16. Dottie
16
DOTTIE
"This is weird," I say, and immediately feel like slinking back in on myself. I quickly pull my hand from his mouth before the heat of his lips can sear its way under my skin.
Leave it to me to ruin this moment before it even begins. I expect him to step away, pull back, maybe even chastise me, but he doesn't move. He just stands there, his fingers featherlight on my hip, his face close. So fucking close that I can practically feel the atoms bouncing off between us. His eyes are locked in on my lips, zeroed in like a sniper ready to take their shot.
"Not weird because it's weird, but because it's just-" I try to backtrack, but he cuts me off. Not with words, but with his thumb, and a soft press of it on my lower lip. I shiver at the contact, the intimacy, the delicious warmth of his skin on me.
"Because this isn't the first kiss. We've done this before," he says with a sly smile, perfectly articulating my own racing thoughts.
"For hours," I agree on a whisper. He keeps his thumb on my lip, and when my breath hits him, he licks his own lips.
"I think our mouths were fused together for the majority of our high school years,” he smiles. My stomach somersaults at the memories of all those kisses. When life was simple, and we'd steal any moment to hold each other close.
"Maybe it's like riding a bike?" My voice tips up, and he traces a line from my lip down to my chin before cupping my chin with his large, calloused hand. The space between us vanishes in an instant, and my breath hitches as he leans down, brushing his mouth against mine. Not quite a kiss, but not nothing either. He’s handing me the reins, letting me decide if I want to take this further. He was always so good about putting the power in my hands and being patient while I made my decisions.
I lean forward, pressing his lips to mine and time slows down. I feel the tingles spread everywhere, down my neck, in my stomach, through my fingertips, and I lean into him. My hands find their way from my sides and to his chest. The cotton of his t-shirt and the heat of his skin underneath warms my palms as we sink further into his kiss. He groans against my mouth, a deep, animalistic, needy sound that makes me gasp. Now that I’ve given him the permission, made the final move to press our mouths together, he takes over. He takes advantage of my parting lips, sliding his tongue in massaging it against my own. I whimper, and my knees knock together.
It's been so long since I've been kissed like this. Kissed with meaning, with purpose. This kiss that is so many things at once. It's familiar, the feel of his lips and the wintergreen taste of him. It's new, the way his grown man stubble scratches at my skin and the way he takes the lead like a man trying to make love to my mouth, instead of the eager teenage boy I remember. My hands find purchase around his neck, and his move to my waist, absentmindedly holding me steady as I swoon, making me want him.
Want. Want. Want.
The word thrums in my chest along with my heartbeat. I want him. I need him. I want to be consumed by him.
I moan wantonly when his fingertips brush along the bare skin between my hoodie and the waistband of jeans. I fall forward, eating up the minimal space between our bodies. I don't want space or air. I want to crawl inside of him, morph us together and never let go. I press my hips in, trying to find some kind of friction to stave off the overwhelming need pulsing through me and I'm rewarded with the length of him, hot and hard against me.
He's the first to break for air, pulling away from my mouth slowly, like it agonizes him the same way it agonizes me. Our lips separate, but our bodies stay glued together. We both gasp for breath as he presses his forehead against mine.
"Damn, Dorothea," he breathes, and I sigh. His lips hit mine again, not kissing but caressing all the same. "Exactly like riding a bike. The most fun bike I've ever ridden."
The only bike I've ever ridden I think, but don't say out loud. Not now. The moment is too perfect, and it's not necessarily true. I've kissed other men.
It just never felt like this.
I tangle my fingers in the roots of hair, tugging lightly at the pulled back tresses. I try to pull him back into me, back into a full kiss, but his lips travel. They trace up my cheek, over the bridge of my nose, and land on my forehead. He squeezes my hips, and he kisses my head, one long press followed by a few small, quick pecks.
"I'll see you around,” he says as he takes one step back, and then another. His fingers stay on me until he can no longer reach, and only then does he turn, tucking his hands into his pockets and walking down the driveway to his truck.
I watch him go with one hand on my heart, feeling it beating wildly in my chest. I know when I open this door, there will be three men and my best friend waiting on the other side of it, wanting to know what the heck is going on and all the sordid details, so I wait on this side for another moment, taking deep breaths and reliving the perfect fairytale moment I thought I'd left in my past.
Stephen
Good morning, Dorothea. Daisy May was wondering if you wanted to join us for our Saturday hike at Whispering Ridge Trail?
Isn't Whispering Ridge the place where those guys were running an illegal boxing ring in the clearing?
Also, good morning? That's all you have to say after kissing me and then leaving me to the firing squad? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have four McKenna's breathing down your neck, trying to get information out of you when you yourself have no idea what's going on?
What is going on? We kissed, Stephen.
Stephen
Believe it or not, Fox Hole has spruced itself up since you've been off in La La Land. The boxing ring with its six logs strung together with old jump ropes is long gone, as are the participants. Whispering Ridge is a nice, quiet place now, completely devoid of debauchery.
Insufferable. The man is insufferable.
That doesn' t answer my question.
Stephen
Sure it does. Whispering Ridge was once the home of the illegal boxing ring but is now free of unseemliness.
Unless you count you and I sneaking off the trail to make out behind a tree as unseemly, in which case, I must admit I'm hoping for some unseemliness.
You're avoiding my question again! And you're assuming that I want to make out with you.
Stephen
Not assuming, just hopeful. We kissed last night. I'm hoping we kiss again soon. That's what's going on.
That is an infuriatingly vague answer, and you know it.
Stephen
Did you want me to kiss you last night?
Yes.
Stephen
Did you enjoy kissing me last night?
You know I did.
Stephen
Then stop overthinking it and put on some sneakers. I'll be there to pick you up in thirty minutes.
And just to be perfectly clear, this is a date. And so was last night .
A knock on the bedroom door jolts me from my thoughts and back to reality. Part of me wants to pretend to still be asleep, but the smell of coffee drifting closer is enough to entice me.
"Come in," I holler, and the door cracks open. Jay, Keith, Dean, and Kira all pop their heads through the door, one on top of another like they're starring in some over-the-top ‘90s sitcom.
"Good morning, Miss Dottie," Jay sing-songs, extending a steaming mug in my direction.
"If you want me to talk, you're going to have to deliver whatever is in that mug straight to this bed, IronDad," I chide.
One by one, the McKenna's unravel themselves from their human pyramid at my door and filter into the room. Kira jumps directly onto the bed, crawling up beside me and propping her head up with a few pillows. Dean takes a seat at the edge of the bed on my other side, while Jay and Keith perch on either side of the mattress.
I reach out and grab the mug–one with a cartoon drawing of a young Honey Boo Boo and the quote ‘Everyone's a little gay’–and sip. The homemade hazelnut latte isn't quite as good as the ones Rachel makes up in San Francisco, but it'll certainly do.
"You're all vultures, you know. Every last one of you," I say after another sip.
"We're not vultures, Dot. We're just curious," Dean pokes my shoulder, almost knocking me off balance where I sit. For a professional quarterback, the man doesn't know his own strength.
"There's nothing to be curious about. I told you everything last night. Stephen walked me to the door and kissed me while the four of your stared through the curtains like Jimmy Stewart in a Hitchcock film."
"Please, honey. If this was a Hitchcock film, I would've Norman Bates-ed you in the shower for keeping details to yourself," Kira says with an eye roll so hard, I'm surprised she doesn't sprain herself.
"Kira, honey bunch, you're more like a crow. Just pick pick picking away at poor Tippi here," Keith says to his daughter as he pats my foot where it sticks out from the blanket.
"There will be no Hitchcock-ing of any sort, children," Jay cuts in, lying down and placing his chin in his hand, mirroring Kira on my other side. "We simply want to know if anything happened since last night. Have you and Stephen talked?"
I sigh. There's no point in hiding it. Stephen will be here soon to pick me up, and if his texts are to be believed, there is likely to be more kissing, probably when he drops me back off later.
Man, I hope there's more kissing. Much, much, much more. I could barely sleep last night, I was far too busy touching my lips to my fingertips, trying to recreate the electric spark of Stephen's skin.
My thoughts spiraled, and touching my lips turned into touching other parts of my body and well…if I had any qualms about masturbating at McKenna Mountain, th ey have long since been squashed. Besides, Jay and Keith so graciously included me in their in-depth discussion of the birds and the bees with Kira when we were eleven, and they had been adamant about the importance of the pursuit of self-pleasure.
I'm going to go ahead and consider the two muffled orgasms I gave myself under their roof, while thinking of Stephen's muscled thighs straining against his jeans, as payback for that bit of preteen humiliation.
Nothing scars a young girl for life quite like having two very homosexual men clinically explain clitoral stimulation.
"We're taking his dog on a hike this morning," I say, throwing back another gulp of latte.
"Is taking his dog on a hike code for something dirty?" Dean asks, waggling his eyebrows. I try to shove him, but he grasps my hands and pulls me into a half cuddle/half headlock.
"It's not code for anything dirty! And he's picking me up in twenty minutes so if you'll all excuse me, I have to get ready."
"Oh yes, the lady needs her privacy. What does one wear to a totally not dirty hike with one's ex-boyfriend whom one made out with shamelessly on one's best friend's parents’ porch last night?" Jay ponders, tapping his fingers against his face.
"Stop saying 'one', IronDad. It's weird," Kira says, crinkling her nose as she pushes up and off the bed. Dean lets me out of his grasp, and I hand him my nearly empty mug .
"Did you bring those black leggings with the white stripe down the side that you wore in the picture you posted from Griffith Park a few weeks ago? They made your booty go POP!" Keith says, smacking his lips in a popping noise and miming grabbing at ass cheeks in the air. I toss a pillow at him, but it falls short. The four of them are already at the door.
"Call me in if you want me to do your hair," Keeks says as she shuts the door behind her. I decide against that, throwing my hair up into a messy bun instead and pulling out a few pieces in the front to frame my face. I open the drawer where I've placed most of my clothes and pull out the black and white leggings. I slide them on and check myself out in the mirror.
Keith is right, they make my ass look fantastic.
I throw on a long-sleeve white tee, tuck my leggings into my white crew socks, and slide on the boots I packed for an occasion just like this.
Well, not just like this. I thought I might do some hiking while I was in Tennessee, I just didn't think it would be with Stephen.
I hear the unmistakable crunch of gravel under truck tires, and I steal a glance out the window. Stephen's metal gray Ford pickup truck comes to a stop right in front of the house, and I can see Daisy May jumping from the front seat to the back. I grab my phone, expecting a 'Here!' text any second. What I don't expect is Stephen opening his truck door and jumping out. I watch as he roots around in the back of seat of the truck, pulling out a pink bakery box. Is he going to sit out there and eat donuts while he waits for me? Odd choice, but I respect the dedication to sweets, I guess. Maybe if I'm quick enough, he'll share with me.
I tuck my phone into my back pocket and pull on a puffer vest before winding down the stairs. There's a knock at the front door as I descend into the entryway, and Jay rushes to answer it with two yapping dachshunds at his feet.
"What are you doing?" I ask before anyone else has the chance to utter so much as a greeting. Stephen is on the other side of the door, bakery box in one hand, the other outstretched and mid-shake with Jay.
"I'm picking you up for our hike," he says as Jay pulls him through the door.
"I know that," I huff. "Why are you at the door?" I cross my arms over my chest and inwardly cringe at myself for sounding like a petulant teenager.
"Because I am a gentleman, and a gentleman picks his date up at the door. What did you expect? An ‘I'm here’ text while I waited for you in the car?" he asks, lifting one eyebrow at me.
I mean, yeah. That's exactly what I expected. And the eyebrow thing. Why is that so sexy? So the man can isolate the muscles on one side of his face enough to lift a single brow. That should not be something that gets my very expensive La Perla panties in a twist, and yet…
"Okay fine, but don't you think bringing me baked goods is overkill?" I ask, taking the pink box from his hand. He swipes it right back and hands it to Keith, who, along with Kira and Dean, materialized a moment ago.
"The baked goods are not for you. They're for Jay and Keith. Gentleman, remember?" he says, pointing a finger at his chest. "A gentleman also brings a gesture of good faith to a lady's chaperones when he comes to call on her. I picked these up at Miss Pattie's this morning. I'm glad to see that I was right, and chocolate glazed is still a favorite on McKenna Mountain."
I look over to said McKenna's. All four of them have a donut in their face, munching away as they watch this scene unfold between us. The sugary smell invades my nostrils, and my stomach rumbles. Damn. Teenage petulance or not, I kind of wish one of those donuts was for me. I shake my head and turn my attention back to Stephen.
"Chaperone? Call on me? Who are you and what have you done with the boy who thought 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' was a line from a Taylor Swift track in middle school?”
"First of all, T-Swift could write Romeo and Juliet, but Shakespeare couldn't write Love Story, that's just a fact. And second, I've been binge watching a lot of Bridgerton lately, sue me," Stephen smirks, and my stomach does a terribly inconvenient somersault.
"I love Bridgerton," Dean says around a mouthful of donut. I cringe when little chocolate spittle goes flying.
Stephen jerks a thumb in Dean's direction.
"See, Bridgerton is amazing. Now, is there anything else you'd like to comment on before we go? Is my hair too long? Will the green in this flannel going to clash with the bare and brown trees?"
I eye him up and down. Part of me feels bad for needling him. It's not his fault that his gentlemanliness caught me off guard. I can't remember the last time a man came to pick me up at my door. Naturally I expected to rush out the door to meet him with little fanfare.
The other part of me, though? That part is relishing in the teasing. The easy back and forth that we've fallen back into. That part wins out.
"Now that you mention it," I say, casting a cheeky look down to his shoes. "Those boots have seen better days. All this work to impress me and you couldn't even put on a pair of shoes from this century?"
I shriek when he grabs my arm and whips my body into his, pulling me into a tight, snug hug. My face buries itself into his chest like it has a mind of its own, and I inhale his warm, piney scent as I feel his chin rest on top of my head.
"I missed you, sweetheart," he whispers.
I don't know if he means he's missed me since the tree lighting or just in general, but I've missed him. I've missed him every second of every day. It sat with me like a dull ache for years, something I grew so accustomed to living with that I often forgot that it was there. But now, the ache is a freshly picked scab, ripe and sensitive and painful to touch. I don't know if they make Band-Aids big enough to cover this wound again when I leave .
We say our goodbyes and he walks me to his truck. When he opens the door to help me in, I find a white paper bag dotted with grease spots waiting for me on the passenger side seat.
"What is this?" I ask as I settle into the truck and pick up the bag.
"C'mon. You think I'd go to Miss Pattie's and not pick up a strawberry sprinkle donut for you? I'm not an amateur," he says as he hoists himself up on the truck step and starts to fiddle with my seatbelt. It takes me a second to realize what he's doing but he's…
Jesus. He's buckling me in.
His forearms brush over the tops of my thighs as he leans over me, securing the belt into the buckle. The hair in his bun tickles at my nose as he tightens the strap and lays it across my chest. Though he's careful not to touch any part of my breasts, that doesn't stop my body from reacting to his nearness. My nipples tighten in to tight, hard points under my shirt, and a warmth starts to pool in my belly.
"There," he says when he gets the strap situated to his liking and looks at me. "Now you're safe and sound."
I take a deep breath to center myself as he shuts my door and rounds the front of his truck.
My body might be safe and sound here in this truck, but my heart is on shaky ground.