by Megan Hart
“There’s one for the fridge.” It was what she’d always said about something she meant to keep.
“Send it to me,” Mick said.
Alice paused. “I don’t have your number.”
“I’ll give it to you.”
“Mick, Alice, we’re ready to go again,” Paul called out. “Get over here!”
Taking his time, Mick recited his number to Alice so she could put it in her contacts. A moment later, his phone buzzed with an incoming text including the picture. “Gotcha.”
“Do you?” Alice said with a lift of her brow and a toss of her head that set her dangling plastic mustache swinging.
Later, after the last of the wine had finally been drunk and the games disintegrated into laughter, when the kitchen mess had been tidied enough to make room for the breakfast cooking Bernie would be doing in a few hours, when everyone else had made their good-nights and headed for bed . . . when the house was quiet and still, Mick found her.
She was in the swing, as he knew she’d be. Big enough for two, hung from the branches of an enormous tree near the bottom of the yard and overlooking the chuckling stream that wound through Bernie and Cookie’s property. Down past the garden, it was a favorite spot, much coveted and fought over by everyone who came to stay. Tonight, it was all theirs.
“Hi.” He handed her a bottle of water and settled next to her without asking permission.
Alice moved over enough to give him space, but not so much that they weren’t still touching hip to hip. Her shoulder brushed his as she cracked the top off the bottle and took a long drink. “Thanks.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Every so often Mick pushed at the ground to get the swing gently rocking. The creek burbled and splashed, and somewhere, not so far away, an owl hooted softly. The wind sighed through the trees, bringing him the scent of her perfume.
“It’s good to see you,” she said finally.
Mick put an arm along the back of the swing to settle on her shoulders. “I wasn’t sure you’d think that.”
“Me neither, to be honest. Not until I did see you, and I realized it was going to be okay.”
He turned a little toward her. “More than okay, I hope.”
Alice said nothing. She didn’t move away from him, but she didn’t move closer, either. Her fingers toyed with the plastic bottle, tapping the sides.
His fingers brushed the back of her neck, beneath her hair.
She shivered.
Her lips parted, though if she actually spoke she did it so softly that the night breeze and rushing water ate her words. Mick let his finger trace a circle on her skin. Then a heart. When her back arched a little and she shifted, he stopped to let his hand gently cup the back of her neck.
“Mick . . .”
“I want to kiss you, Alice. Again.”
She twisted to look at him. Her eyes glinted in a shaft of moonlight. “So kiss me, then.”
Alice to Mick
Our first public kiss was an accident. During one of Bernie and Cookie’s games, you and I were partners in some convoluted game of charades. Our word was love. I mimed a bride walking down the aisle; you drew hearts in the air with your fingers. But nobody could guess what we were trying to show, not until you took me in your arms and dipped me. You kissed me in an exaggerated, silent-movie kind of way, lots of wiggling around but no tongue. Somehow along the way, my arms went around you and I opened for you. Somehow, that kiss became real, right there in front of our friends, who were all screaming out guesses and none of them were right.
We lost the round, but I always thought we won.
—Alice to Mick
Chapter 5
The kiss in the hallway had been furtive and desperate. Lunging. Fierce.
This time, Mick kissed her gently and slow, urging her mouth to open with the subtle motion of his lips on hers. At the stroke of his tongue, Alice shivered and broke it. There wasn’t much room on the swing for her to pull away. Instead, she put her face to the side of his neck and her arms around him. She let the scent of his skin envelop her, as much of an embrace as his arms.
There had been times when missing him had felt like someone had reached inside her and pulled out the part of her that remembered how to breathe. And times when she’d barely given the memories of him a second’s worth of her time. Touching him now, having him touch her . . . a river of fire rushed all through her. And there was that pesky, pain-in-the-ass thing about fire. It burned. You could touch a hot stove a hundred times to make sure it would still burn you, and it always would.
Well, Alice thought. So would this.
“Mick . . .”
He kissed her again. Harder. One hand on the back of her neck, the other going to her hip, then her ribs just below her breast. She couldn’t stop herself from arching a bit into that touch, doing her own urging with her body. It worked. Mick slid his hand up to cup her breast through the thin material of her dress. Her nipple went instantly erect when his thumb passed over it. She moaned.
“There’s my girl,” Mick whispered against her mouth.
His foot pushed against the ground to get the swing rocking again. The hand on her breast moved down between her legs, pushing her thighs apart slow, slow, slow, so that she had time to tell him to stop. And she thought about it, knowing this path they were taking was probably going to end up causing trouble, but in that moment no longer able to care.
Match to gasoline, that’s what Mick had always been to her. Should, would, could—there were a hundred thousand heartbeats between now and the last time they’d kissed, but it didn’t matter. She was touching that hot stove again with fingertips already scarred from the blisters.
He didn’t have to move. The motion of the swing pressed his knuckles to her again and again, just enough pressure each time to build up the pleasure before easing off. When she gasped, he laughed against her lips before kissing her again.
It went on and on, every sensation weaving together. The breeze and far-off cries of night birds. The water splashing on the rocks. The creak of the chains against the tree’s branch. Mick’s low moan when she unbuckled his belt to free him. His sharp gasp when she slipped a hand inside to stroke his erection. The sound of his desire added a fresh layer to her own.
It had always been like this with him. Knowing how to move. Where to touch. How hard, how soft, how fast or slow. She was on the edge within minutes and stayed on it for an hour, as every so often he’d push the swing again to keep them going.
You’re a fool, her mind said. Idiot. Resist, her heart urged. You’re only going to regret it! Head and heart for once were in agreement, but it was another part of her anatomy altogether that kept her going. At last, unable to keep herself from it, Alice pulled her mouth from Mick’s and bent to take his cock instead. The angle was awkward, the swing not the most comfortable seat, but just as Mick had used the rocking to arouse her, now Alice was able to do the same. All she had to do was take him inside her mouth while the swing moved him in and out.
He muttered her name. One hand fisted into her hair. The other stayed between her legs though he’d managed now to slide a finger underneath the edge of her panties—plain cotton. If she’d known this was going to happen, she’d have worn silk or lace. She should’ve known. She was so wet that one finger slipped inside her without friction.
Mick pushed. The swing rocked. His finger moved in and out of her in the same rhythm that her mouth moved on his cock. They were completely in sync.
He said her name again, like a warning this time. With another smile she bent back to him again as her climax rippled through her. Her body clutched at his fingers as she took him in deep. Not letting go. The sound of Mick’s hoarse shout as he came sent another wave of orgasm washing over her.
Body aching from being contorted into positions that hadn’t been painful when she’d been distracted by pleasure, Alice sat up. The taste of him lingered; she leaned to kiss him and he sucked gently on her tongue before pulling away t
o look into her eyes.
“Whoa,” Mick said.
Alice laughed.
“I mean, that was . . . whoa.”
She swatted him lightly, a little embarrassed but mostly pleased. “Stop.”
He pulled her close to kiss her again. “Never.”
It was something he’d have told her way back then, so Mick, so familiar, and yet suddenly so unwelcome because it reminded her of broken promises and betrayal. She didn’t yet regret what had happened, but she figured that was on its way. She sat back. He did, too, maybe feeling the way she did or maybe just sensing her discomfort.
“It’s late,” Alice told him. “We should get inside.”
Mick to Alice
Whenever I see any of them, I always think of you. I can’t help it. I mean, I would never have met you if I hadn’t been invited to Bernie’s house. You and I became so much more, and now it looks like we’ve turned into something so much less . . . but that never stops me from remembering you when I’m hanging out with them. They’ve stopped asking me about you, though. I guess they learned not to, maybe by my expression or how I find a way to change the subject when your name comes up. The worst part of it is, they were your friends first. And because of me, you lost them. They’d never say it, but maybe you would, if you’d only still talk to me, Alice. But you never answer me, so I guess that means you plan to never speak to me again.
I’m sorry for that, to have taken something away from you that meant a lot. But mostly I’m sorry that whatever I did made you hate me so much you’d be willing to give up the people who love you more than I could.
—Mick to Alice, unsent
Chapter 6
“Morning.” Paul had always been an early riser like Mick. “Coffee?”
Mick helped himself to a mug from the cupboard and held it out for the other man to fill. Bernie had put out some trays of pastries and breakfast breads last night, though later he’d be making an enormous brunch. At the moment, running on only two hours of sleep, Mick thought coffee was more than plenty.
“Looks like it’s going to be a great day.” Paul went to the French doors to look out. “Can’t wait to hit the lake. You in?”
“Yeah. Probably.” Mick sipped the sweet, rich coffee with a small sigh and leaned against the counter. “Sounds good.”
Paul looked at him over his shoulder with a grin. “Need a little hair of the dog? I brought some Baileys.”
Mick wasn’t hungover, at least not from drinking too much. He was suffering from a severe case of Alice withdrawal, something no morning shot of liquor was going to fix. He imagined he could still taste her, smell her, feel her. He’d dreamed of her in the brief and fitful sleep he’d managed after finally drifting off. Jumbled images of her smile, her body, scenes from the past along with things that had never happened.
“Nah, man. I’m good.” He lifted the coffee. “Just tired.”
Paul rolled his neck on his shoulders. “I hear you. We’re all getting fucking old, man. Used to be we’d be up until dawn and still manage to spend the day doing all kinds of stuff. Now if I’m not in bed by ten, I pay for it all the next day.”
“Nobody was in bed last night before ten.” Mick looked over the breakfast tray, at last considering a bagel with cream cheese, but not quite up to the effort of actually toasting one.
“Nobody’ll be out of bed before ten, either.” Paul laughed. “Hey. It’s good to see you, man. It’s been what. A year? Two?”
“Denver. Two winters ago.” A bunch of them had gotten together for a weekend ski trip, not quite as extravagant as a weekend at the lake house but still fun. They’d tried to meet up for drinks or dinner since then, but schedules hadn’t worked out.
“That was a good time. This’ll be a good time, too. I need it. Work’s been hell.”
The conversation turned to work and life and after another half hour Dayna wandered into the kitchen to give them both absentminded but affectionate hugs and kisses to the cheek. Jay, scrubbing sleep from his eyes, was next. Every time a new person came through the doorway, Mick braced himself for the sight of Alice, but it was never her.
She’d left. He knew it. She’d snuck off before dawn, desperate to get away and forget about him. He’d screwed up, pushed her too fast and too far.
And then, there she was. Not exactly radiant, her gorgeous dark red hair tied on top of her head in a bun messy enough to be truly slept on and not for affect. No makeup but the faintly purple shadows that had always plagued her with lack of sleep. Not pretty, but beautiful. Laughing, she didn’t look at him as Paul handed her a mug of coffee and Dayna urged her toward one of the stools at the kitchen island.
“Still got it for her, huh?” Jay said this so quietly that nobody else could’ve heard him, but Mick still jumped slightly.
Guilty, he shrugged. “It’s been years.”
“Some things don’t go away.” Jay let his gaze drift to Paul for the barest moment before giving Mick a small, tight-lipped smile.
By the time Bernie came down to start the cooking, Mick had drunk enough coffee to finally feel like he might be able to keep his eyelids open without the use of toothpick props. Soon the smell of bacon and sausage filled the kitchen, along with omelets made with fresh-sliced ingredients they’d all pitched in to prepare. Someone had put on some music. Some people danced. Cookie broke out the Bloody Marys and mimosas.
“It’s already halfway to shit-faced o’clock.” Jay lifted his mug toward Mick, who’d escaped the bustle in the kitchen to the deck outside.
Mick had been avoiding the booze so far, though through the window he could see Alice sipping from a champagne glass of orange juice. “Booze and food and games. Hear we’re going to the lake in a bit.”
“Yeah.” Jay leaned on the railing to look out over the yard. “It’s gonna be great.”
And it was, of course. It always was when this group of friends got together. Some had known each other since college. Others had been introduced through relationships that had come and gone. There’d been some blowups over the years, clashes of personality. Moments of sudden, uncomfortable silence. But for the most part, these people had been in Mick’s life for so long he couldn’t imagine life without them, no matter how infrequently they saw one another.
It had been that way with Alice, too, for too short a time, until one day he’d woken up and realized that was it. She was really gone. No more late-night phone conversations, no more early morning lovemaking. No more fingers linking while they walked, no more laughter. Alice had disappeared from his life.
Until now.
“Good morning,” he said to her at last when he brought a handful of dishes to the dishwasher she was loading.
She straightened to take the plates from him, fitting them neatly into the racks with a small smile for him. “Hi.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Great.” Dishwasher full, Alice reached for the soap and added it to the dispenser while Mick stood there like an idiot. She shut the door and pushed the button to start the cycle, then looked at him.
Her expression, open and neutral and without hostility, nevertheless sank his heart. There was no glimmer in her eyes. Nothing to show that last night they’d fucked around on the swing, that she’d made him come with her mouth, that he’d gotten her off with his fingers. The memory stirred his cock even now, and he wished he wore more than the lightweight pajama bottoms.
“You going to the lake?” she asked.
“You?”
She nodded. Around them, their friends laughed and talked, making it really easy for her to stay silent without making a big deal out of it. Mick swallowed more words, smiling instead and backing off.
Forty minutes later, spreading out the blanket on the nubbly, sandy shore of Crane Lake, Mick was already wishing he’d been smart and stayed back at the house. Gorgeous weather, bright sunshine, more wine, good friends . . . the perfect recipe for a great day, and yet all he wanted to do was stare at the only woman who’d ever b
roken him.
He was an asshole.
It didn’t help that Alice wore an emerald green bikini, vintage-styled with a high-waisted bottom. She looked like a fifties movie starlet with her hair up, her toenails painted crimson. She tipped a bottle of cola to her lips as she laughed at something Dayna was saying, and in that moment, Mick wished he could snap a picture of her without looking like a creep. It was bad enough she caught him staring, her smile fading a little before she turned her gaze away.
A dip in the water didn’t help him, either, and finally Mick gave up. “Hey, I’m heading back to the house for a nap.”
Cookie looked concerned. “Are you okay?”
“The best place to nap is on a towel in the sand,” put in Dayna as she stretched out with a sigh of pleasure.
Mick gathered his towel and shrugged back into his button-down. “Right, and wake up with a dick drawn in permanent marker on my face?”
Dayna gave him an exaggerated look of innocence. “That was one time!”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna sleep in the dark and quiet, unmolested.” Mick laughed and flipped Paul the bird when the other man made a rude gesture. “See you all later.”
Behind him the laughter swelled and eased. The walk back to the house took only ten minutes or so along a path carpeted with pine needles. He passed the stream and the swing, forcing himself not to linger, and headed for the house. He had the basement room, the smallest guest space in the house, but even though the bathroom was also tiny, he’d always preferred it for the privacy. Just off the furnished rec room, it was apart from all the hustle and bustle of the house, and with only one small window, it could be made completely dark. And silent.
He smelled of sunscreen and the lake water, but the bed was tempting him so much he didn’t even consider a shower. Instead, he shucked out of his trunks and shirt, kicking his sandals beneath a chair, and slipped naked into the soft, cool sheets. He was asleep in minutes.