Chapter 40
brIE
The following week, Sawyer backs into a parking spot and hops out of his truck. “Stay here.”
I’ve never been inside the gates of the drive-in theater, and I don’t know what’s better: that I’m here for the first time, or that we’re away from peering eyes.
When Sawyer and I are at school, it’s like our own little world. We eat lunch with Tess most days, and while it’s professional, I’ve had fun developing our friendship.
But as soon as we’re in the community, my anxiety climbs. The town’s attention makes me sweat, but then there’s the mortification every time Sawyer’s forced to defend me.
He’ll be relieved when I’m finally gone and he no longer has to.
I slam the door on it all because it’s irrelevant tonight.
My gaze is drawn to the hill outside the gates.
I would’ve never spend my hard-earned pennies to enter the grounds properly.
Besides, neither Dev nor I had a car to drive in.
The experience was a luxury I couldn’t afford in multiple ways.
But on those rare occasions I wasn’t working, Dev and I would sit up on that hill, a radio tuned to the movie between us.
I rarely paid attention to what was on the screen, watching the people below instead.
Sawyer’s big red truck was there every time I went, backed in just like now.
Even then, I wished I was down there with him.
I hated him, but would have accepted an invitation.
Not from Ethan, not from Rich. Not from anyone else.
But if Sawyer had asked, I would have gone. After some arguing.
Several minutes later, my door opens, and he leads me to the back of the truck. He’s laid down blankets and placed pillows against the cab. To the side are a couple sodas and a huge tub of popcorn from concessions.
He grins as he helps me onto the bed, the skirt of my dress billowing as he pulls me up like I weigh nothing.
We settle against the pillows and stretch our legs out in front of us. I lean back against his chest. He threads his fingers through mine and I feel his lips on the top of my head. My pulse leaps in my throat, just like a teenager with a crush.
“You know,” he says, as if reading my mind, “when I used to come here, I always wished it was with you.”
“You looked like you were having enough fun,” I blab.
It was meant to be teasing, but my heart jumps to my throat when I realize what I just admitted.
He leans to look at me. “I don’t remember ever seeing you here.”
I shake my head, heat climbing up my spine. “That’s because you didn’t.” I swallow. As casually as I can, I say, “Dev and I sat up there. Just a few times.”
“Too cool for the rest of us, huh?” Sawyer smiles as he offers me a soda and plops the popcorn between us.
I make a sound I hope he mistakes for a laugh. “Yeah.”
He looks at me for a long moment before leaning against the pillows again.
He knows better than anyone how untrue that is.
Even though it was years ago, there’s still a little twist in my stomach at the reminder.
The same feeling I had about not having tasted those Chateau Brume sodas before.
A wistfulness for something I never had.
If this were just about differences in our upbringing, I could move past it, meet him where we are.
But it’s broader than that, extending to the here and now.
Maybe because, as much as Sawyer and I have both changed, this town hasn’t.
It forces us to travel back in time whenever the spotlight catches us.
Why couldn’t I have met you anywhere else? I want to ask.
I ignore the painful pangs. No need to dwell on the reasons Sawyer and I don’t make sense.
I already have a job offer, and another interview scheduled.
At the end of the school year, I’m doing what I couldn’t as a kid: leaving.
Escaping Blue Ridge for the last time. I’m allowed to enjoy this while it lasts.
A light breeze blows, tenting my dress and sending goosebumps down my legs as the opening credits play on the screen.
“Cold?” he asks, moving the popcorn and covering us with the blanket.
“Thanks,” I say, resting my hand on his thigh. It’s hard and unyielding.
We watch the movie for a few minutes like this.
Or, in my case, pretend to. I’m so aware of him.
The way his chest rises and falls. His thigh muscle tensing as he shifts to make us both more comfortable.
His scent overwhelms me, even outside, even with the nutty smell of popped popcorn permeating the air.
Hand flexing on my thigh, he says, “I like this dress.” His breath is warm on my neck.
Goosebumps rise from my exposed skin just below my clavicle.
He raises his free hand and skims them with one delicate finger. “Still cold?”
I shake my head, heart galloping beneath his touch.
Beneath the blanket, his other hand begins tracing circles over my dress. With each one, the hem draws up. Heat scorches a trail up to the apex between my thighs.
With me living at Gia’s, and him in an active construction zone that has him shacking up with his brother at the moment, we haven’t had more than a couple steamy make-out sessions since the Nowruz festival a couple weeks ago, and I’m famished.
I suppress the urge to nudge him closer with a slight tilt of my hips.
We are, after all, in public. I glance around.
It’s a Tuesday. Despite the mid-week promotions, there are only a few other cars scattered around the lot, and almost all of them are sedans, too low to see over the side of the truck anyway.
Sawyer cups my chin, tilting my mouth to his as he leans over me. His lips taste like salt from the popcorn, but his tongue is sweet from the soda. I break the kiss before I’m tempted to climb onto his lap. That, I’m sure, people would be noticed.
I rest my head on his shoulder again, trying to catch my breath. My nipples bead when his tongue slides along the shell of my ear. I dig my nails into his leg.
“What’s your favorite part of the movie so far?” he whispers in a hoarse voice that grates the most sensitive parts of me.
His hand creeps up my bare thigh, no fabric between us.
“I liked the dancing hotdog,” I sigh.
The rough sound of his chuckle ripples through me. “You mean the dancing hotdog that warned us to keep our radios on the right station?”
“Yeah. Great performance.”
The pad of his finger brushes against the damp cotton of my panties, and I jerk against him, a small sound ripping through me.
“Shh,” he soothes, holding me firmly against him. “If you do that again, I’ll have to stop. I don’t want to stop.” He slides his finger along the edge of my panties. “And judging by how wet you are,” he slips a finger just inside, “you don’t want me to either.”
“I don’t,” I breathe.
He removes his finger and sweeps his hand up and down my thigh, driving me crazy with want. “You know what my favorite part of this dress is?”
I shake my head.
With a smile in his voice, he gravels, “I like this part.”
He raises his free hand to my chest and hooks one finger into the front. I look down. You can almost see my nipples, but not quite. Just a shadow of an outline. My hand moves up to where he’s hard beneath his jeans, and he immediately releases my dress and threads our fingers together.
“If you touch me” —his fingers slowly move toward the bundle of nerves already eager to explode— “this whole place will know when I come.”
At that last word, come, Sawyer presses on my clit. I shudder.
“But I have to touch you,” he grits out, gently moving my panties to the side, “I’m desperate for it.”
He slides in, barely to the knuckle, but it feels like coming home. I release a shaky, shallow breath.
“Your little sounds drive me crazy.” He inserts a second finger, and when he hits the spot he knows I love, I clamp my mouth shut, trying my damnedest to be quiet.
His lips skim down my neck. “You like that?”
“Mm-hm.”
He bites my shoulder and I’m dimly aware of the way his hips pulse up and down.
“I wish” —it’s hard to talk with his fingers inside me, but I swallow and force the sounds out— “you’d let me touch you.”
“I’d get us arrested.” He circles my clit insistently now. Tingles blaze up my spine. “When we can be together in private again, I won’t say no.”
His fingers drive into me. A keening sound starts to climb out of my throat but he molds his lips to mine just in time to hold it between us.
He brings his mouth back to my ear, talking low as he goes back to rubbing my clit, more urgently now. “God, Brie, I love this” —he licks the shell of my ear— “love being the reason you feel good.”
There’s no hope for me anymore. My chest heaves like a Victorian harlot as concentrated pleasure winds me tighter and tighter. His arm anchors me to him as my body bucks against him. I grip his free hand, dig my nails into his other forearm.
“I’ve got you.” Sawyer’s breath is hot on my neck. “Come for me right here. Let go.”
And then I do. Just as the deep pulse of pleasure blasts through me, Sawyer’s mouth is on mine, swallowing my moans.
He holds me to him, steady and strong. When I start clenching around nothing, I urge his hand down.
He gets the message and drives two fingers into me, chasing my orgasm, extending it to the last drop.
Then, when I’m a satisfied lump resting against him, he eases his fingers out, brings them to his mouth, and licks them clean. The sight sends another rippling shudder through me.
After a few minutes of satisfied bliss, I turn to kiss him, tasting myself on his tongue. He releases my hand, and I automatically reach for him. His thick erection has my need blooming all over again.
“Let’s leave,” I whisper.
“The movie’s not living up to your expectations?” he asks, voice ragged.
“What movie?”