by John Quick
By the time he finally stepped through Carrie’s door, Jake was more soaked than he’d been when he got to the Kwik Mart earlier in the day. The rain had let up considerably—despite the dark cloud that was practically racing in from across the lake, indicating that it was only a brief respite from the storm—but it had already managed to do a good bit of damage. The roads were flooded, leaving Carrie’s Kia sitting with water up to the floorboards in the middle of the street. Add to that Carrie’s insistence that they drop off the batteries for Missus Granger before slogging their way across the quagmire between the two houses, and the result was predictable enough. Jake’s pants were nearly glued to his legs, his shirt was clinging to his chest like a second skin, weighed down by his sodden jacket, and he felt like there was easily a gallon of water sitting in each of his shoes. He was sure it was possible for him to be more uncomfortable than he was right now, but it was hard to imagine.
It also didn’t help that Carrie kept her air conditioning set just this side of “Eskimo”, so the second he stepped through the door and the cold air hit him, it was amplified a thousand-fold by his wet clothing. In no time at all, his teeth were chattering and he was hugging himself for warmth.
God or fate or whatever power it was that watched after the universe must have seen how pitiful he was and took mercy on him, because seconds after Carrie disappeared into the depths of the house in search of towels for the both of them, something popped outside and the lights went out. He heard a final hiss of air escaping the vents in the ceiling, and then it, too, went silent.
Something crashed down the hallway that led to Carrie’s bedroom. He wondered if she’d fallen and hurt herself until the faint traces of her quiet swearing drifted back to him. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Whatever happened, it obviously hadn’t been that bad or her cursing would have been at a much higher volume.
He wasn’t sure exactly how long he waited by the door before he finally saw the beam of a flashlight dance its way back down the hallway toward him. A moment later, Carrie emerged as well, towels and a robe draped over the arm holding the flashlight, and several thick candles and a box of matches cradled in the other. She’d apparently discarded her shoes and socks, and had done that strange woman thing of wrapping another towel around her head like a turban to continue drying her hair as she went about her other business. Combined with the hint of a scowl on her face, she looked like an extra from some horribly racist b-movie about suicide bombers. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.
She stopped and looked over to him, one eyebrow raised. “Keep it up. I can always kick your ass right back out in the rain again.”
He forced his chuckles back under control, but couldn’t completely wipe the smile from his face. “So what was that crashing back there?”
Carrie shook her head, causing the towel to bob precariously and almost sending Jake back into another laughing fit. She released her arm and let the additional towels and robe fall onto the sofa before dropping the candles and matches next to them. She moved around the sofa and began to set one of the thick candles atop the coffee table.
“I had just leaned into the closet to grab the towels when the lights went out,” she said. “Combined with the noise outside, it startled me, so I jumped and knocked one of the shelves down.”
Jake winced a little. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, striking a match and holding it to the candle’s wick. “Just feel like a damned idiot.”
The candle sputtered to life, the flame small at first but finally stabilizing and casting a warm glow across the room. She turned and grabbed a second one, still trying to accomplish the task with a flashlight clutched in her hand.
“I could help with that, you know,” he offered.
“You stay put,” she said, somehow managing to get the second candle balanced at the other end of the coffee table. “I’ve dripped on the carpets enough for the both of us. They get mildew under them, I’m definitely not getting my security deposit back for this place.”
She got the second candle going in short order and dropped the spent match into the glass ashtray between them. It was empty and clean, other than the used matchsticks, and Jake found himself wondering if it had seen any use at all during the week or so they’d been broken up. He knew she didn’t smoke, but he had no idea if she’d had anyone over who did. If the ashtray was that clean, odds were she hadn’t; something that relieved him more than he cared to admit. It was conclusive of nothing, of course, but it at least gave some indication that she hadn’t moved on after him.
“Leave your shoes and socks there on the mat,” she said, tossing him a towel. “Then dry yourself off as best you can. You want to help, you can get a fire started over there to cut back some of the chill.”
He caught the towel deftly with one hand and fought the urge to mention that her AC had been set colder than it was likely to get with no power, but he held back. A fire actually sounded pretty damn good right about now, and he definitely didn’t want to argue about it.
Jake slung the towel over his shoulder, then kicked off his shoes with his feet, trying to ignore the splash he felt when one of them landed on its side. He crouched to peel his socks off, and even in the dim lighting from the candles could see how shriveled his toes had grown. Any longer and they’d have been so waterlogged he would almost have to stick them in the fire to get them looking normal again. He used the towel to dry his feet and the bottoms of his pants legs, then stepped off the mat and onto the living room carpet. It was slightly cool under his bare feet, but not cold. It was definitely better than being in sopping wet socks and shoes.
He gave his hair a quick once-over with the towel, wishing idly that he’d given in to the urge he had a week or so ago to cut it short again, then glanced back over to Carrie and found himself freezing in place.
She had lain a folded towel across the arm of the sofa and leaned against it as she worked her sodden jeans down her legs. It took her a moment to get them pulled off her bare feet, a combination of their natural tightness and the water making them cling to her. Once she was free of them, she dropped them onto what looked like a beach towel she’d laid on the floor to try and shield the carpet from any further water damage. Then she took another towel and dried her legs, stretching them out in front of her as she rubbed the terrycloth across them. That completed, she set the towel aside and took hold of the bottom of her t-shirt and began to lift it up, revealing the thin strip of bikini underwear she had on.
She paused as she noticed him watching her. “What? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“I know,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse. “It’s just been a while. I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous you were.”
“Whatever,” she said, smirking and rolling her eyes at him. She pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it onto the towel with her jeans. She wore no bra beneath it, and the way the candlelight played across the moisture on her skin and reflected it made her breasts look like they were shining. “Toss your clothes on there with mine. I’ll hang them up on the shower rod. If the power comes back soon enough, I’ll throw them all in the dryer.”
He did as she instructed, peeling off his jacket and t-shirt, then stripping out of his cargo pants as well. Perhaps because they were looser than her jeans, he didn’t have near the trouble removing them that she had with her own. After only a moment’s consideration, he stripped his boxers off too, before gathering them all together and heading over to the towel she’d indicated, unable to stop himself from noticing that she had removed her underwear as well and was now bent over the side of the sofa, pulling towels loose for them to use to finish drying off.
Jake tossed his clothes onto the pile, then turned and let his eyes drift down the gentle curve of her back, and across her buttocks. A drop of water sat just above her rump, and he felt himself ache to lick it away. Deciding that doing so might be a bit too forward, considering he had no real idea how she would respond
to such a gesture, he restrained himself. Still, he felt he had to do something, so he reached out and gently ran his fingers down her spine, smiling slightly at the goose bumps that rose in their wake. She shivered and stiffened at first, then relaxed and glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes unreadable.
“What are you doing?” she asked, without the slightest trace of anger or indignation in her tone.
“Just looking at you,” he replied softly.
“You look with your eyes, not your hands,” she said, but he noticed she made no motion to stop the gentle caresses he was applying to her back.
“Maybe I look a different way,” he said.
He lifted his other hand and ran it up her thigh, across her rump, and then up her back slowly, even as the other drifted lightly across her side, making her twitch and sending another wave of gooseflesh across her skin. He allowed them to rise to her shoulders, gently kneading the muscles there before moving away and down her back again. Her arms trembled slightly, and he saw that she wasn’t looking back at him anymore, but had her head bowed slightly. He also noticed that she was no longer digging in the stack of towels on the couch.
“Should I stop?” he asked, swallowing the lump that threatened to form in his throat at the prospect of her telling him he should.
“No,” she whispered.
He smiled and continued exploring her back and rump with his hands and fingers. He wanted to reach around her, to cup a breast in one hand even as the other trailed between her thighs, but he forced himself to keep moving slowly. They’d slept together before, many times, but even then it had been after dating nearly a month. Now, they’d been broken up for less than half that, and while she’d apologized for overreacting that night, nothing had been discussed about their status as either a couple or as friends. He knew which he wanted; he could only hope she might come to feel the same.
Regardless, he couldn’t pressure her. If touching her bare back like this was as far as she was willing to let it go, he would have to accept that. He would need to excuse himself to the bathroom to insure that he didn’t end up with blue balls, but he would accept whatever she said about it.
When she leaned over a little further and pushed her hips back toward him slightly, he thought he might explode right then and there. Still, he forced himself to hold back a bit, not wanting to rush this, wanting to savor every second of it. If this was all there was to be, he wanted it to be something they would both remember for a long, long time.
He moved his hands down to her thighs, rubbing and kneading them as he’d done to her shoulders, slowly working his way around to their insides, rising slowly, then moving back out at the last moment. He rubbed her buttocks, allowing his thumbs to alternatively dip into the cleft between them before moving away again, smiling at the way her breath quickened as he did so.
After another few minutes of that, she pulled away. Jake felt his heart deflate, sure that the brief interlude was over, but she surprised him by turning around and stepping closer to him, her face tilted up to his. She slid one hand into his hair and pulled his lips to hers, kissing him gently but with increasing passion until she finally pushed her body against his and darted her tongue into his mouth.
She knelt, pulling him down with her, then lay down on her back, her thighs draped over his. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he moved forward slowly, his erection barely brushing against her folds. She reached down and took him in her hand, stroking once then guiding him inside of her with agonizing slowness. Her eyes rolled up and then closed as he entered her fully, a low moan escaping her lips. She moved against him, urging him to thrust, but keeping the pace slow and steady, allowing the passion to build between them, slowly moving faster and faster until their bellies began to slap together in rhythm. He felt himself getting close and started to pull away, but she locked her ankles around his hips and forced him to keep going until she cried out and he felt her spasm beneath him. He could hold out no longer, exploding inside her, a guttural moan escaping his own lips. Finally he collapsed atop her and felt her arms holding him close, his face buried in the hollow of her shoulder.
They lay that way in silence for several moments, both trying to regain their breath after their exertions. Finally, she kissed him lightly on the neck and chuckled.
“You realize I have to dry off again, now, right?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
If there was some way that Mitch could be more uncomfortable, he wasn’t sure what it could be. Normally he liked to fish, liked the solitude and the chance to get away from everything and just be at one with nature. This, on the other hand, was as far from that as he could possibly get.
Oh, he was still performing the mechanics of fishing; that was true. But there was nothing relaxing about it in the slightest. For one thing, Chet was not the type of person he could ever truly let go of his cares around. His boss was a nice enough guy, as bosses went, but once the man got an idea in his head, there was nothing to get it out again except following through with it. Plus, once he got driven like that, he tended to drift toward the demanding side when trying to get other people to go along with it.
This was definitely one of those times.
If Mitch was more strong-willed, he might have stood up to his boss, and told him that they could go fishing on a different day, or even never, if he could help it.
Since he was weak-willed instead, he found himself sitting in a little john boat, huddled up inside his poncho in a vain attempt to remain at least somewhat warm and dry, with a fishing rod balanced across his knees, and his eyes trained on the bobber bouncing across the surface of the lake. Two large coolers filled the center of the boat, cutting off any hope at leg room, waiting to accept their catch for the day, of which there had, thus far, been nothing. Mitch’s back was starting to ache from the scrunched-up position he found himself in, he felt like he was soaked to the skin despite the poncho, and he was shivering so much his teeth had begun to chatter almost constantly.
His boss was sitting at the opposite end of the boat from him, looking just as miserable as he felt, but with the advantage of a case of beer he’d been working on since they launched the boat and rowed all the way out here to the middle of the damn lake. As Mitch watched longingly, Chet finished off his current can, crumpled it in his hand, and then dropped it to the floor of the boat before letting out a belch that would surely have scared off any fish stupid enough to swim close enough to notice their bait.
“How much longer we gonna wait out here?” Mitch asked. He’d asked some variant on that same question not even five minutes ago, and he knew the more he asked the longer Chet was probably going to want to stay, just to get back at him for it, if nothing else, but he couldn’t help himself.
“What the hell are you in such a hurry for?” Chet asked back. “I let you stay on the clock, didn’t I? I figured you’d be thrilled to get paid for doing nothing all day. Hell, you do it normally, so what’s the big deal?”
Mitch fought the urge to roll his eyes as he checked the status of his bobber. It was still there, floating along on the slightly choppy water, mocking him. He sighed and glanced down at the half-empty cardboard box at Chet’s feet.
“Can I at least have one of those?” he asked.
Chet snorted a laugh as he pulled a fresh beer and popped the tab on it. “No, did you miss the part where I said you were still on the clock?”
Mitch considered arguing the point that while yes, he was on the clock, he wasn’t exactly in the restaurant where it would make any difference one way or the other if he had a buzz or not. He was also tempted to point out that he usually had a buzz when he showed up for work, but didn’t think that would have the desired effect on the conversation, so he kept silent about that fact.
He looked up at the sky and felt thankful that at least they were out here while the rain was at a low ebb instead of while it had been going full bore. There were many times on the drive out here where he didn’t think they were going to make it, and
the entire process of getting the boat in the water had been an adventure all its own, but at least this wasn’t as bad as it could be. It would be even better if he had some kind of cell service so he could complain online about his predicament, but there would be time for that once he got back home later tonight.
Something bumped against the bottom of the boat, setting it rocking wildly. Mitch sat up a little straighter and looked around for the tell-tale ripples of whatever had brushed up against them. Whatever it was, it definitely hadn’t just been the wind that time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chet splash beer all over himself at the jostling, and had to fight the urge to break out into laughter.
A moment later, his bobber disappeared beneath the surface in a quick jerk, and the line in his reel began to play out with a loud buzzing sound that was overly loud to his ears. He grabbed the rod, threw the lock, and pulled back, hoping to hook whatever had taken hold of the worm on the hook. He was shocked when he had to brace his feet against the edge of the boat to keep from being pulled in. Whatever this thing was, it was a monster!
“You got something?” Chet asked, pausing in the act of wiping beer off his shirt.
“Yeah,” Mitch said, gritting his teeth as he strained against the fish he’d caught. Impossible as it seemed, it felt as though his shoulders were being wrenched from their sockets. “Big ole bastard, too.”
The fish gave another massive lurch that was somehow powerful enough to pull the end of the boat around, forcing Mitch to turn almost backward in his seat to keep his hold on it. “Little help here?”
He heard Chet’s mocking laugher, and knew the man probably thought he was just being a pussy, but whatever this was, it was quite possibly the biggest fish he’d ever snagged in all his life. He didn’t know how it could be, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was a fifty pounder at the very least. Despite the humor he apparently found in the situation, Chet still maneuvered his way around and grabbed hold of the rod just above Mitch’s hands.