Chaos and Control

by Season Vining

  Her head whips toward me. “You?” I nod. “Well, thanks for that. I doubt I would have ever grown the balls.”

  “Eww. Don’t grow balls. Then Sawyer will definitely not be interested.”

  Angela laughs and drops her lip gloss back into her purse.

  “Men are sometimes blind to good things right in front of them,” I say. I wash my hands before drying them on the seat of my shorts. “They just need a little nudge.”

  Her smile is grateful, and I can’t help but return it. “Thanks for nudging, Wren.”

  I pull the door open. “No problem. And by the way, there’s no third nipple.” Her laugh carries through the room and out the door before it closes behind me.

  Coach and I close and clean up, both of us dead tired and ready to go. After a busy night, it’s nearly two thirty before I turn off the outside sign and exit through the front doors. Preston waits in his usual place, but tonight he’s not writing in his notebook. Instead, the screen of his phone lights up his pretty face in a silver-blue glow.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  Preston tucks his phone away and nods. “Yes. I’m exhausted.”

  I can tell he’s freshly showered, though somehow he still smells like wood. That, mixed with his usual scent, makes me inhale deeper.

  “I saw your ex leaving earlier,” Preston says as we walk side-by-side.

  “Then you also saw Angela leaving with him.”

  “I did. That was a nice thing you did, setting them up.”

  “Eh. It was a little selfish, too. I knew Sawyer would keep pursuing me. He’s very persistent. I’m not available, so I had to distract him.”

  Preston turns toward me, his pretty lips volleying between a smirk and frown. “Are you not available?”

  “Not to him.”

  The smirk wins out. “Noted. So, what are we doing, Wren?”

  “We’re walking home,” I say, pointing to the empty road ahead of us.

  “No. I mean, this…relationship. I know I’ve asked you before, and I know you don’t like labels, but I feel like things have changed between us. What is this?”

  “I don’t know. I like you. What do you want it to be?”

  He stops walking and reaches for my hand. We’re in between streetlights, so in the gray darkness, I can barely see his eyes searching mine.

  “There’s the answer I want to give, and there’s the answer I think you can handle.”

  “Maybe you underestimate me.”

  He nods. “Maybe so.”

  “Give it to me straight.”

  “I want us to be a great love story, something this town talks about for years.”

  My hand presses to my chest in an effort to calm my racing heart as I suck in a lungful of night air. I blink at him, truly stunned by Preston’s confession. This boy and his words undo me a little more every day. His eyes continue to search mine, gauging me for a reaction. Once again, Preston has put himself out there, made himself vulnerable, and I sit speechless. In a moment of clarity, I realize that his statement scares me, but my heart wants it to come true.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Wow?”

  “I’m not a poet like you, Preston. I don’t have words like that to tell you how I feel. But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel that way.”

  He brings our clasped hands to his face and places six kisses on the inside of each wrist. Technically, it is Saturday.

  “I don’t need words, Wren. Your smile is enough.”

  I never knew rage

  There were flits of anger

  Bouts of opposition

  Never this beast

  It is a comic-book villain

  Swelling, thrashing, tearing

  Out of my skin

  This coward who hurt her

  With fists and accusations

  Means to come again

  All the constant

  Turmoil in my brain quieted

  As silence spills

  Over and kills compulsions

  With its poison

  There is nothing but rage

  All-consuming flits and bouts

  Swelling and thrashing rage

  And with a protective vow

  I see she feels safe

  Though fear is what I fear most

  I want to be the hero of her story

  But am the coward of my own

  - Preston

  Chapter Eighteen

  Warpaint

  Late Sunday morning, I find Bennie still in her robe.

  “Let’s go to the lake again. I’ll see if Preston wants to go, too.”

  She gives me a sideways glance. “I don’t want to be the third wheel. You two go and have a good time.”

  I plop down next to Bennie and throw my arm around her shoulders. “You wouldn’t be a third wheel. Besides, how many times was I a third wheel on your dates with Joey Holaway?”

  “Sigh,” Bennies says wistfully. “Joey was the one that got away. I think he may have ruined me for other men.” She stares off into the distance.

  “Well, while you’re having this moment of self-discovery and blaming that poor boy for your single life, why don’t you call Laney and see if she wants to come along?” I watch her reaction carefully, anticipating another excuse or lie. She just shakes her head. “Come on, Ben. You need some sunshine and fresh air. Doctor’s orders.”

  “You’re a doctor now? Doctor of what?” Bennie marks her page and folds her book closed, waiting.

  “Doctor of Good Times. Now, get dressed.”

  She huffs but shuffles off to her room to change while I call Preston. He’s down to go and insists on driving us. As we climb into the truck, I buckle up and tuck myself into his side. Bennie sits on the passenger side and rolls down the window. Her oversize sunhat sits in her lap.

  Preston is in long shorts and a black beater. The feeling of his bare skin on mine sends my mind flying into thoughts of touching and tasting. On the drive, Preston and I discuss our favorite albums while Bennie keeps quiet. Until I mention the Black Crowes.

  “‘Walk Believer Walk’ changed my life,” Bennie says. “That song is so…”

  “Sexy,” Preston finishes.

  “Sexy as hell,” Bennie continues. “That man is one hell of a songwriter.”

  “But surely that’s not your favorite album by them,” I say. “Shake Your Money Maker was super impressive, especially as a debut album. I mean, ‘Hard to Handle’ defined them as artists.”

  Bennie nods excitedly. “I love ‘She Talks to Angels.’ It’s beautiful and dark. I always identified with that song.”

  Preston pulls into the park, and our music conversation is abandoned. There are plenty of people out and about today, but we find a nice spot on the far side of the lake. Bennie carries our blanket while Preston insists on toting the cooler and basket of food.

  “Do you guys mind the shade?” Bennie asks.

  “That’s good,” I answer. “I plan on going in the water today.”

  Preston makes a disgusted face and sets down our stuff. “That water?” He points toward the lake with a shaky finger.

  “Yes, that water. You’re not coming in?”

  Bennie spreads out the blanket beneath the branches of a huge tree and sits. She takes out her book and ignores us.

  “Hell, no. Too many unknowns.”

  “What do you mean? It’s just water. There are tons of people in the water, and none of them will die.”

  “That water could contain bacteria that can cause anything from vomiting to deadly infections. Cyanobacteria, E. coli, random pathogens, and pollution.”

  Preston gives me a sad look, and I realize that nothing will make him change his mind. This is not an option for him, and I understand that.

  “Just, no,” Preston says, shaking his head.

  “Okay. I’ll go alone.”

  I pull my shirt off and toss it onto the blanket before shimmying out of my shorts. I adjust my bikini, making sure everything is in place, and noti
ce Preston’s eyes following my hands. Moving slower and more deliberately, I skim my fingers over my tattoo and down to the edge of my bottoms. When I’m sure I have his undivided attention, I kick my shorts at him, covering his head. With that, I laugh and head to the water.

  It’s a warm summer day topped with blue skies and big fluffy clouds. The distant sounds of kids playing carries on the breeze as I step into the lake. The water is surprisingly cool and instantly brings childhood memories to the forefront of my mind. I walk out until I’m waist deep and dive under. When I surface, I let my arms and legs drift up and float on top of the water.

  I close my eyes as the sun warms my exposed skin. Behind my lids, Preston’s face appears. My lips curl into a smile. I think about what a complex and beautiful man he is. Broad shoulders, towering height, and every bit of muscle flaunts his masculinity. And on the flip side of that, his tics, his obsessive behaviors make him vulnerable in a way he hates and a way I adore. If only I could make him see himself through other people’s eyes. He would know that he is kind, sexy, hardworking, talented, smart, and so very pretty.

  Swirling my arms through the water, I propel myself in lazy circles. Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the lake to find Bennie and Preston in a heated conversation. His features are hard, his frown prominent as he says something to her. Bennie just shakes her head over and over while gesturing wildly with her hands. They both quiet down when I am close enough to hear.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, grabbing a towel from our bag.

  Preston gives me a forced smile while Bennie pretends to read. “Yeah, we’re good. I was just telling Bennie that she should take some time off.”

  I take a seat in the grass, determined to let the sun dry me. “Oh, you’ll never win that battle. I’ve been trying forever. You would think with the current situation, she’d listen.”

  Preston gives her a menacing look. “You would think.” He pulls a bottle of water from the cooler and passes it to me. “You hungry?”

  “Not yet.” There’s a beat of silence as a gust of wind blows over us. “So, no lake water, huh?”

  “No. There are too many variables.”

  I scoot closer to him. “What about girls who’ve been in lake water?”

  He smirks and runs his hand through his hair. “I’m on the fence.”

  Taking a swig of my water, I move right next to Preston. Our thighs are almost touching. I think he does his best not to lean away.

  “What can I do to persuade you?”

  “A hazmat decontamination shower?” he suggests.

  “Guess we’re both out of luck, then. I was really looking forward to persuading you to come over to my side of the fence.”

  “Would you two just screw and get it over with?” Bennie groans.

  I laugh while Preston looks mortified. Laying my towel out in the sun, I lie on my stomach and untie the strings to avoid tan lines. I can’t see through his sunglasses, but I can feel his eyes on every part of me. Preston pulls out his notebook and scribbles away.

  Later, the three of us eat a late lunch before heading back to Crowley. Bennie seems happy, letting her hand float out the window. She splays her fingers and closes them, letting the wind lift and lower her arm. I smile at her ability to enjoy simple things like that. I hope, when I’m her age, I still appreciate the little nuances that make life beautiful.

  When we arrive home, Bennie goes inside, leaving Preston and me in the hall.

  “About that decontamination shower?”

  “Yes?” Preston unlocks his door and swings it open.

  “I was thinking I could shower at your place.” He remains quiet and shows no reaction to what I’ve said. Suddenly I feel like I’m pushing too hard. “It’s okay. I’ll just—”

  “Wren,” Preston says, his voice strained. “Get in here.”

  I laugh and run inside, dropping my bag and kicking out of my flip-flops. Preston leans against the door, watching me. I pull my shirt off and drop it while walking backwards toward his bathroom. Next are my shorts. I leave them where they fall. Spinning away from him, I untie my top, peel it from my body, and fling it over my shoulder. Stepping into the bathroom, I slide my bottoms off and toss them into the hall.

  Wanting to know that my show was appreciated, I peek my head around the corner to find Preston still pressed against his front door, a tortured look on his face. The only thing is, I don’t know if it’s from my teasing or the mess I’ve left.

  “I won’t be long.”

  Despite my promise, I take my time in the shower. I smell all of Preston’s products before using them and make sure there is no lake-water funk anywhere on my body. When I’m done, I pull a towel from the rack, dry off, and wrap it around me. I crack the door open and look to the living room. It is now empty. My breadcrumb trail of clothes is gone, and so is Preston.

  “Preston?” I call out.

  “In here.”

  Turning toward his kitchen, I find him downing a large glass of water.

  “Where are my clothes?” I ask.

  “In my washing machine.” He finishes the water, rinses the glass, scrubs it with soap, rinses again, and sets it to dry on a wire rack.

  “You touched my lake clothes?”

  Preston shakes his head. His eyes dart to a pair of yellow rubber gloves turned inside out and hanging over a towel bar. I nod my understanding.

  “I don’t have any clean clothes here.”

  Preston lifts an eyebrow in my direction. He’s not stupid. He knows I mean to seduce him. At least he appreciates the effort.

  “I’ll get you something.”

  I follow him into his bedroom where he pulls out a plain white T-shirt and a pair of boxers. I pull the T-shirt on and let the towel fall. His shirt hits me at mid-thigh, so it covers me like a dress would.

  “Fuck, Wren.”

  “What?” I ask, turning to look at myself in his full-length mirror.

  Preston steps behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “You look so good in my clothes.”

  We watch ourselves in his mirror as one hand slides up to cup my left breast and his other trails lower. My body instantly reacts to his touch, a breathy moan escaping when his lips press to my neck. Fourteen times those lips meet my heated flesh. Preston’s fingers slide between my legs, and I feel dizzy from the contact. My knees are weak, my thighs tremble with the effort to stay upright. But I don’t have to fight it for long.

  He guides me to his bed and sits me down on the edge. I lean back on my elbows and look up at his solemn face.

  “How long are we going to play this game, Preston? How long do you think you can deny me?”

  Preston drops to his knees, his hands resting on my thighs. “I’m not denying you, Wren. I’m denying myself.”

  His fingers curl around my thighs and slide up, pushing the thin T-shirt out of his way. Preston’s hands slide around to my back and pull me forward, so that I’m almost hanging off the bed. The hungry look in his eyes tells me that when this is over, I won’t feel denied.

  I drop onto my back and hum when I feel his stubble brush the inside of my knee. Preston places a kiss there before trailing farther up my thigh. A few more teasing kisses, and I am a writhing mess.

  “Please, Preston.” My voice is barely a whisper, but the desperate tone is obvious. He switches to my other thigh, and I cry out in frustration. “Please.”

  “I want to hear it, Wren.” His breath fans over where I want him most, hot and warm against my sex. “You have no problems voicing what you want. Why now?”

  His hands slide down each leg and bring my feet up to rest on his shoulders. I squirm beneath his gaze and feel like I’m going to implode if he doesn’t touch me where I need him to. My hips rock up off the bed, and I see him shake his head.

  “I want your mouth on me,” I plead. “Please.”

  Satisfied, Preston lowers his mouth to my flesh, and I exhale in relief. The combination of his lips and tongue, his hot breath and nipping
teeth, have me spiraling out of control. I try to move against him, but he drapes an arm across my body and holds me in place. My moaning is out of control, and I feel like an overdramatic porn star, but I can’t help it. Every flick of his tongue, every brush of his beard between my thighs sends me higher and higher.

  Blood whooshes through my ears, muffling the sounds in the room. My heart beats wildly, and the familiar tingling sensation starts in my fingers and toes. I am breathless and tense, my whole body blazing with a building fire. When he slides two fingers inside me, I am done. I cry out his name over and over, until I have to push his mouth away from my oversensitive body.

  “That was,” I breathe. I shake my head, unable to define the best orgasm of my life.

  “Beautiful,” he says. “I love watching you fall apart.”

  I sit up, dropping my feet to the floor and pulling on his shoulders. “I love that you’re the one to make me fall apart. I have to say, I’m really surprised at how good you are at that.”

  Preston frowns and cocks his head to the side.

  “Not that you’d be bad at it. I just mean, well, I didn’t even know that was on the table, or if you’d ever done that before. Because of, you know…”

  “My OCD? You can say it. It’s not a bad word.”

  “I know that. I just don’t want to say the wrong thing. But look, I’ve already screwed up this fantastic orgasmic moment. I don’t care how you learned your technique. It was amazing.”

  He smiles, showing off my favorite tiny creases in the corner of his eyes.

  “I’m a guy. I watch a lot of porn.”

  I laugh. “Of course you do. But porn rarely gets it right.”

  “Well, I only study the greats,” he teases. “We’ll call it research.”

  My lips meet Preston’s, and there is no hesitance there. I taste myself on his tongue, and it only makes me want him more. My hands find the edge of his shirt and lift it up, only breaking our kiss to remove it completely. Preston leans forward more, and I trap him between my knees.

  “I need to touch you,” I say against his lips. “Let me touch you.”

  He hesitates, but then nods his approval as my fingers push against the waist of his shorts. I move them down as far as I can reach and finish the job with my feet. His erection is hard and thick between us. I pause for a moment to take in all of Preston. He is so…pretty.