by Morrison, KT
He swam around the swimming dock and made his way to shore, watching the two heads. Despite his recent victory, his heart started to pound and his brow lowered again. If this was Colt and Taylor wading near shore what would he think? Could it have been them in the boathouse?
All the happiness began to chill from him. But as his feet touched the sandy shore, and he stood, waist deep in the water, he saw it wasn’t Colt and Taylor. He sighed, and it made the girl flinch and gasp.
She hissed, “Who’s that?”
“It’s me, Cookie,” he said, recognizing her voice.
Jamie’s voice: “Were you swimming?”
“Yeah, I was.”
“You scared the shit out of me,” Cookie said.
“Sorry,” he laughed now. “Your fault for creeping around the shore like that, trying to spy on me while I’m swimming.”
They ignored him now, came together and embraced. He let them be, came up onto the sand and let the water run off him. He didn’t have a towel, his was back up at the house, folded neatly near the barbecues. Squeezing the wet out of his shorts as he went, he trotted the steps up to the back of the house.
He had to find Taylor.
As he came level with the fire he examined the faces of the people gathered there. He didn’t see any of the football guys. Saw Roxie, Mikey, Cisco, April was there, too. Care Bear stood nearby, talking to Pontoon. Someone else was wandering just out of the fire’s light, but by the muscular legs he thought it must be KC. No Taylor.
He grabbed up his towel, snapped it out and put it around his shoulders. Where the hell did Taylor get to?
He looked up at the house, up at the windows on the second floor, but he was too close to see in them. He dried off his legs and feet, went in through the basement doors, and up the stairs to the main floor.
Shelby was in the kitchen, flittering around in her bikini and flannel shirt. It wasn’t Shelby in the boathouse. The weight of concern came back to him.
Could he be wrong?—had he picked the right toe? Now he tried to consider his view from underneath the feet again. In his mind’s eye, he pictured them above his head, the ghostly green making them black shapes. Of course he got the right foot. He was facing the same direction as them. But she had one foot crossed over the other, right? No, he could see the feet. He picked the right foot, he picked the right toe. There was no toe ring. End of story. It wasn’t Taylor, okay?
“What the heck are you doing?”
Shelby addressing him now, coolie cup in her hand with a beer bottle plugged in it. He said, “What do you mean?”
“Standing there staring at me like a dummy. You hit your head or something?”
“No, sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Yeah, Taylor says you do that, like, once a year or so.” She nudged him with her elbow and smiled amiably as she passed by.
He turned and watched her as she trotted down the steps to the basement, listened as the French doors opened and closed. It wasn’t Shelby. She was dry. So who was it? Some guy from another house? Some girl from another house? It was just weird coincidence that they both looked like Colt and Taylor. Get over it. She wouldn’t do that to you.
He shrugged it off, but it wouldn’t leave him completely.
He made his way to the stairway to the second floor, a growing look of concern on his face. Male voices upstairs had him looking up now. Coming down the staircase were Rick-Joe and Colt. Colt had no shirt on, just his shorts. His muscles bounced and jumped as he came down the steps.
Harrison was sullen, and he gave them wide berth. The staircase had lots of room but he pushed himself to the far right wall so they could come down on the left. As they trotted past Colt suddenly burst out in explosive barking right in his face and shook his head like a pit bull. It was brief, but loud and tense. It had him jumping right back, and he banged his shoulder on the wall almost knocking down a hanging picture frame.
His left hand jolted up to brace it as it swung pendulously. A collage of the Taylor girls at the lake house when they were kids, back when Mr. Brooks was around—the prime photo was skinny teen Taylor on waterskis, ripping through a slalom almost sideways to the water.
Colt laughed, Rick-Joe, too. No words were exchanged, just a good-natured little humiliation between muscular guys and skinny guys. He was used to it.
He leaned on the wall with his heart pounding, watching Rick-Joe and Colt resume their conversation like nothing happened, Colt’s round shoulder muscles (much like the ones silhouetted in the boathouse) flexing.
Hey—then it wasn’t Colt in the boathouse, dummy.
That was right. It wasn’t Colt in the boathouse. It wasn’t Shelby. It was some people he didn’t even know.
He slumped against the wall under Taylor’s photo, put his hand over his heart, his fingertips caressing just above his sternum. It was racing, and he was sure that he was in some sort of coronary trouble right now. But it was good news—it was pounding with relief.
He thought about it more. It wasn’t Shelby or Colt—but where was Taylor?
Now his chin lifted, and he looked up the remaining few steps to the second floor. Well, she had to be upstairs. But then what was Colt doing up here? And Rick-Joe? Had he been out watching two people he didn’t even know making out in the boathouse meanwhile his sweaty girlfriend was getting double teamed in her bedroom?
His grimace returned again, this was an up and down fucking roller coaster. He set his mouth firmly and trudged up the remaining steps, turned left and paused at the door to Taylor’s room. Would he find her in here? Would he open the door and see her squeezing her tummy and making all the semen flow out of her slit like he’d seen her do this morning when it was just him and her and the moment had seemed so tender? That thought almost buckled him. His knees went to gravy, and he rested his palms on the door and slowly his forehead came to touch.
The door’s lever was cold and hard against his soft grip and he gave a silent prayer. Please don’t be in here. Please don’t let any of this be true. I’d do anything for this night to end.
He turned the lever and pushed the door. The room was dark. His hand moved slowly along the wall looking for the switch, his eyes set at the right angle to see the bed, waiting for the lights to switch on and see her spreadeagled, pussy gored open after two guys fucked her real good.
That skinny dweeb doesn’t ‘fuck’ her.
Click, the lights come on. Bed empty, room empty. She wasn’t here.
No, of course not, she’s not stupid, Harrison, she fucked those two guys in their room.
“Jesus Christ,” he sighed and thumped the sides of his head with his fists, trying to pummel those thoughts out of his system. She wouldn’t do that.
Now he was moving swiftly, legs dancing over discarded clothes left strewn across the floor by Kelsey Kay, Taylor, and Brady. Found his neatly packed bag, opened it, tugged out dry shorts. He stripped naked, whisked a towel over himself, pulled the dry shorts on and a new T-shirt. Shoot, he left his other T-shirt on the beach. He’d have to remember to pick that up.
Everybody was at the fire, Colt and Rick-Joe just went downstairs—these bedrooms should all be empty.
He went down the hall, lightly rapping on each door and pushing it open. Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty. When he was done, he leaned his back against the hall wall, let his head come back to touch. He had to stop this. His hand wandered down between his legs and found himself still aroused. Not rock hard like when he’d watched that girl make out with that guy in the boathouse thinking it was his girlfriend. But even thundering through these halls like a madman (yet still politely knocking and gently opening doors), the whole fear that enveloped him produced the strangest arousal.
Okay. New mission. Just find her. She didn’t do anything. Find her and stay with her now.
He readied himself with a deep inhale, bounced off the wall and trotted down the steps. Then he was through the basement, coming out the French doors. He walked toward the fire but saw that
she wasn’t there. He looked down the slope and could see more people standing down at the beach, some wading in the water. He used the stairs to get to the beach, walking now, cool and casual, hands in his pockets. Roxie was one of the dark figures, and she said, “Hey, there he is.”
“Hey,” he said. “Anybody see Taylor?”
Her voice: “I’m here.”
He squinted and watched the bodies in the water. It was Roxie and April on shore, Cookie and Jamie in the water still. Shelby was standing in the lake, the water up to the hem of her flannel, beer in hand.
“Where were you?” he said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I was here the whole time.”
“No, you weren’t. I just came through here. I was out swimming.”
Roxie said, “We were swimming, too. We must’ve missed you.”
There it was again. A strong grip getting a hold of his heart, pinching it with thumb and forefinger—and not just pinching, twisting, too. Squeezing and turning. That sounded like bullshit. Roxie had been by the fire earlier.
Taylor said, “Come in. Come in with me, Harrison.”
Lamenting that he changed to dry shorts now, he moved to take off his T-shirt and walked along the beach a little, seeing the dark shape of his other shirt in the sand and then picking it up. He put his two shirts together on the grassy edge where the beach met the slope. Then he came to the water and walked in.
“I’m over here,” she said, then waded toward him. He took her in his arms and held her and she hugged him back. He kissed her neck, his nose working overtime trying to detect the smell of another guy. He had to stop this. It wasn’t her. She didn’t have a toe ring. Colt was in the house. Get over it.
“Okay,” he said now, and he bear-hugged her hard, feeling her thin body in his clutch. He hoisted her off her feet.
She mumbled in his ear, breath squirting between her teeth because he squeezed her too hard. When he set her down, her hand went down his body and gripped his dick right through his shorts. She said “You only think of one thing?”
He’d forgotten he was hard. Not fully, but enough she noticed it pressing into her. He said, “I missed you.”
She laughed, circling her arms around his neck. She said, “I missed you, too. Where were you?”
“I was looking for you.”
“I was looking for you, too.”
“You want to hang out for a bit?”
“I’d love to,” she said, “You want to come up and sit by the fire?”
“Swim with me for a bit then we’ll go up. Mikey’s putting on a real show tonight.”
“We could hear him down here.”
“Did you miss American Pie?”
“I heard it.”
And even though he knew to let it drop, a little goblin jumped up and shot a dart into his brain. Ask her if she heard the interlude. Ask her if she heard Ice Cube. If she doesn’t know what you’re talking about, she’s lyyyiiing ...
He shook it off and ran his hands up and down her waist. They circled around now and grabbed her butt cheeks. Maybe he did like this stringy little thing she wore. He got some benefit, too. Sure there were a lot of Top Dogs around here looking at her goods, but those were Harrison’s goods. Maybe they thought more of him since he could bag such a smoke-show, as they might call her. Of course, then would they bark in his face when he was walking up the stairs obviously looking a little sad?
He put his mouth on hers and they kissed. Cookie and Jamie did as well, and Roxie made a cooing sound. Mikey played his guitar by the fire and it was wonderful accompaniment.
39
After they made out for a while, they decided to go back up to the fire to get warm. Roxie and Shelby had departed, getting bored standing with two couples making out, and Cookie and Jamie stayed in the water and kissed but left eventually, too.
He’d humped his erection into her stomach while they kissed and she played with it overtop of his shorts, but she never made the move to go any further. He took her by the hand and they made their way to the beach. They lingered there for a little bit, not really saying much, both of them knowing they waited for his erection to go down enough they could rejoin their friends by the fire. He shifted from foot to foot and she hugged her arms like she was cold. She said, “Hurry up.”
“It’ll go down. Give me a minute.”
“I’m freezing,” she whispered.
“We could take care of this,” he said and gestured to the tent in his pants.
“Not here,” she said, “everyone’s like right there. Someone could come down ...”
Making the request of her made him feel selfish now. His erection needed tending to, and he wanted her to use her mouth or her hand or something, maybe duck into the bushes and have sex real quick. His needs. His needs again, and just this morning she relied on him to take her virginity and he couldn’t last more than ten strokes before he was gushing inside her.
That kid doesn’t ‘fuck’ her.
“Nah, let’s save it for later,” he said. “I’m going to make it up to you, okay ...”
“Wh-what?”
“For earlier ...”
“O-oh ...”
“I’m going to take care of you, Taylor.”
A flash of white as she smiled for him. “I’m g-going to ho-hold you to that, buddy.”
“You’ll see,” he said and held her, hips shot back so his erection wouldn’t touch her and prolong the wait. She shook in his arms.
“God, I think I was warmer in the w-water,” she said and her knees were literally knocking.
“How long were you out there?”
“I d-don’t know ...”
“You went swimming by yourself?”
He could see the whites of her eyes in the dim as she studied his face. Her jaw trembled and her breath came shaky. “Y-yeah,” she said.
“Didn’t Roxie go with you?”
“N-no,” she stammered. Her knees dipped, and she stepped out of his hug and looked between his legs. “Can w-we just go up to the f-fire, puh-please?”
“Okay, okay, let’s go,” he said and gave his package a feel. He was good. It wasn’t pointing up right now. Just downward. But it was plump. Boy, was it plump. They would go sit by the fire, get warm and dry. Maybe Taylor could have another little drinkie-poo or whatever it was she was up to. Then in a while they would slip away from the party, head up to the bedroom and have more bare penis in bare vagina sex again, and he would fulfill his promise to her.
Mikey still strummed as they joined the circle around the fire. Riley was there, and she looked around her, snatched up a towel and tossed it to him so he could warm Taylor who was the most naked person here. She put it around her shoulders and picked a rock to sit close to the flickering flames. Harrison found a towel as well, taking one from Roxie, and it smelled like Roxie’s perfume. He cowled it around his shoulders as Mikey picked at the fret board without singing. Shelby passed Taylor a Solo cup, and she held it in her lap under the protection of her towel.
They sat together by the fire, sitting sideways and facing the flames. He watched his friend’s faces, listened to Mikey’s fingers zip and stroke the strings, and gradually began to feel a little sleepy.
Swimming out to that island was no joke when your heart was racing like his was. Then all he’d witnessed provoked an acme of adrenaline through his system. Then he swam the whole way around the island, out in the deeper water. Then his CNS got another workout as he darted around the house on the verge of tears looking for his girlfriend. Now it was all over, and his eyelids felt heavy. He’d never liked the sound of Mikey’s guitar more than right now. They were all together. Good friends. Best friends, some of them. Brothers and sisters and a whole host of childhood memories.
He leaned forward against Taylor and she met him, letting her wet head rest on his shoulder. He opened the shroud of his towel like a vampire’s cape, hooked his arm around her front so they could cuddle together under one towel. His o
ther hand rested on her thin knee. Down her legs he saw her bare feet pressed together.
He started. “Where’s your toe ring?”
“What?” she said.
Like barbarian fists beating at the gate, his heart railed against his ribs; his eyes lost focus, his vision went cloudy. He said, “Where’s your toe ring? Your toe ring, Taylor ...?”
She extended her legs out now and flexed her feet. “Oh no. Oh no, my toe ring ... I lost my toe ring …”
He’d spent a week with her in Martha’s Vineyard during August of 2015. It had been family vacation time, but rapidly maturing Riley and KC had way more important things to do, but Taylor couldn’t get out of it. She wanted Harrison to come along and her parents agreed. Taylor had been a surly brat with her parents during that trip, sometimes embarrassingly petulant and disagreeable. The relationship was strained between Trish and Mr. Brooks, even Harrison could see it—some of the meals were virtually silent. Retrospectively, he wondered if the trip had been an attempt to save their attenuating marriage, and then felt guilty that he and especially Taylor hadn’t been more congenial. On a grim, sunless day, browsing shops on the beachfront, Mr. Brooks bought her a ring she swooned over. Harrison wanted to be the one who bought the toe ring for his friend once she ogled it, but it was ninety bucks and he just didn’t have it—and they weren’t even dating then, though he ached for her secretly. Mr. Brooks overheard her desire for the pretty piece of gold, swooped in and bought it for her eagerly and was the lucky guy that day who got to put a smile on pretty Taylor’s face. She Thank you, Daddy’d him all afternoon. The price was well worth it for Mr. Brooks, and it afforded him a cheerier day, at least for a few hours.
Harrison let her out of his towel now and scooted back so he could look at her. She was upset that she’d lost her toe ring. Poor girl. She had no idea what this meant to him. She was killing him without that toe ring. Panic rising in his voice, he said, “Taylor, where’s your toe ring?