I didn’t expect her to be onboard when I asked if she would like to go fishing with me this weekend. Skye keeps surprising me. Saturday looked to be the warmer day, so that’s what we picked. The day is perfect, sixty-five degrees and warm for Early October, even with the breeze. It’s hard to believe that just three weeks ago, when I first met Skye, it was over twenty degrees colder.
The ride to Lake Dillon takes a little over an hour. Twenty minutes of that hour-long drive is through an unmarked dirt road in the woods. And another five-minute hike through the trees.
I don’t expect to see anyone on this side of the lake today. In all the years I’ve been coming here, we’d only run into other people three times.
Most people who fish at Lake Dillon come from the other side, where it has a paved road access and a boat ramp. But that’s about a mile downstream. Lake Dillon is not really a lake, but a river. This spot is actually a cove and just the right size. It’s also very private. It can only be accessed through the road we drove on or via a boat.
“This place is beautiful. Do you come here often?”
I look around. It's the same as I remember. Trees, grasses, and bushes compete for attention in a riot of colors, greens, yellows, and oranges with a touch of red here and there. There’s a small concave beach, about thirty yards wide, that slopes into the lake. Grass gives way to sand and pebbles the closer it gets to the water.
I set the picnic basket and fishing gear down before I answer her.
“I haven’t come down here in a few years.”
I take the large blanket she’s holding against her chest and shake it open on the grass. Skye helps me straighten it. I put the basket on one corner and sky drops her backpack next to it.
“How did you find this place?”
I laugh. I knew this question was coming.
“I’ve been coming here for as long as I can remember. I learned to swim in this very lake.”
“Let me guess. Your grandparents brought you,” she says with a smile.
“Yes. Liam and I spent many days and nights here. We used to camp overnight with our grandparents before we went to Florida for a few weeks every summer, then do it again just before school started.”
“Is it me, or is your grandpa playing wingman again?”
“That would be so like him. If he were here now, he’d be telling you all about me, the most embarrassing but endearing things he could come up with.”
“I don’t know their names.”
She sounds almost sad.
“Bill and Maggie Valentine.”
“Your grandparents’ last name is Valentine?”
There’s a laugh in her voice.
“Yes, it means strong. What’s so funny?”
“Isn’t it a little funny that your wingman’s name is also the name of a holiday dedicated to lovers?”
My eyebrows pop up. And I laugh too.
“I never made the connection between Valentine’s Day and my grandparents’ last name.”
I can almost hear Grandpa laughing at me.
I set up two beach chairs and sand spikes near the water’s edge and prop the fishing poles in them.
“Have you ever gone fishing before?”
“A few times when we were younger. But River and I would make such a racket about killing the poor fish that Dad had to throw them back. After a few trips like that, he decided if he wanted to actually bring the fish home, he’d better not take us with him. Wait! Are you cooking the fish?”
She looks so alarmed, I have to laugh.
“No, I never bring it back with me. Strictly catch and release. Grandma is a vegetarian. She never allowed Grandpa to bring the fish home either,” I say as I finish setting up the rods.
I hear a click, and when I look, Skye has her phone out and she’s taking pictures. She points the phone at me.
“Is this okay?”
I smile and she takes a picture.
“That’s okay,” I say as I get closer to her and take the phone, switching the camera view, “but this is better.”
I hold the phone and take a dozen pictures of us smiling, me kissing her, her kissing me, and her laughing when I pull her body in front of mine, holding her with one hand and taking the pictures with the other.
Then I step back, grab my phone, and take a few more pictures of her alone, the kaleidoscope of fall colors at her back. Her looking shy, eyes downcast, and of her looking straight at me, lips parted and inviting.
I give her phone back to her.
“I want all of those. Send them all to me.”
We sit at the water’s edge for the next two hours, talking in hushed tones as if in church and listening to nature’s songs, birds chirping, the rustle of trees, and the ripple of water over rocks and sand. We don’t catch a single fish.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m always hungry when I’m outdoors.”
We walk to the blanket, take our shoes off, and sit on it. I’m in charge of lunch and Skye is in charge of dessert. I start unpacking.
“I got us some sandwiches, fruit, veggies . . .”
I stop talking when I see the container she pulls out of her bag and opens it. Three different kinds of cookies, chocolate chip, peanut butter, and sugar cookies.
“Marry me.”
She laughs, and I swear I hear Grandpa’s voice saying, “attaboy.”
“Tell me about your home.”
Skye packs away the food we didn’t eat before answering me.
“I grew up on a farm. An organic farm, to be exact. It’s not huge, but it's not small either. We grow different fruits, depending on the season. But we have a line of organic maple syrups we produce year-round. Traditional and flavored ones. We even have an adult-only version. It has bourbon, and you have to be over twenty-one to buy it.”
“You can harvest maple all year?”
“Not harvest. Produce. Harvesting time is late winter into early spring. But we have different flavors being produced at different times of the year.”
She leans back, propped on her elbows, back arched, face up to the sun, and eyes closed. The sides of her gray zip hoodie fall back, revealing a white T-shirt and a sliver of skin where the shirt meets the top of her black yoga pants. The outline of a pink bra is visible under the thin and nearly see-through fabric in the bright daylight. I watch, fascinated as the breeze swirls locks of golden hair around her face and shoulders. Eyes still closed, she inhales the cool, clean air deeply, her chest expanding, her flat stomach contracting.
It takes everything I have not to pounce on her. This level of trust she’s giving me is something I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around. If I were her and a guy I’d just met drove me to the middle of nowhere, I’m not sure I’d be so relaxed.
Skye drops from her elbows to her back, arms crossed behind her head and legs crossed at the ankles. She’s a picture of peacefulness. I envy her ability to just be.
Unguarded.
Open.
Artless.
“This place is beautiful.”
When she speaks, the words startle me, so quiet and intense the moment is.
I lean over her, my knee touching her thigh, my hand at her waist.
“No, you are.”
She looks at me with confusion in her eyes.
“I’m what?”
“Beautiful.”
She reaches up and folds a hand behind my neck, fingers playing with my hair.
“Come here,” she whispers.
I comply, half of my body hovering over hers as she lies back down. She traces the outlines of my face. My eyebrows, the curve of an ear, the bridge of my nose, my chin, and finally, my bottom lip. The touch is light as air.
“Kiss me,” she says.
“As you wish.” I quote The Princess Bride.
She smiles as my lips touch hers.
The kiss starts slow, teasing. But her hands tangle in my hair and pull at my back, urging me on, asking for more. She tugs me closer
, and I let my body touch hers, a thigh between hers, my hard-on pressed into her hip. I brace myself as to not drop my full weight on her. She’s half my size.
Skye presses up into me, and the last thread of restraint is gone. My tongue invades her mouth, and she whimpers and presses into me harder. I push my thigh into her center, and she pushes back, seeking relief. Her small hands grab at me, move down my back, and flex on my hip. I move on top of her, between her legs, never breaking the kiss.
She moans when I press my hardness into her, and Skye wraps her legs around mine. I move, grinding my erection into her clit. Our lips part then, and I kiss her neck instead. Her hard nipples are pressed to my chest, and I can feel her need, her desperation in the way her hands open and flex on my hips. She’s close to orgasm. If I keep this up, I’m going to come too. I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm from just grinding into a girl. High school, maybe.
And then it happens. Her body arches under mine, and her mouth is open, but no sounds escape her. Her skin is flushed red. I slow my movements as she comes down from her orgasm. I didn’t come. I’m hard as steel. That’s okay. I’ll take care of it later, picturing this moment in my mind over and over.
Her body relaxes and she goes limp under me. Then her eyes fly open as if surprised by what just happened. The expression on her face tells me exactly that. She tries to move her hands to cover her face, but my position on top of her makes it awkward.
“Hi,” I say.
She closes her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“I lost control, and I feel like I kind of molested you.”
I would laugh, but I know she’s really concerned.
“Skye, you didn’t molest me. You turn me the heck on.”
“I feel like I lead you on and . . . and . . .”
I know what she’s trying to say. I didn’t get off. She didn’t plan on it going past a kiss. But it did, and I’m glad.
“Shh. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself. I know you’re not trying to lead me on. And I’m glad you lost control. It was hot as fuck.”
“Well, not quite hot as fuck, since technically, it was more like hot as dry humping,” she says.
I burst out laughing. I love her ability to infuse humor into the most awkward of situations.
“Oh, Skye. What am I gonna do with you?”
“Hmm, some more of that?”
“As you wish.”
Chapter Nineteen
“So, did you do the deed yet?”
I roll my eyes at River and don’t bother to answer her.
“You guys are dating for what? Almost a month now, and nothing?”
“Trying to read, River.”
“Pfft, you’re always trying to read. When don’t you have your nose stuck in a book?”
“You should try picking up a book every so often. It would open the world for you.”
“I am in the world. Living it in real life and 3D. And I do read. I’m just not as obsessed as you are. Now stop trying to change the subject and tell me why you haven’t slept with him yet.”
I try to ignore her and read the same line for the third time now.
“I know you’re not using the rabbit either. I checked the box, and the seal is untouched. Much like your vajayjay. What gives? I thought Hot Cop would have you under arrest by now.”
River snort-laughs at her own joke.
There’s no getting away from this conversation. When River gets like this, it's easier for all involved to just go along with her. She’s tenacious. I close the cover on my new iPad Mini, a birthday gift from our parents. I know River won’t let go until I give her some kind of answer.
I pull myself up on the couch so I can face her, sitting on the other end from me.
“We’re just taking it slow. I don’t want to rush into things. And between his odd work hours and how busy we are with school and my job at the daycare, it’s not like we’re seeing each other every single day. Even if he lives right across the street.”
“But you’re making out and stuff, right?”
“Yes, River, we make out and stuff. He’s very . . .”
What’s the word I’m looking for?
“He’s very what?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. He’s nothing like Blake or Jon. He’s the complete opposite of them.”
“That’s good, because they’re assholes, the both of them.”
I have to agree with River. So far, my pick of guys hasn’t been great.
“Logan is careful with me. I can tell he wants more, but he’s holding back. Like he’s waiting for me to make the move, you know?”
“He’s waiting for you to take initiative? In sex? The poor guy will wait forever.”
“Hey!”
I throw a pillow at her.
“I resent that. Just because I’m not dropping my panties at every guy who looks at me, doesn’t mean I couldn’t take initiative. I kissed him first.”
Her reaction is not what I expected. There’s a look of hurt in River’s eyes and she doesn’t bother to cover it like she usually does when something hurts her feelings.
“What?”
“Just because I have a big mouth and joke about sex a lot, it doesn’t mean I’m dropping my panties at every guy who looks at me, Skye.”
“What? No, no. I didn’t mean you. I didn’t mean it like that at all. I’m talking in generics. This is not a jab at you or anything like that. I wasn’t trying to slut-shame you. I’m sorry. I guess it came out that way.”
She still looks upset, but it’s more anger than hurt right now.
“And even if I were fucking every guy on campus, it still doesn't give you or anyone the right to judge me.”
Gosh, how did this get so out of hand? She’s right, of course.
“I was just making a joke, River. An exaggeration. You’re right. I have no right to judge anyone. Their choices are their choices, and there shouldn’t be different rules for women and men.”
There’s less heat in her eyes now. Again, I wonder what’s going on with my sister. Jokes like this never upset her before. I get to see the River I know, for the most part, but then, in moments like this, there’s something that’s not right and I have no idea what it is or what to do about it. I want to help my twin with whatever is hurting her, but she won’t let me in. I go back to her question.
“We haven’t had sex yet. I know he wants to, and I want to. I think it will happen soon. Maybe I should buy condoms and keep them in my room. What do you think?”
“You’re going to the pharmacy to grab a box of Trojans?”
She laughs at me. She knows I’d be mortified. Thank goodness I can Amazon Prime all the embarrassing stuff.
“Ugh, with my luck, one of my professors would be standing right behind me in line when I go pay for it. Maybe you can buy them for me.”
Yeah, right. She can’t even remember to buy coffee. Coffee! Who forgets to buy coffee?
“Sure. I’ll get you some of those glow-in-the-dark, and the flavored ones too. Ribbed, for her pleasure. XXL.”
“No, River. Just no. Forget I asked.”
Knowing my sister, she would do it too.
And give it to me during dinner.
With our parents.
Chapter Twenty
My eyes are on Skye as much as on the puck. I should be playing like shit with my attention split between her and the black rubber disk flying across the ice. But somehow, I’m playing one of my best games ever.
Twenty-seven seconds left on the clock and the score is three to one. I scored two of those goals. I think we can squeeze one more in. I glance one more time at Skye and get my attention back in the game.
I’m right outside the face-off, sticks battling for the puck, and I catch the rebound, turn, and skate across the ice, zigzagging between the other players. I can see number sixty-seven on the opposing team coming at me at full speed. He’ll try to smash me into the boards.
I slow down, and just before he hits me, I spin out of his way and shoot. The next thing I hear is the sweet sound of the goal horn confirming my score.
The clock zeros just as the sound ends. Game over. All I want to do is skate to Skye, but I have over a thousand pounds’ worth of teammates hugging me and smacking my helmet. We do the customary glove pounding. The players skate to the tunnel and the few dozen family and friends who came in today are making their way out of the rink as well. Through it all, I keep my eyes on her.
Skye walks along the boards until she gets to one of the gates. I make my way to her, and when I get close enough, she throws herself at me. I catch her.
“Hat trick!” she yells at me, referring to the three goals I scored tonight.
You’d think I’d just won the Stanley Cup, she’s so excited about it. I drop her to her feet. The skates add another three or four inches to my height, and she has to crane her neck to look at me. I bend to kiss her.
“I’m all sweaty. I’m sure you don’t want to smell like a locker room,” I say, a little self-conscious.
Her small hands grab my jersey.
“Nope. You smell like victory.”
I kiss her again. I just have to.
“I have to go clean up and change. I’ll be right back. Then we can grab dinner.”
I kiss her one more time before I skate across the rink and into the tunnel.
I can’t believe we’ve been dating for a month already. And it's perfect. I miss Skye when we’re not together, and we spend just about every free moment we can match up between us together. This is the first game I’ve played since we started dating.
We’re seated in a booth, our legs tangled under the table. We’re both wearing jeans, so there’s no skin contact, yet this feels as intimate as if we were naked. I feel close to Skye, more than anyone else I’ve ever known.
“It was so exciting! When is the next game? Can I come again?”
Because of Logan Page 10