26. Micah
26
MICAH
I’m out on the pier by myself, and it’s so peaceful. As the sunrise streaks across the sky in striations of orange and pinks, more fishers arrive, but no one disturbs me. It’s an unspoken rule around here this early in the morning. Likely everywhere, so even if I do decide to try out a fishing pier in LA, I might enjoy it just as much. Might.
Is this what you wanted for me, Grandpa?
Why else would you leave me your boat?
I messed up bad, and you knew how much I loved it out here.
I’m out of bait by midmorning, so I pack up my tackle box and carefully lift the cooler containing cod and perch for John’s fish fry. It’s helpful that the fish move to the shallows to forage this time of year. My catch won’t feed the masses, but it’s my own contribution. I might try increasing the donation next excursion on the boat.
I notice Cap’s granddaughter behind the counter as I pass by the shack.
“How’s he doing?” I call from the doorway.
She grimaces. “Progress has been slow.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll keep him in my thoughts.”
Nothing ever stays the same. That hangs heavy in my heart as I leave the pier.
A couple of fishermen passing by chat me up about Cap’s condition. They must recognize me from back in the day, and I’m grateful they only offer their condolences without making any comments about me. Hopefully, they’ve realized I’m no longer that angry kid who did something dumb and almost ruined my grandfather’s reputation.
I clean up at home, then run some errands in town before grabbing lunch at John’s bar.
His face lights up upon seeing me, and I will never get used to that feeling. Of having someone in my life who loves me unconditionally. “Where’ve you been hiding the past couple of days?”
John and I have texted, but I still haven’t told him about my most recent decision.
“Oh, you know…some fishing, working on the boat, then heading to drama club rehearsal.”
His grin widens. “That’s fucking great. Glad you decided to help.”
My face heats from his keen enthusiasm. “I figure why not since I’m here for at least another few weeks.”
“Damn straight.” He knocks his knuckles on the bar top. “Burger and a cider?”
“That would be great.”
By the time he places a burger in front of me, I’m famished, so I down it in a few bites, mindful of the high school’s dismissal time.
“How’s the renovation going?” he asks after he serves another customer a plate of wings.
“Good.” I dab the napkin at my mouth. “Aaron is finishing the second floor, and then he has to do some staging, as he calls it.”
“Bet it’ll look great.”
“No doubt.” I push away my plate and place my card down to pay. “Gotta run.”
He glances at the time. “Rehearsal?”
“Yep. And meeting Rosie afterward.”
That takes him by surprise. “Yeah?”
I nod. “I agreed to write her a letter of recommendation.”
“Cool. Plus, it’ll be nice to catch up.”
“It will.” For some reason, it feels right to maintain that connection to my grandfather. Maybe I’ll even find out something new and interesting. “And before I forget, I caught some fish this morning and stored it in my freezer.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “Thanks. That’ll certainly help if we run out.”
“I can deliver it to the bar, or feel free to stop by anytime.”
Our eyes snag and hold a moment too long for a couple about to divorce, and though I’m excited to help Ms. Hart with the play, it’s becoming increasingly harder to leave John’s company.
“Think you’ll be around if I want to grab that fish from your freezer?”
My stomach warms from his intense gaze. “I’ll make sure of it.”
He gives me that sexy, smirky look that’s reminiscent of when we were kids. It meant alone time and intimacy. “Looking forward to it.”
As I hop in my car and drive toward the high school, a memory surfaces of John and me skipping school to be together junior year.
“I want to show you something,” he says as he leads me to a trail in the foothills behind my grandfather’s home. He’s loaded us up with waters, granola bars, and two blankets, as if we might get lost and need a search party. That thought makes my stomach squirm because I’ve heard stories of people running into bobcats or getting lost out here, some never making it home.
“How the heck do you know where you’re going?” I step forward tentatively after stumbling over a root.
He chuckles. “Lived here my whole life, know all the secret places.”
“Secret, huh?”
“I promise it’s not far.” He reaches for my hand and knots our fingers together. “Come on.”
As we ascend the path, I start to relax, trusting that John knows what he’s doing. After a solid ten-minute hike, the trail leads to an outlook where you can see the entire valley below. We seem to be the only souls around, save for the deer scooting out of our path and birds chirping in the underbrush.
He leads me to a patch of grass near a gigantic boulder and spreads a blanket out, setting the rest of the supplies nearby.
I inhale the mountain air as I take in the view. “It’s peaceful here.”
“I think so,” John replies as he sits and pats the space beside him.
We open the water bottles and devour a couple of granola bars as we discuss the classes we skipped and the homework we’ll have to make up, both of us agreeing it’s worth it. “I still have to get home before my grandpa gets home from the docks.”
“No worries. We won’t stay long.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, and though I was hot and clammy just five minutes before, it feels cooler under the shade of the trees. I shiver when a chill travels over my bare legs.
Lifting the second blanket, John wraps it around our shoulders. “Strange how it can feel nippy up here. We can leave if you want.”
“No, I like it here…with you,” I admit. I’ve been getting braver telling John how I feel, whereas he’s more of an open book.
“Me too.” John absently trails a hand across my thigh, and my stomach tingles in anticipation, the thought of fitting our mouths together out here with no one around making my head swim.
As if reading my thoughts, John shifts closer, and when our gazes meet, I can see the question in his eyes. Want to make out again? Little does he know, I want to do more, think about it at night in bed, but I’ve been too chicken to make the first move or even bring it up.
But as John angles his head and stares into my eyes, then down to my lips, I know we’re on the same page. At the very least, he wants to kiss me too. “Micah? Do you…?”
Feeling bold, I flick my tongue against John’s bottom lip. I’ve learned plenty of tricks from our hours-long make-out sessions. John groans and digs his fingers into my waist, tugging me closer. That action alone is enough to make my dick hard.
When his lips part, I crush my mouth to his, desperate to kiss him again, to explore his mouth with my tongue. John seems just as eager as he urges me to straddle him. This is a new position, one I like because now we’re super close, chest to chest, groin to groin.
I groan as John tangles his fingers in my hair and deepens the kiss.
“Oh my God, J…this feels so good.” Now it’s my turn to cup his face and drag his lips to mine. Our mouths stay joined until they feel bruised, but I couldn’t stop kissing him if I tried. As the light bathes us through the canopy of trees, I feel heated again, and not only from the sun.
I can feel John’s hardness like a wooden post through his shorts. The fabric separating us creates just the right amount of friction, but after a few minutes more, it feels too raw and like it’s not enough. Keeping in mind we’re outdoors and only hidden by trees and a blanket, I find the courage to brush my fingers against John’s zipper.
He hissed through his teeth. “That feels good. Do it again.”
So I do, rubbing him through the material as he squirms and groans. Hand on his button, I ask, “Is this okay?”
“Please.” John adjusts the blanket higher around our shoulders and devours my mouth again. His tongue probes deep as he rocks his hips toward my hands, letting me know just how much he wants me to touch him.
I unbutton and unzip John’s shorts with shaky fingers, then lower his briefs until his cock protrudes. Even in the shadow of the blanket, I can’t stop staring at how thick and full his shaft is.
John’s voice is hesitant when he asks, “Is something wrong?”
“No…I just never…”
“We can stop.”
When he tries to scoot back, I grip his shoulder. “I don’t want to. Unless you do.”
“No, I…I want you to touch me. So fucking much.”
“Me too.” Feeling emboldened, I encircle his shaft and stroke upward. I hear John’s breath hitch.
“Feels good. Have you ever done this before?”
“No, have you?”
“Not like this.” His eyes soften. “Not with you.”
I blow out a breath, not stupid enough to pretend I’m his first. But his words are like a salve. He wants me to touch him, to kiss him, to spend time with him. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and I can’t tell if it’s only a crush or way more.
John leans back, positioning his arms on the blanket behind him to allow for more room. He feels warm and solid in my palm as I pump his length, testing the same method I use on myself.
“God, that’s—” John screws his eyes shut, panting shallowly.
I realize how completely exhilarating it is to make him feel this good just with my hand. After another minute, I fall into a decent rhythm, using my thumb to stroke the underside of his glans, which he seems to like if his shuddering breaths are any indication. “Does this feel okay?”
“So good.” John’s voice is raspy, which makes my entire body tingle. His eyes are open, blissed out as he watches me. “I…I’m gonna come.”
I lean forward to seal our mouths together, and our tongues stroke in time with my fingers and his shallow thrusts into my hand. Another minute more, and he groans his release against my lips, his body quivering, warm come spurting between us. It’s the most intimate moment of my life, and I feel on top of the world.
I let go of his softened shaft, and John uses the edge of the blanket to clean his stomach and my hand. I feel happy, dreamy, as he reaches for me and plants a kiss on my lips. “Can I touch you too?”
I’m not saying no, not after watching him and trying not to adjust my growing hardness in my shorts.
As soon as I nod, he unfastens my shorts, wasting no time pushing down my waistband and taking me in hand. And, oh God, it feels different when it’s someone else stroking you with the perfect amount of care and pressure.
I groan and arch my back, trying to draw it out and not lose it in the first minute he gets his hands on me.
“You feel so good.” John watches me with wonder in his eyes. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”
My cheeks heating, I bury my face in his shoulder, trying to hold it together.
“Hey.” He kisses the side of my head. “If you didn’t know how fucking much I like you and want to be with you, now you do.”
His words set my nerve endings on fire. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safer or more cared for. I’m afraid to be vulnerable in front of him, but I also feel like I can let myself go. Just a little.
Or maybe a lot. Not a second more, I moan and shudder as I break apart and spurt all over his hand.
“So hot,” John murmurs against my ear.
“Tell me about it,” I reply, and John chuckles.
After we clean up a second mess, we lie side by side on the blanket, hands knotted together, as we look at the glimpses of blue sky through the trees and talk about our dreams.