I can give him what he’s missed out on all of his life. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  Travis gives me a withering look. “We don’t need tricks. We need a miracle.”

  On that petulant note, Travis pushes ear buds into his ears and starts scrolling through his phone for music. The end of the conversation, obviously. Which is probably good. I don’t know that I could add anything more right now anyway. I can’t promise him a miracle. I can’t really promise him much of anything, other than I’m trying with all that’s in me to make a better life for us. For him. Even for me. There has to be more than this.

  After I clean up the kitchen and feed Mom, I’m straightening her room when Travis pops his head in. “So you’re staying in tonight?”

  “Yep. Just us. Wanna watch a movie or something?”

  He frowns like I just asked him if I could have a kidney. “No, I don’t. I’m going to Trip’s. I’ll do my homework there.”

  “Seriously?” I say, dropping my hands by my side. “What is it with you? Every single time I make plans to stay home for the night with you, you bail. What, are you allergic to me or something?”

  “None of your business,” he says grouchily.

  I bite my tongue. I try not to fuss. Or crowd him. Or treat him like a kid. Or like he’s different. Or do any of the other million and one things that I know upset him. Travis needs lots of calm. Lots of predictability. But he also needs social interaction and friends, something he seems only to get with Trip. So I keep my mouth shut and I pray that he doesn’t get into trouble or get hurt.

  He lingers in the doorway. I don’t know if he has something else to say or if he’s waiting for me to say something. At any rate, neither of us speaks again and he just wanders off, back to his room to slam the door.

  Half an hour later, I’m starting a load of laundry when I hear the front door open and close. I race to the porch before Travis can get all the way down the driveway.

  “Don’t be too late!” I shout. Without turning around, back pack slung over one shoulder, he raises one hand in acknowledgment and keeps on walking.


  Back inside, I go from room to room in our small house, straightening the few things that need straightening. After that, I paint my toenails. Then I put a mud masque on my face, the whole time thinking of Sig and his muddy handprint on my chest. Then I run a hot bath and shave everything from my ankles to my armpits. It’s as I’m lying against the cool ceramic that my mind starts to wander again. And it wanders to Sig. To his touch, to his kiss. To what almost happened earlier today.

  My body aches. Just at the thought of him.

  I close my eyes, effortlessly conjuring Sig’s liquid brown eyes, his perfectly sculpted mouth, his big, slightly rough hands. God!

  Almost of their own accord, my palms drift over my breasts, pausing to tease the throbbing nipples, just like Sig would do. Like he did. I recall the feel of his mouth there, hot and open. Riling my body into a flurry of want and need. My core responds to my thoughts, sending a gush of heat southward. I move my hands down. Farther and farther. Closer to the place where the ache is strongest, where the emptiness is deepest.

  I cup my center as my mind elicits Sig’s fingers, his lips, his tongue, delving inside me. Filling yet not totally, satisfying yet not completely. Teasing. Toying. Making me crazy. He knew I needed more, craved more. He was just enjoying the rise, the climb, until he could drive his body into mine and quench this excruciating thirst.

  But my touch isn’t Sig’s. No matter how tightly I close my eyes, no matter how much I concentrate, no matter how much I wish it were his, it’s not. It isn’t his hands or his mouth. His kiss or his scent. His laugh or his growl. I’m in my bathroom. In my home. Alone, for all intents and purposes. Exactly what I don’t want to be right now.

  Frustrated, I pull the plug to drain the tub before stepping out and toweling off. Standing in the steamy room, I rub scented lotion over every inch of my hyper sensitive skin, groaning with my want of something more.

  I wipe the moisture from the mirror and meet the wide eyes and flushed cheeks of my reflection. I’m startled by what’s written all over my face. Desire. Withering resistance. Increasing need.