1. One #2
He grins and lifts a shoulder. “Called out. Needed a break today to make a few calls and paperwork.”
“Ah! So, you work? Oddity!” I snort.
He flicks a handful of water at me. “Shush it. Close your eyes,” he says, laughing, and the request makes me suddenly warm inside. I want to say something clever, but I’m suddenly aware of how fast my heart is going.
I close my eyes, his thumb traces the curve of my cheekbone, slow and deliberate, like he’s mapping me. The pad of his finger drags across my lower lip, and my breath catches.
“Joe…” I start, but he places his other hand, sliding from my waist to the small of my back, pressing me closer, and I feel his chest rise against mine, quieting me. I move on instinct beneath the surface, my arms and legs locking around him.
“Right here.” His lips press against my forehead, soft, then my temple, the bridge of my nose, the apple of my cheek.
Each kiss lands like a small, burning ember.
I keep my eyes shut because if I open them, I might remember how to be rational, and I don’t want to be rational. I want to be here, suspended in time.
His lips hover near mine, close enough that I can taste chlorine and something sweeter, something just him. My pulse thunders in my ears, louder than the distant thud of Liam’s bag.
Don’t open your eyes.
I open my eyes.
The desire lodges itself in my throat, and the words tumble out,
“What if we stopped waiting?” I whisper, and his eyes darken as his hands cradle my face, forcing me to look up at him.
Joe stares at me with that look. One that makes me feel as if I’m the only thing in the world worth seeing. His pupils are blown wide, blue almost swallowed by black, and his jaw is tight in that way it gets when he’s holding himself back.
Always holding himself back.
“I… not yet, baby…” He brushes his lips against mine, and my heart sinks at his answer.
I don’t know if it’s our age difference, or something else.
The age difference is barely a hurdle in my humble opinion.
I will be nineteen in three months, and he is twenty-five.
People easily judge what they don’t understand, blind to the fact that I already measured and accepted the consequences, but reputation corrodes faster than a life lived unapologetically.
Meanwhile, few feel remorseful for how quickly I was forced to grow up.
Since I’ve known him, he’s taken away the darkness of grief that no man of my age would understand the weight of my heavy baggage that clings to me like a shadow.
“Are you hungry? We could go into town and grab something to eat.”
I shake my head at his offer, suddenly shy and feeling rejected. He doesn’t push, and that’s the worst part.
“Okay, there’s coffee and fruit in the kitchen if you want any,” he offers letting me go, and I swim towards the stairs to make my way out of the pool.
“Hey.” His voice going soft. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”
Are men always this oblivious?
I look over my shoulder at him. “I just feel you’re keeping some stuff from me,” I say hesitantly, and I sense an intensity that I haven’t felt before.
“I think…” He swims towards the edge of the pool, swiping his tongue over his teeth and looks up at me. “Are you sure you’re ready for everything I want to take from you?” My stomach tightens. He says it casually, but the question feels anything but.
I’m soaking wet, standing on the edge of his pool. His eyes deepen to a stormy shade as they linger on me, making me hyper-aware of every droplet of water caressing my sun-kissed skin, wishing they were his warm hands. Then, his expression shifts even deeper.
He grabs the edge of the pool and lifts himself up, and the mere sight of his arms flexing makes the ground feel unstable. He slowly towers over me, his hand grazing my waist.
“Because if we do this, I want all of you, Sara. I’ve spent five months learning everything about you, and I haven’t gotten nearly enough.”
My mouth suddenly goes dry, and my mind is begging for my breathing to calm down.
“I’m…” is the only thing I manage, clearing my throat when his finger brushes my lips, silencing me from words I don’t have, and he walks away towards the chairs.
Holy shit.
He goes to grab his phone, changing the song to Got You (Where I Want You) By The Flys.
His blond hair and body are backlit by the sun, every muscle outlined and impossibly golden, revealing his large, triangular Buddha tattoo in the middle of his shoulder blades.
For a second, he belongs to some other world.
“Have you thought about what you want to do when you graduate? It’s soon, isn’t it?” he asks, looking at his phone as if he’s afraid of my answer.
“Yes, a few more weeks. I applied to Paris University, but everything depends on…” I blurt out, taking a step toward him, the words wanting to reveal truths I still chase away at night.
“Depends on what?”
“I guess on what would make me want to stay.”
“And what would that be?”
I take another step closer and place my hand on his back, craving to see his eyes. “You…”
He peeks at me with a challenge, pushing his hair back.
“You should go, Sara. All I’d do is hold you back.”
I want to touch his handsome face, force him to see the way I see him, but I keep my hands to myself.
“Then hold me back,” I say in simple words, hoping for complicated promises.
I’m about to say more, but my chest restricts.
He closes the gap between us, his fingers slowly grabbing my waist like matches on fire burning my flesh, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he stops, inches away, stares deeply into me with his bright blue eyes as if this is no joking matter and whispers into my ear, “I want you to be sure. That you want this, me, us… all of it.”
My hand reaches up, brushing his cheek. His skin is both soft and rough, and he leans, moving closer to my neck. His breath makes my skin tingle. My hands travel all over his chest, and I get so lost in the emotion that I forget to answer him.
“Say it,” he asks again in a chill-inducing tone.
My lips hover near his. “I’ve never been more certain.”
My heart is plummeting, and I need CPR.
911, what’s your emergency? Death by a beautiful God staring back at me, reflecting my hopes and dreams. Don’t bother, send the casket.
“I think I’m…”
“You think what, baby?” His breathing becomes heavier, syncing with mine, suspended until the world interrupts when a car horn blares from the street, followed by the distant sound of someone calling for him from the garage.
I think I’m falling in love with you.
He steps back, exhaling. “Damn it, I forgot my uncle Fred was coming today. What are you doing later?”
Shivering inside from how intoxicating it felt to have him on the brink of breaking. “Mom is at the gallery all day. I have an errand with Mimi at three.”
Joe nods absentmindedly. “See you tonight?” It’s more of a request than a question.
“Yes, I’ll come by.”
He leaps closer, smiling. “Okay.” And gently kisses me on the forehead, erupting hundreds of butterflies.
When he turns and jogs down the path toward the garage, my eyes trail his waist, his broad, strong back, his tattoo, and I have to take a deep breath to regain control of myself.
His uncle Fred pauses at my sight, waving at me, dressed in expensive beige linen. Clearly, handsome men with striking facial structures run in the family.
Making my way inside the house, walking down the hallway, I take in the family photographs lining the walls. The twin brothers, with their arms slung over each other, Liam sticking his tongue out, Joe flashing a peace sign. Happiness radiates from the frames.
My gaze drifts further to another picture, landing on their beautiful mother, laughing as she tosses Joe into the air, Liam on his knees in the dirt tugging at her dress.
A soft, unexpected ache pinches my chest, briefly disorienting me as I remember the days when my mother held me like that.
When I was mothered unconditionally. The phone call she received about my brother’s death has become its own ghost, a haunting memory that plagues me with the echo of his absence.
I snap out of my thoughts, and espresso shots glisten on the marble countertop in the kitchen, catching my attention. I could use a little pick-me-up.
With my eyes closed and a frown, I drink one, letting the bitter taste jolt me as I swallow. I can't fathom why anyone enjoys the taste of coffee, yet I love how it makes me feel.
When I open my eyes, I'm startled by Liam standing against the opposite side of the island with his strong tattooed arms, dark brown hair, and ethereal blue eyes that hold underneath a somber hardness to him.
I hadn't sensed his presence, but there's no denying it now that he gazes at me, almost scrutinizing.
“Make yourself at home?” he asks with venom.
“Wouldn't that be your dream come true?” I retort.
“It would feel like that coffee that went down your throat — painful,” he shoots back.
He's such a jerk and can't help himself. If I could twist a small blade in his shoulder to watch his obnoxiousness squirm away, I'd do it.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m the only one in charge of what I swallow.” I challenge, narrowing my eyes so little imaginary blades poke straight through his eyeballs. I think the word swallowing is the trigger considering his murderous gaze.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, smiling, embodying someone who’s unbothered, yet further from the truth. I’m so bothered by him.
With my breath steady and avoiding eye contact, I walk past him, sending shivers down my spine, and head back to my house.