But it’s not the shape of his muscles, or the dimples above his posterior, that excites me.
The way he always looks at me like I’m center of the universe is what ignites the flame within.
The fantasies I’ve had regarding Arthur didn’t prepare me for the actual wanting, or the desire now throbbing in every limb, and I know he shares my desire because I can feel the eagerness through his jeans as he presses against my thigh.
Arthur’s fingers trace the stubborn curves of my figure, fanning the heatwave that’s now traveling up and down my body like an unhinged see-saw. When they land on the button of my pants, I gasp and trap his hands with my own.
“Don’t get me wrong—I want to make love to you. Oh, God, I do,” he says breathlessly. “But I know you’re not ready. I just want to feel your skin against mine. I’m not going to rush into anything and hurt you.”
I move my hand and watch with bated breath while his fingers fumble with the top button of my pants. “Yes, you will,” I whisper, anticipating a future heartbreak. Surely nothing that feels this good and right can last.
The soft kisses he plants on my inner thigh send shudders throughout my body, and I find myself alternating between gasping and moaning, clutching at the flannel sheets underneath our bodies. Arthur pauses briefly to remove his pants, wiggling out of the blue denim, and crawls back into bed with me. Other than his briefs, he’s practically naked, and the sight of his body frightens me a little, because it means that we’re actually in his bedroom, on his bed, doing what I thought was impossible.
After Arthur rolls on top of me, he pushes away from the mattress, and peers down at my face.
“I’ve wanted you like this for a long time now,” he confesses. “And I mean a long time. I guess that sounds kinda creepy, doesn’t it?”
“Liar.” I bite my lip and follow his eyes as they wander across my face and body. “Why didn’t you say somethin’? You could have had me like this a long time ago.”
He laughs and leans in to kiss me again. “Yeah, right,” he replies. “If I had tried kissin’ you back when we were kids, you would have shut me down immediately.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” I lie.
What Arthur says is devastatingly true, because I stopped trusting myself and others after Todd broke up with me, but I don’t want to think about those times or him ever again, so I push his ugly name out of my head and pull Arthur’s face into mine. His tongue lashes at me wildly, like I’ve just released something fierce and feral into my mouth. I seize his back and dig my fingernails into his skin, his soft moans stoking the fire burning between my legs. I want him so bad.
When our mouths finally separate, I slide my hand down his chest and reach into his underwear, tugging at the curls inside. I grab his cock and marvel at how good it feels in my hand. He gasps and lets me play with it until my hand is lightly covered in sticky fluid.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” he says in a half-whisper, half-moan. “Lance, wait.” His hand wraps around my wrist and he pushes me back onto the mattress. “I want you to feel good, too.”
“I do feel good,” I say. Arthur kisses my neck then pulls back, the desire in his eyes now unrestrained and savage.
“Can I watch you touch yourself?” Arthur asks shyly. “You don’t have to take your clothes off.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I slide my hand into my boxers and touch myself. My clit is engorged, and I’m positive that it won’t take much stimulation to orgasm. “As long as I can watch you,” I say, never taking my eyes off him.
Watching Arthur masturbate and gush cum into his hand is single-handedly the most erotic, arousing thing I have ever witnessed. After he’s finished, he gets into bed with me and kisses my mouth, neck and collarbone until orgasmic waves of relief surge throughout my body, leaving me completely drained and euphoric.
Afterward, we both roll over onto our backs and stare up at the ceiling.
The last time we’d tried this sort of thing, I had gotten kicked out of the Pendragon home and had been permanently banned from stepping foot in their house ever again. It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly a year since my exile was set in motion.
“Do you want me to make us something to eat?” Arthur asks, sliding his hand into mine.
I crane my neck to look up at him. “Nah, let’s just stay here for a little while longer.”
He squeezes my hand and bobs his head in agreement.
The truth is that I’ve waited so long for this moment, and now that it’s happening, I want to savor it for as long as I can. Part of me still can’t believe we’re in his room, free from harm or violence, able to do whatever we want, whenever we want.
“You know,” he says, rubbing his thumb against my palm, “when you go back to Lexington, it’s gonna kill me.”
“Don’t say that. Why would it kill you?”
“Do you even have to ask that question?” Arthur’s tone is suddenly very sad. “Last summer you left and I didn’t see you for an entire year. My heart can’t take you doin’ that again.”
I sit up, but don’t let go of his hand. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll come back as often as I can.”
Arthur pulls his hand away and positions himself on the edge of the bed, his legs hanging off the side of the mattress. “You say that now, but what if—”
I push two pillows out of my way, crawl over to him and slide my arms around his neck. How my feelings aren’t blatantly obvious by this point, I don’t know.
“There’s no buts,” I say. “Not this time around. I’ll come back every break, and we can FaceTime and stuff. That’s how long-distance relationships work, or at least, I think so.”
Arthur seizes my arms and swings me onto his lap. “Relationship? You mean like boyfriends?”
I reach up and run my hand through his freshly cut hair. “Yes, silly, that’s exactly what I mean.”
Seeing excitement replace the sadness in his eyes is too much for me, and I bury my head into his shoulder. “God,” I say. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Lance Lotte,” he whispers into my hair. “I know that I am just a big dumb country boy, but I promise that I will love you for as long as you let me.”
Chapter Eight
The Lady of the Lake
Arthur leaves for work the next morning, and I message Gwen, asking her to bring over a box of my shit. She doesn’t know the status of our relationship yet, and I know that I can lure her here by texting her something like Oh, his bed is really soft, or It’s weird, but Arthur wears tighty-whities like a grandpa. Her long-time ship has finally sailed, and she will want to know every dirty detail. Not that I’ll give her every dirty detail, of course. Some things aren’t shareable, but I know how her brain works, and I want to see her. So bait her I shall.
While I wait on Gwen, I make a fresh pot of coffee and some toast. Arthur has been buying everything lately, and I feel guilty, so I plan on walking to the gas station and replacing the bread and toilet paper. Earlier, when I suggested this to Arthur, he argued with me, insisting that he made enough money, that I didn’t need to spend what little I got from Camelot Crafts, that I needed to save it for when I returned to school. He’s stubborn and myopic at times, but if I’m going to stay here the whole summer, I’m going to contribute whatever I can.
Once my toast is ready, I walk over to the fridge and pull on the handle, only for it to not open. It’s been doing this lately—sticking, that is—and when I’d asked Arthur about it, he’d said it was probably the ghost. The ghost. I hadn’t mentioned what had happened to me a few days ago in his bedroom, because the visions still freak me out a little, but he did say that the shower will turn on occasionally, and that one night the lights had flickered on and off until he’d finally gotten out of bed, only to find Yin scratching at the front door. Receiving this bit of information had been somewhat jarring, but Arthur had reassured me that he believed Yin had gone outside while he’d been getting groceries from his truck, and that
the ghost had been warning him. I’m not afraid of ghosts, but ghosts, demons and entities are all completely different beings, and we don’t know what we’re dealing with here in this trailer.
Arthur doesn’t practice magick, and knows very little about it, other than the stuff he hears Gwen and me discuss. If something evil wanted to attack him, he would be defenseless, which is partly why I’m having Gwen bring over some of my belongings.
“Hello?” Gwen says through the screen door. “Arthur, if you’re in there, you’d better put it back in your pants!”
The door opens and Gwen steps through the doorway wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes and a tank top without a bra, the shape of her breasts conspicuous. I rush to help her with the box she’s carrying in one hand.
“Please take it,” she exclaims, loosening her grip on the cardboard. “Jesus. What the fuck do you have in here? A treasure trunk?”
“Close,” I say. “Mostly books. Want a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” she replies. “You know, I’m surprised by Arthur’s ability to turn such a dump into an actual home.” She plants her hands on her hips and continues, “It’s surprisingly really nice in here. Do you have any half-n-half?”
Gwen then kicks off her sandals and bends down to pick up Yang. Spring is the season I always associate with Arthur, because of his delightful disposition and his ability to turn any cloud into sunshine, but summer is without a doubt Gwen’s season. Sunny and easy-going, she is a living embodiment of the solstice, the longest day of the year in perpetuity. I love her.
“Why did you need me to bring over a box of shit anyway?” she asks, taking a seat on the futon. “Thanks. Ooh, that’s hotter ‘n hell.”
I hand her a carton of milk and sit down next to her. “Sorry, it looks like we’re out of half-n-half. Hope soy is okay.”
Gwen looks around the small room. “So, Mom said you never come home anymore. That you haven’t been home in like three weeks. Are you pretty much staying here now?”
“I am,” I admit. “Until he gets tired of me.”
Gwen laughs. “Yeah, like that’ll happen. I mean, unless you’re torturing him with self-inflicted chastity. I see how he looks at you—all the time now—like you’ll disappear if he blinks.”
Gwen is not only my sister and best friend, but she’s also my biggest cheerleader. Ever since she figured out my feelings toward Arthur, she’s tried setting us up, only to fail every time, because I used to struggle being alone with him once I realized how I felt. My senior year was absolute fucking hell.
Botched attempt after botched attempt.
During my year away from Avalon, Arthur and Gwen had grown closer, because he knew I would tell her everything, about classes, about my body healing, whether I had snagged a boyfriend—a question that he’d asked her more than once. Gwen made sure to tell me every detail of their conversations, too. Thinking back on it, maybe our botched attempt at intimacy happened for a reason—maybe Gwen and Arthur were meant to become better friends, and my absence had acted as a catalyst for this. Whatever the reason, she is totally invested in a ‘Larthur’ pairing now.
“You haven’t slept with him,” she says, suddenly pulling the cup away from her bottom lip. “But you have done something. I can tell by how chill you are. I bet it’s huge, isn’t it?”
Some things aren’t shareable. “I’m not telling you shit about his body, you creep.”
“You have seen him naked, though. Haven’t you?” Gwen sucks her teeth. “Okay, so maybe he won’t end up gushing like a geyser and dying from blue balls after all.”
“You are disgusting.”
“And y’all are gonna end up fuckin’ like rabbits by the end of the summer. Don’t fight it, Lance. I might not know how big his dick is, but he has big lips and I can tell he’s itchin’ to use them.”
On that note, I take our cups back to the kitchen and place them in the sink, hoping to God that the ghost isn’t listening to our conversation, and that I can talk to her about Emmett and Camelot Crafts.
“Do you have to work today?” I ask when I return to the living room.
“Yes, but only for two hours because someone needs to leave early, and Olivia asked me to close. Why? Don’t you? I thought you usually worked Fridays. Are you wearing Arthur’s shirt?”
My phone buzzes and I pick it up from the coffee table. Mordy has sent a text instructing me to turn on the local news, stating that it’s urgent.
“I normally do,” I reply. “And yes, I am.”
I get up from the couch and turn on the TV. Arthur doesn’t have cable so I have to mess with the DIY coat hanger bunny ears that he made for a signal.
“But Emmett gave me yesterday and today off. Told me Caspian was lookin’ fer more hours, at least that’s what he said.”
“That old man is fucking weird, dude,” Gwen says. “Do you know that he and Olivia used to be married? That they still share a lake house somewhere along Neve Lake? He’s always creeped me out.”
“Really?” I ask. The signal is shitty, but I manage to get the channel to come through, at least mostly. The blurry words on the screen are enough to make me choke on air—LOCAL GIRL MISSING SINCE TUESDAY – TAMMY DIXON, AGE 18.
“Holy shit. Tammy?” Gwen says, edging closer to the TV screen. “I just talked to her on Monday night. I ran into her walking out of the library. She said that she was in a hurry, that she was meeting someone. I wonder what happened?”
Why, at this very moment, I remember of all things that I did not send her an apology through Facebook I’ll never know, and now I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll never get the chance. It’s not a good feeling.
“Tammy Dixon was last seen leaving Baubles & Books late Tuesday evening. Her current whereabouts are unknown. If you have any information that could help the police in their search, please call eight-five-nine-one-one-seven-nine-six-three-two for non-emergency police-related matters.”
Gwen and I sit in silence for the next few minutes. Mordy sent me that text because, I assume, he thinks Emmett had something to do with the disappearance, but I haven’t spoken to Gwen about any of Mordy’s theories, simply because I don’t think she’d believe me.
When I glance at Gwen, tears are streaming down her face, and she’s fighting a meltdown. Normally, she would say something stupid about a bad hook-up and someone struggling to find their way home, but I think she can feel it, too—that the disappearance was deliberate and dangerous. That Tammy is not coming back. I scoot over to her and put my arm around her shoulders.
“Tammy could be a cunt,” she says. “And she stole my girlfriend in the eighth grade, but goddess, I would never want something terrible to happen to her. I know you don’t really like her, but she isn’t a bad person.”
“No,” I reply, squeezing her softly. “I don’t know her. She always just catches me on a bad day, I think. I guess you could say that our stars are never in alignment.”
Gwen puts her arms around me and buries her face in my shirt.
“I need to tell you something.” I stroke her hair. “Something that you’re gonna find weird, but you have to listen to all of it before you say anything, ‘cause there’s a lot. Here, let me fetch you a glass of water first.”
When I return from the kitchen, Gwen is standing by the screen door, watching a couple of kids fight over a bicycle that doesn’t even have a seat. I hand her the glass of water and lean up against the door frame.
“Do you remember when you first came to live with us?” she asks. “I think you had just turned nine.”
“Yes, I do remember. You were very disappointed to discover that I wasn’t from Mexico, and that I couldn’t speak Spanish. And you refused to let me play with your Barbies.”
Gwen takes a drink of water. “That’s because you kept giving all of them mustaches and cutting their hair, even though I had plenty of Ken dolls.”
We both laugh.
“I guess that was a sign of things to come, huh?”
She
nods. “I always knew, you know. Even when you told me your name, it didn’t sit right with me. I would think, this kid’s a boy, not a tomboy, but a boy, because there ain’t nothin’ female about him.”
I say, “Well, I’m glad one of us knew, because it felt like hell for a long time there. Still does, sometimes, but not as bad, I guess.”
“Last year, Arthur and I would meet up every week and talk about school, but I know he was hanging out with me because he knew you and I talked daily.”
I groan and fold my arms. “Yeah, even my therapist told me that I needed to talk things out with him, but depression is a bitch, you know?”
“I do know. Arthur certainly knows.” Her words twist at my insides like dough being pulled apart. “Anyway, he first saw you at the pool. Has he told you this yet?”
“No,” I say. “The pool? What pool? When?”
“According to Arthur, you were probably twelve or so, and it was just you and me. We were hanging out over by the concession stand getting ice cream, and Mom had let you get your hair cut, like really short. Not even a bob, but like super short.”
We walk over to the futon. “Oh shit,” I say. “I remember that haircut. It was the first time she let me cut my hair. It was a sick ‘do.”
“Arthur said that he was here visiting his mamaw for the summer, and that he was with his family at the pool. He said you were dressed in a baggy black T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts.”
“Ah, I remember those days. I don’t think I’ve ever actually owned a real bathing suit.”
“Another sign that we overlooked, I guess.” We both laugh again. “Anyway, he said he watched us for like a hour playing Marco Polo and getting into a fight with squirt guns, or some shit.”
“Weird,” I say. “That’s a pretty thorough memory.”
“I say ‘us’, but Arthur told me that he was more interested in you. That you were his first crush. He remembers the details because it was you, Lance, not me.”
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