by Lena Maye
“Why not? Where are we going?” I set the orchid carefully on the dash as we pull away. The petals are already wilting from the heat of my palms.
Kepler rests one hand on the steering wheel. “Ryan’s party.”
“You’re taking me to a fucking party?” I turn on him.
“A bonfire,” he says. As if that explains everything. “I’ve got to deliver an ounce. Then I can take you wherever you want to go.”
My mouth drops open. “Are you selling?”
“Of course not.” Dark shadows fill the car as we leave Rock Falls and turn onto a dirt road leading to higher elevations. We bump up a steep incline. One the Porsche probably couldn’t have handled. “It’s a thank-you.”
“A thank-you for what?”
“For taking care of my greenhouse while I was gone. And for…” At the top of the incline, Kepler puts the Jeep in 4WD before taking another—even smaller—road. An orange swell of light filters between the trees. We circle it, bouncing so hard I reach out to make sure the orchid doesn’t fall off the dash. Kepler pulls the Jeep behind a larger boulder and parks.
I stay in my seat after he turns off the ignition. “What were you going to say?”
He sighs. It’s deep and tense and has my radar on high alert. I take the orchid and wait for him to speak.
“For looking in on you, Lo. For going to the fundraiser and making sure you were okay. It wasn’t just Sloane who called me that night.”
“Are you kidding me? You got a sitter for your weed and for me?” I shove the door open. “You don’t need to check up on me.”
“Don’t I? It turns out you needed someone to help you.” The Jeep is too tall to see him, but his door slams shut. The sound echoes against trees and rock. Far off are shouts and laughter.
He crosses to me, trapping me between the Jeep and the boulder. “I didn’t think of it as checking up on you. You seemed to like him, and he was happy to go. Actually, he was eager to go. Maybe I should be worried about that too.”
“Who?” The orchid’s petals tremble in my hand. “Who did you pay to babysit me?”
“Don’t get mad at him.”
“I’ll get mad at whoever I want. But don’t worry, you’re at the top of the fucking list right now. Tell me who.”
“Sebastian.”
My mouth drops open. I feel… betrayed. I turn away so Kepler can’t see the heat crawling up my neck and cheeks.
I was so stupid. I thought Sebastian was my first actual male friend. After Kepler, of course. But he was being paid—in weed—to be nice.
Kepler’s hand smooths down my arm. “I shouldn’t be the one at the top of your shit list. That asshat on the golf course should be.”
“Kepler…” I pull myself together with a breath and a wipe of my eyes.
“I can’t believe you aren’t going to do something about that guy.”
I straighten and turn back to him, tucking the orchid behind my ear. “Kepler—”
“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.” He studies me, his jaw sharpening as his eyes drip into an icy gray.
“Probably not,” I say. Even though I’ve got no clue if that’s what I really believe.
“Fine. I’m going to drop this ounce, then I’ll bring you home. Why don’t you stay here?”
“Are you kidding? I’m not going to sit in the Jeep like a piece of luggage.” I slide around him, scraping my arm against the boulder, and head towards the glow.
The swish of Kepler’s jeans follows me. “Do you even know how hard it is to keep up with you?”
“Try walking faster.” I dart between the trees, not bothering to slow down so he can catch up. The heat of the fire licks towards me as I step into the clearing. Beer cans and smoke and couples slipping into the shadows. I head past the blaze and straight to the beer.
Kepler gets caught up talking to a girl with her blond hair in braids.
Fine. Whatever. Maybe that will make it easier later when I tell him.
I snag a can of Coors Light out of a cooler and drink half. By the time I take the last drink, my heart beats at a more normal pace. Kepler and the girl have disappeared. I don’t fucking know where. One of the shadows? I grind my teeth before tossing the empty can into the fire and grabbing a second beer.
“Hey.” A tap on my shoulder makes me jump. I turn towards Sebastian’s easy smile. Shadows flicker across his face, disguising full lips and the slight cleft in his chin.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you getting paid to speak with me right now?”
The smile disappears. “It wasn’t like that. At all. I asked Kepler for a favor at the same time he asked me.”
I eye him. “Did he send you over to check in on me? How else would you know immediately what I was talking about?”
“He told me what you said, and I came over here to sort it out with you.” He tries out another smile. “Are you ever not mad at him?”
“No.” I let my shoulders release. They always do around Sebastian. He’s like I imagine his Maine home to be—serene, with the steady lap of water and rows of silent boats. “He likes it.”
“Yeah, I know. But the rest of us need a break every so often.” He laughs before finishing his beer. “Seriously, going to the fundraiser wasn’t that big of a deal. Besides, I, um, I’m glad I went. How’s your sister?”
“Oh, God, no. You aren’t going to infiltrate every area of my life, are you?” I punch him on the shoulder, and my hand might actually reverberate from the contact. Holy solid.
“Wait—aren’t you seeing someone?” I ask. “You brought a date to Cassie’s fundraiser.”
He shrugs. “That didn’t work out.”
My hands settle on my hips. “Why not?”
His forehead lines, and I swear that little cleft gets deeper. “I never really felt like she was herself around me. She was always pretending to be someone else. Your sister doesn’t seem like that.”
Is he actually blushing? Or is that the light from the bonfire?
“Sloane’s never seeing anyone,” I say. Then my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Is that because of what happened? I stare down at my beer like it has an answer. There’s so much about Sloane I’ve never questioned. She seems so sure of herself. Maybe we’re all less sure than we seem.
“I’ll give her your number,” I offer. “But if she doesn’t call, you’re on your own.”
“Deal.” Sebastian grins and rakes a hand through his thick hair—sticking it up slightly. He’s impossibly cute. Not dead-fucking-sexy like Kepler—but still attractive. Sloane might like him.
He knocks his can against mine, and I laugh as he tells me stories about fixing up an old sailboat with his brother—about how him and Dean were always playing these tricks to get each other to fall into the water. And how he spent last semester rock climbing all over Canada. Somehow that switches to a debate on the differences between US and German gun control, which snakes around to my markswoman sister. I don’t mind because it gives me a chance to brag about her. Someone else seeing the beauty in her makes my chest expand and my head feel lighter. Two more cans of beer might have the same effect.
We inch closer to the fire to keep warm, and I’m kimchi-soup deep in Sebastian’s questions about Sloane—does she like boats? reading? cheese? what kind of cheese?—when I glance up to find Kepler standing a few feet away. From the way he’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, I’d guess he’s been there for some time.
He crosses towards me, and my body damn near raises the temperature of the forest ten degrees.
He nods at Sebastian, but his eyes fix on me. “Enjoying yourself?”
I shake my head. “Never. Absolutely not. No.” And then I smile.
Kepler hitches a sexy eyebrow at me. The faint scent of his weed lingers around him. He captures my hand and tugs me towards him. “Are you over being mad at me?”
“For the next five minutes.” I stare up at him, the fire cutting light and shadows across his face. His
gray eyes are dark. And already fucking smoldering. It’s all I can do not to press up to my toes and see if I can make that smolder turn into a full-on flame.
“Then I’ll make the most of it.” He kisses me—simply. Not the deep kiss I expect, and he’s gone too soon. Maybe because Sebastian is still standing there.
“I was never that angry. I just like to…”
“I know, Lo. So do I.” His fingers comb through my hair, his thumb brushing along my bottom lip.
“Enough groping.” A sharp voice—close to my ear. I about jump out of my skin and turn to see Mackie next to Sebastian. Of all fucking people. He glares at where my fingers are tucked in the waistband of Kepler’s jeans and then looks towards the fire.
“Where is she?” he bites out.
I glower at the side of his face. “She’s at home.”
“By herself?”
I clench harder on the rough fabric of Kepler’s jeans. “Of course by herself.”
“She lied to me,” Mackie mumbles.
Kepler gives Mackie a hard look. “And I’m sure you told her everything.”
I glance between them, trying to discern exactly what Kepler is talking about. More Mackie secrets.
“I didn’t lie.” Mackie toes a pile of pine needles.
“Give Cassie a chance, man.” Kepler tucks me against him. “She’s a good person.”
Mackie stares at the bonfire and takes a gulp of whatever’s in his cup.
Kepler leans closer to my ear. “I’ve already told him that a hundred times. But he’s intent on making the wrong decision.” His face is so close to mine, and I can’t help it—I kiss the edge of his jaw. The no-longer-smoothed-back hair brushes my cheek. He lets out a low growl that makes every part of me vibrate.
“Fuck you, man. It’s my decision.” Mackie tosses his cup into the fire.
“Even if it’s the wrong one?” Kepler’s kisses skim down my neck before his eyes find mine. My stomach twists. We’re going to leave, and then there’ll be no more excuses.
I have to tell him.
“I’m going to take my girlfriend for a walk,” Kepler says over my head, his arms tightening around me and sending shivers into my toes. “While you sit here and drink beer and smoke and make your own decisions.”
Twenty-Four
“Where are we going?” I ask as soon as we’re away from the bonfire.
“Do you always have to ask that question?” Kepler grabs my hand, leading me from the warmth and mess of voices.
I try to hide my smile. “If you told me, I wouldn’t have to ask.”
Soon it’s only pine trees, Kepler, and the ghost of our white breath that surrounds me. We walk along an old wooden fence until we come to the crest of the hill. The trees open up to a small field, long grass waving in the slight breeze. A grove of aspen trees stretches below us, glinting milky white and silver in the moonlight, their slender arms bare of leaves this late in the season.
“Come on.” He hops the fence easily with his long legs. He extends a hand, but I ignore it and climb over, stumbling into the cold grass.
He chuckles as I right myself and shoot him an evil glare. There. I’ve proven I don’t need him. So I let him take my hand as we step between the aspens. White trunks shoot up to the stars. I take a breath of sharp air. We’re so far away from Rock Falls. Far from golf courses and whiskey bottles that swing like pendulums.
He slips out a joint and his lighter, stopping to take a drag. The moon picks up the soft cloud of smoke he exhales.
I take the joint from him and touch it to my lips. He arcs an eyebrow as I reach for the lighter, but he hands it to me. The flame catches, heating my face before I suck in a small drag. It doesn’t taste like weed. It tastes sweet and smooth, like a drop of honey on my tongue.
“You don’t smoke.” His voice is soft, as if cushioned by the trees.
“You’re right.” I take another drag. “I don’t.”
I giggle. It isn’t weed causing the giggle, it’s something else—feeling like a child again. “I remember when Cassie and I snuck out into that circle of bushes in ninth grade during lunch. It was the first time we tried smoking. We were pissed because we thought it would be so much cooler than it was.”
“I remember.” He steps forward and grabs the bottom hem of my sweater, tugging me towards him. “I was there.” Cold fingers brush my stomach, and I let out a hiss of surprise.
I try to ignore his touch and sort through the long-forgotten memory. “You were not there.”
“It was my green.”
“Really? You were there?” I take another drag, and the smoke curls up to the stars. The constellations are easy to find. The real stars. Not plastic star stickers with a sickly-green glow.
I inhale again and try to hold it, but I laugh the smoke out. Are my hands disconnected from my body? Weird. I hand him the joint. “That’s enough for me.”
“Lightweight?” His fingers smooth up my ribcage, and he pulls me against him.
“Totally.”
I giggle again. Fucking weed. “Why does it smell different? It never smells like that other stuff at parties.”
“I lace it. Cinnamon, clove, orange peel.” He pauses. “And it’s better quality. Which is why people are always bothering me for it.”
“Bothering you for it,” I repeat as his thumb rolls over the slick fabric of my bra, immediately hardening my nipple, pushing away the questions I’d wanted to ask him about his mother and if she apologized for her reaction about MIT. Probably a bad time to ask about his parents.
His thumb pulls at the strap of my bra. My knees might buckle a little, but he clasps me against him. And of course, I giggle.
“There’s something sweet about you when you’re high.” He kisses my shoulder, his hair brushing against my neck. He leans back to take a drag and blows the smoke above me before tucking the rest of the joint away.
“What’s it like for you?” I ask.
He glances towards the fence and the path. “I don’t know. It’s the way it always is. It calms me, I guess. My mind won’t shut up otherwise.”
When he looks back, those gray eyes darken. “There’s only one other thing which does that for me.”
His hand circles my waist, and he lifts me up to his height, my legs wrapping around his hips. His kiss is so familiar now, but I still lose myself to his tongue demanding entry past my lips. I open up to him, angling up so he can kiss me deeper. Just like I did the first time. Just like I do every time.
He slowly presses my back against the trunk of an aspen. His hands slide over my hips and under my ass, down to the bottom hem of my skirt and against the knot of tension between my legs. I let out one of those embarrassing little whimpers.
Kepler shifts back a fraction of an inch. Not enough so I fall. “You’re not wearing anything under your skirt.”
I grin up at him, silently begging for him to touch me again. I’m so wet. Like ridiculously, stupidly wet. “Nope.”
“All evening?” His fingers slide into me—thank God.
“All evening.” I attempt to drop my voice into a sexy timbre, but it comes out more like a whine instead of the sultry thing I was going for.
“It’s probably good I didn’t know.” Somehow his voice is low and almost simmering. “I would have been touching you every chance I got.”
“That’s what I was hoping for.” My hips grind against his hand, and he hums a low growl that practically vibrates the forest. The rough bark digs into my back and snags at my sweater. I grip his shoulders, but he shrugs me off, and I’m dangling. Holding onto nothing, trusting my weight to him.
His fingers still, his gaze catching mine before it lingers on my chest and slides down to my legs spread around his hips. And then I’m suddenly lifted. Up. Way fucking up. I shriek and grab for the branches, tottering before my back hits the tree again, a whoosh of air leaving my lungs.
I swallow, trying to regain my sense of equilibrium, and reach for the chalky tree branc
h to my right. I glare down at him.
“What the fuck?” I’m balanced above him with my thighs over his shoulders. His hands still grip my waist, but it would only take one little pitch forward for us both to fall. “What are you—”
His tongue flicks against my clit, and holy fuck, the world shifts. I arch back, trying to remember to grip onto the branch, and the stars blur. Another quick flick, and my mouth falls open. I don’t know what comes out—a string of swear words? A plea for him to continue? The words must make some sort of sense because he responds—his tongue sliding over me again before he gently pulls my clit into his mouth. And I’m a swirling, aching, jumble of need. Something so far beyond want that I can’t even see the lines anymore.
I grip onto the branch, teetering. I could fall at any moment, but somehow that only makes the need burn hotter. His mouth is warm and soft. The air around us so cold. I moan his name, my calves pressing into his back. I try to pull him closer to me, and we shift away from the tree. Weightless for a moment before my back hits again. His gentle pulls deepen, and he takes me up, up, up. Until I can’t rise any higher. His low growl vibrates, and I let go—hard and breathless and trusting. My arms and legs constrict so ferociously that I lose grip on the branch, but Kepler’s already holding my weight, sliding me down until I’m cradled between him and the tree.
“Kep—” I latch onto him, the need burning like a flame that won’t go out. His zipper and the crinkle of foil are my only warning before he presses slowly into me. So deep I’m not sure either of us will reach the surface again. I am filled with him—not just the hard length of him, but his spicy scent and his low growls and the feel that there’s nothing that exists except for this moment of time. Wild and feral. Like we belong between the trees and under the stars.
The rough bark digs into my shoulder blades as he fills me, his movements strong and steady. My hands smooth up his shifting biceps, taut with my weight. He builds me slowly at first and steadily faster—just like I need. And I know he’s listening to the soft sounds falling from my lips. Until he halts, halfway inside of me. I try to grind down, but he holds me up—my aching need burning hotter and hotter.