by CL Walters
“And what’s that?”
Her mouth opens and then closes. She glances at the food between us and says, “Let’s eat.”
“Scared?” I ask her with a smirk, parroting her earlier word to me.
She smiles but doesn’t answer and crunches on a carrot stick she’s grabbed instead.
So, we eat.
And talk. About what happened with her mom and the aftermath with Cal. About Phoenix asking me to visit my dad. About work and school.
“And the girl?” she asks. “Did you go to coffee with her?”
I take my final sip of apple cider and then fiddle with the cup. “Naw.”
“How come?”
“I didn’t want to.” I take a breath, look at her and say, “I realized I have feelings for someone else. Wouldn’t want to string her along.” I can’t believe I’ve said it. But there’s no taking it back, and I don’t want to.
She blushes, makes a humming noise, then moves to pack up the remnants of our picnic. I help her, placing the used items and what’s left over inside the cooler. We reach into the confines of the space at the same time. Our hands bump. An electric shock drives up my arm to my elbow, but I don’t retreat. She doesn’t either. Instead, I release what’s in my hand, take her hand in mine and run my thumb along her skin.
I don’t look up at her and instead keep my eyes on the place where I’m touching her, knowing that even if I could formulate thoughts, I can’t form words.
She moves, withdrawing her hand from the cooler, mine still holding on because I don’t want to let her go again. She pushes the cooler aside, removing the last barrier between us. Both of us are on our knees facing one another, my hand wrapped around hers. She turns hers, so our palms connect, then threads her fingers with mine.
I can’t find myself. I’m floating, even though all my physical senses are attuned to her.
“The last time we were here,” she says quietly, looking at our joined hands.
I follow her gaze. We’re different. Her hands are soft and smooth, pretty, and feminine. Mine are angular, sharp with veins, different now because of the work. Calloused. Then I look up at her face. “What were you thinking?”
“That if I’d been braver–” she stops and swallows– “That if I’d been braver, I would have told you that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I would have said that I like you. I would have said that every time I called you a silly name, it was because I was afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Because every time I say your name, it’s a tattoo that I feel.” She reaches over and presses her other hand to my chest, where my heart aches, beating with longing. “Here.”
I move closer to her and reach out for her.
She shivers.
“Are you cold?” I ask and bring my hand up to her cheek.
She shakes her head and leans against my palm.
There isn’t anyone to interrupt the moment this time. No Phoenix. No laughter. No calls to dinner. It’s just us in the barn of this ghost town, the world silent around us. There’s no breeze, no sound except for one another. Our matching breaths.
“Are you still scared?”
I caress her face, run my thumb across her dimple, and nod.
“How come?”
“I don’t want to fuck this up,” I say.
“Then don’t,” she says and leans toward me at the same time I close the distance to her. I frame her face with my hands, and when our lips meet, I think perhaps the heat melts everything else away, refining all my old fears with something vibrant and new.
1
I’m stoked. I’m going to spend the weekend with Max since I’m done for the term, and she still has another week. With the music in my car turned up loud, I drive. The sun has just set when I park my car in the same spot as the last time I visited Max, and she’s running from the building as I close the door of my car.
Then she’s in my arms.
Her mouth is on mine. Her hands are bunched in my hair. Her tongue talks with mine. Hot. Hungry.
My stomach bottoms out. Hands on her cold cheeks, I kiss her in the middle of the parking lot like it’s nothing and everything.
“I. Missed. You,” she says between kisses.
I draw back and wrap my arms around her in her puffy coat. “I missed you, too.” The realization of truth spreads in my chest like I’m sitting next to a fire. I haven’t said a line I’ve practiced to get somewhere with her. She’s been flowing through my blood vessels, thoughts of her running through every part of me for so long.
We separate so I can grab my stuff, and even though she’s by my side, it feels colder without touching her. She takes my hand and leads me up to her room. This time her roommate is there. She’s a cute girl, a Filipina with slick dark hair and dark eyes. She lifts her chin in greeting.
“This is Renna.” Max introduces me.
“Hi.”
Max takes my stuff and sets it on the end of her bed. “Renna is staying at her boyfriend’s this weekend.”
The girls share a look and a smile.
My blood hums under my skin, and I glance at Max. She’s blushing.
Over her last break at Thanksgiving—after our first kiss—we’ve done some kissing, and some hand holding, but that’s it. I’ve spent some pleasurable moments in the shower imagining what sex is going to be like with her. I want to feel Max’s skin under my hands, feel her mouth on me, have my mouth on her. And of course, I’m okay if she’s not ready, too. I just want to be with her. Near her.
“We’re going with Renna to a frat party tonight. Okay?”
I haven’t been to a party since my own, and I hadn’t made the best choices. I also hadn’t had a drink since then either. Phoenix’s AA meeting surfaces like something floating to the surface from the bottom of a lake. I figure I can handle myself because I have a strong motivator standing in front of me. Besides, Max’s excitement is contagious. “Yeah. Sure.”
Later, when we walk into the party, Max, who looks gorgeous, glances over her shoulder at me and smiles, calming me. It’s as if she knew I was wound up tight in the unfamiliar environment. My hand is in hers. Her silky hair brushes the back of the red shirt she’s wearing, and when she moves, I can see glimpses of skin at her waist. She’s smiling, that dimple in her cheek, her eyes aglow, and I wonder how many of these parties she’s been to? How many guys have noticed how hot she looks? Ben, obviously. How many guys has she turned down? How many guys hasn’t she?
I swallow. Nervous, suddenly, because what if everything about me disappoints her. She’ll realize I’m that tiny, economy car with no bells and whistles to offer.
Once we’ve made it to the keg, she hands me a red cup filled with golden liquid and sips on her own. She leans closer and says in my ear over the noise, “You’re frowning.”
I shake off the pall of doubt, squeeze her hip with my hand, and pull her closer, so thankful I’m the guy she wanted to be here with. “Nope. I’m good. I’m here with you.” I smile, kiss her cheek, and then take a drink.
She leads me to the dance floor.
This girl.
The things around me slow, the movement deliberate because she is all things. The party dims, the bass of the music thumps in my muscles to match my heartbeat, but everything recedes except for her. She turns toward me, smiling, the dimple deep in her cheek.
I lean forward and kiss that dimple because I can now.
She grins and wraps her arms around my neck.
I can only use one hand to hold her, the other holding the stupid red cup. I’ve got a hand on her hip, one of my fingers curled through a belt loop of her jeans. Her hips move with me, and her hands find the hair at the nape of my neck. We dance, swaying, swiveling, a suggestive dance that excites me. I kiss the space just below her jaw, inhaling her.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says in my ear.
I draw back to look at her and offer her a smile with a nod.
She pulls me closer.
&nb
sp; I don’t want to be at this party. This is new. I just want to be alone with her, but I remain present. I press my nose into her neck to catch her spicy scent when I need a reminder—I’m there with her. She smiles and tucks herself in closer.
We dance some more, drink some more, take some time in the cool air of the backyard to cool off.
“You want to get out of here?” she finally asks. Her cheeks glow, but she doesn’t seem drunk.
I’m feeling loose, but I haven’t overdone it. I nod and take her hand, my turn to lead her from the house.
When we break out into the cold December night, it’s refreshing, but not for long. We laugh, slipping over the icy concrete trying to get back to her dorm. No jackets, I wrap my arms around her. By the time we walk into her dorm, we’re shivering. I’m not sure it’s only because of the cold. She leads me through the maze again, strangely silent, which feels like the weight of anticipation. All I can think about is the intense need to kiss her.
She opens the door. I step inside after her, and when the door is closed, I pull her back to me. “Max,” I say, but I don’t wait. My hands frame her face. “I’ve thought about this all night.” I kiss her.
She returns my kiss—her tongue tastes like the beer we’ve been drinking, but also like the cinnamon of her gum. “Me too.”
Hands on her hips, I pull her against me. We lean on the door, and her body fits between my legs. I kiss all the parts I can: lips, jaw, neck, collar bone. The only sound in the room is our breathing, heavy with want. Then I’m walking us though the room to her bed, until we’re there, stretched out with one another.
More kissing. My knee, high between her legs. I can’t get close enough to her. She moans. She breathes my name, “Griffin,” like it’s a prayer, and it makes me hotter. My hands grasp her hips, find the skin at her waist, and run up, over her ribs, to the bottom of her bra. I trace the lace with my palms, filling my hands with her softness.
We kiss, and kiss, and kiss.
“Max.” Her name is like breathing. Necessary. Life giving.
She rolls me onto my back, the waterfall of her hair cascading around us. She stops and gazes down at me.
I can’t see her very well in the darkness of the room, but I grasp her hips and draw her to straddle me. I’m hard, and I know she can feel it, because she rocks her hips against me.
I groan. “I wanted to do this the last time I was in your bed,” I say, but it sounds pained. What she’s making me feel hurts so good, and what I’ve said is a terrifying admission. I feel exposed. In as many experiences as I’ve had, I’ve never cracked open the door to let anyone in to see the heart of me before.
“You did?” She leans up on her hands, hemming me into her space.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t.”
“I didn’t want to ruin things.”
“You say that a lot.” She leans back down and kisses my jaw.
“What?” I’m chasing after my breath, trying to stay connected to talking. I’m awash with sensation and drowning in the physical response she’s creating.
“That you ruin things.” She sits up and moves her hips again, and I draw in a breath, squeeze her hips to still her.
“Max.” I feel powerless, cast in a spell she’s weaving.
“What?”
“You’re making me crazy.”
“Why do you say you’ll ruin things?”
“Max. I want you.” I sit up and hold her still in my lap.
She hums a noise. “Answer my question, Griffin.” She flips her hair over her shoulder so I can see her neck, the outline of her jaw, her eyes shining in the dark. She tugs at my shirt, and I adjust so she can pull it from my torso.
I kiss her instead of answering. That’s where my mind is, with her, needing her, wanting her.
She releases a rush of air at the feel of my tongue against the skin of her neck and my hands stroking her, then she moves her hips again. I stop her movement. I’m not going to last.
She pushes me onto my back, moving forward with me. “Tell me,” she says and presses her mouth to my shoulder and trails kisses down, over my chest.
I’m up on my elbows, my eyes following her descent.
She stops, her eyes watching me at the same time she begins to unbuckle my belt.
“Oh fuck, Max.” I swear because I am undone. The door to me is wide open.
“I want to know.” Her tongue slides over my skin, lower still, my pants open and my body free from the confines of them. “May I kiss you? Here?”
“Yes. Yes.” My head falls back, holding myself up on my hands, and I groan when her tongue finds me.
“Why do you say that Griffin?” she asks again.
My fingers are weaved in the strands of her hair as she takes me in her mouth. I can’t hold myself up anymore and lay back. “I can’t. I can’t think. I don’t say the right things. I don’t do the right things.” I pant the words, unable to staunch the flow of the words amidst the sensations she’s creating in me both physical and emotional. “Max. I use people. I ruin things.”
She’s using her mouth like a truth serum, and I can’t stop talking and even though she should stop with my admission, she doesn’t. She keeps going, and the volcano in me is building. I keep going, the words coming like a broken song. “They leave me. I push. They leave. They leave me.” And suddenly I can’t contain myself because I’m lost to what she’s doing and too near my ending. I grasp at her arms to pull her back up and kiss her, save her from me, but she doesn’t stop. She presses me back and takes me all the way to an end. Or a new beginning.
The sensations subside, and Max moves back up my body, pausing to lick and kiss, tender and sweet. I sigh, throwing an arm over my eyes, feeling weak because I lost control. I’m afraid of what I’ll see in her eyes when I look at her.
“Griffin.”
When her face draws even with mine, she pauses. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I can make out some of her features, filling in the rest with my memory. She’s studying me but hesitates to kiss me. I interpret it as hesitation because I’ve revealed this weakness, but then she says, “Can I kiss you?” She sounds so unsure.
I don’t have any words. They were lost in the moment I let go. I’ve felt pleasure before, but never like that. Never from a place where I felt like all my emotions exploded and opened up the fissures to let the darkness out. The only thing I can do is grab her face and kiss her, show her how I feel about her, how she made me feel.
She kisses me back, abandons her fears somewhere else, and moans in response.
I draw her shirt from her body and roll her onto her back, trading places. I create the same trail down her body as she did mine.
But then she stops me, her hands on my arms.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“I’m–” she stalls, then says, “I’m a little scared. I haven’t done this.”
“I won’t if you don’t want to.” I say it, and mean it, though I hate the idea—I want to show her how she matters.
“What if you don’t like me. You know. After.”
I rise back up onto my hands, even with her face. “That’s an impossibility.” I smile and kiss her lips. “How you make me feel, Max.” I kiss her deeper, use my hands to show her, help her move the breath through her body like the ocean as she begins to come undone as I did. “Can I make you feel like you made me feel?”
She nods. “Yes.”
I move deliberately. I retrace the trail down her body and settle between her legs to worship at her altar. I pray there until she can’t string together anything but moans and pants and hands grasping for something to hold. There, I find both joy and truth, and it is powerful to give and worship that way.
Later, Max is curled against me, her head in the crook of my shoulder. It’s weird, not super comfortable. I’ve never cuddled with a girl before, but laying like this with her, after our non-sex sex, feels really satisfying. She feels good on my skin. The silky strands of her
hair sliding between my fingers feels good. Listening to her chatter feels good. We might not have crossed the full penetration sex line, but I haven’t stopped grinning. It’s Max. Max. Max.
She shifts her head to look at me. “What do you think?”
Shit. I lost track. “About what?”
Her eyes narrow, and she leans up on her elbow. “Have you heard a word I said?”
I could lie, but that’s what old Griffin would have done. I run a finger under the stringy strap of her bra on her shoulder. “Sorry. I kind of zoned out.”
She gives my shoulder a playful smack. “Griffin!”
I grab her wrist, push her until her back is on the bed, settle my hips between her legs, then lean down and nuzzle her neck. “Max. You feel good.” I grind my hips against her, and her breath catches. Her eyes slip closed as she moans.
I kiss her jaw, then resume staring at her pretty face.
Her eyes open and her gaze darts to my lips, but instead of drawing me back down to kiss her, she says, “You know, before?”
I nod, licking my lips, preparing to kiss her again anyway.
She watches my tongue, then refocuses on my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I stop my descent to her mouth, and my chest constricts.
“What you said, about everyone leaving.”
I swallow.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she repeats.
I push away from her and rise up to my knees, sitting back on my heels. “You can’t say something like that. No one can.”
She rises up onto her elbows. Her bra is a greenish-blue lacy confection, and I want to see her with it off. Her bare stomach, the curve of her hips, the matching panties. I feel the twitch of my dick and force myself to look at her face. She isn’t smiling. Twitching dick stops.
“I can. I know myself. At least not without serious conversation. I’ll follow the rules.” She smiles.