by DL White
Preston finally steps out of the house and circles the table, inspecting. My jaw clenches with tension. If he criticizes anything, I will stab him with the knife I set out to slice the beef.
His life is spared, since he doesn't touch a thing. Instead, he turns to me and says, “Looks great, Angie. I’m going to change. Grab a red and a white from the wine fridge.”
He turns on his heel and walks back into the house. Only when I can't hear his feet on the steps anymore, do I move to grab the wine.
It's great that we're getting along, but Preston is freaking me the fuck out.
Jackie and Matthew are the first to arrive with a bouquet of fresh-cut wildflowers. I poke through Preston's cabinets and finally find a vase, cut the stems, and arrange the flowers in it. It makes a pretty centerpiece.
Jackie grabs a fork, already picking at the food in the containers, and she hasn't been in the house for five minutes. “Ooh, there’s bacon in here," she says, her mouth full of roasted broccoli.
Matthew nods his agreement, but he's less rude, opting to keep his hands in his pockets. "If you or Preston needs anything catered, give me a call. I work breakfast and lunch, so my evenings are free. I decided to start a side gig. We’ve got a baby to pay for."
“Seriously? We need a caterer for the Engagement party."
Jackie whips around to face me, her eyes round and open wide. “Engagement?” She squeals, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Calm your pregnancy brain down. Preston and I are planning the engagement party for Nate and Morgan. The wedding couple, remember?”
"Oh," she says, chewing and swallowing, decidedly less animated. "I got excited at—”
"Why’s Jackie excited? She can’t have that baby in my kitchen.”
I didn't hear Preston come down the stairs, so the sound of his voice startles me. I nearly jump out of my skin. He slides alongside me and lays an arm across my shoulders.
"Nothing," I answer quickly. “Jackie’s just hungry.”
I slide from under his arm and guide Jackie toward the patio. As she and Matthew are seated, the doorbell rings. Keith and Brandess have arrived, bearing a bottle of wine. Preston opens it and sets it next to the red and white that I opened and placed at the bar.
Over dinner, we hash out the pros and cons of a co-ed Bachelor/Bachelorette party. Keith is a salesman, and Preston is an attorney. The volley across the table, with points for and against, mimics a Venus and Serena match. Both equally skilled, neither wanting to obliterate the other, but not wanting to lose either.
"What if the girls want to do our own thing with Morgan?" Brandess asks.
"Where? Chippendales? Morgan's not going to be into that," Preston says.
"You're going to Chippendales?" Keith's head pops up and he looks around, trying to catch Brandess's eye. Though he's against a co-ed party, he doesn't seem keen on this idea.
"Wherever we want," says Jackie. "We didn't think Morgan was ever going to get married. We're not sharing her party with the guys that don't want us out of their sight."
"Exactly, Jackie,” I agree. Preston rolls his eyes and begins to protest my point. "Besides," I add, talking over him. “Don't you guys have to drag Nate to some seedy underground lounge and embarrass him with lap dances from a naked woman he doesn't know? Maybe she could pop out of a cake or pretend to be the maid or something."
Preston pauses and scowls. "Watch less porn, Angie. And fewer 80's movies. Those aren't the kinds of parties I throw."
"Well, excuse the fuck out of me. I don't go to bachelor parties."
“I do, and that's played out.”
“So is a Hawaiian wedding, but you brought that up.”
The patio erupts in a dull roar of six voices. I stand, tapping my knife against the rim of a wine glass. "We'll be here all night having this argument. How about a compromise?"
"Like what?" Keith asks.
“How about… separate parties, but we meet up at midnight and party together to close the night out. Maybe a hotel, so we can get a block of rooms and crash. The official engagement party will be formal and full of MD’s and grandparents. That won't be our chance to turn up.”
"That would work.” Brandess is nodding. So is Jackie. “There will be a cost to rent a ballroom at a hotel, but we could all split it.”
Preston doesn't look happy, but he's half-drunk, so he doesn't have the energy to protest anymore.
"So, the guys will get together and plan Nate's party; the girls will plan Morgan's. Who's planning the co-ed party?”
The entire table looks toward Preston and me. We look at each other and shrug. Of course, we're going to get stuck with it. Brandess and Jackie grudgingly volunteer their services, but I know there is a reason Preston and I are planning this wedding.
We're single. Compared to the rest of our group, we have more time that isn't eaten up by children and family responsibilities. I’ll be angry about it after the wedding is over. Right now, we need to get it done.
The party moves to the fire pit, where there is ample space to sit back and relax. Deep, plush couches surround the square marble pit in a U-shape. It's the perfect spot to give us a dusk view of sparkling Lake Conway and the sun setting behind the hills on the other side.
Preston plays bartender and DJ, filling drinks and running a Spotify playlist through the underground speakers. I exhale, letting myself have a few drinks and relax for a minute. It's been a rough few weeks of work and worrying about Dad.
Matthew and Jackie are the first to leave. At this stage of her pregnancy, she has two modes: hungry and sleepy, cycling between the two regularly. Keith and Brandess duck out a half hour later. They only have their babysitter until 11 o'clock.
That leaves me and Preston in the most romantic spot in the house, with a view of the most romantic place we could find as teenagers. I shake my head at the irony.
"Are you thinking about what I'm thinking about?” He drops next to me, propping his feet on the edge of the pit. I attempt a smart-ass answer, but nothing comes to me. "I haven't been out there since..."
“You are full of shit.”
“I haven't," he says, quietly. I'm watching him, watching his face. I know when he is lying. He isn't. He waves his beer bottle in the air before guzzling a sip. “That place was ours.”
“That place was yours and Stacey’s. Not ours."
"No." He shakes his head. "That spot, that place? That was ours. I never took Stacey where I took you."
“As you so eloquently put it a few weeks ago, let it go. Does it matter?"
"Does to me. It matters that you know that I never took Stacey there. Her brother brought us out here. He hung out at his stepdad’s lake house somewhere down that way."
He points downstream with the neck of his bottle. "Stacey's parents didn't know that when her brother chaperoned her dates, he'd pick up his girlfriend and drive all of us out here. He went one way; Stacey took me the other way. Had my first beer, smoked my first bud. Talk about wasting all your firsts on someone. Would have much rather tried that with you.”
I rear back at his confession. Why did I never know this?
He swigs a mouthful from the bottle. "Stacey said that guys laughed at me behind my back because I was a virgin. She said you would never be with me because I didn’t know what I was doing. I wanted to be with you, so I let her... you know."
He shrugs his shoulders. "Take me."
"Take you?"
"She got on top, drove the whole show.”
"What about–" I pause. “Stacey said she taught you how to… she said you—”
“Oh!” He gags, then cringes. “God, no! She wanted me to, but I wouldn’t.”
“Why would she say you got anywhere near her if you didn’t—”
“Because she was a fucking liar, Angie! She wanted to hurt your feelings. Come between us, twist the knife in your wound. Me and you… that night in the Jeep, right over there.” He points across the lake. “The first pussy I tasted was yours. I swea
r it.”
I listen with rapt attention, watching his face by the light of the moon and the flickering flame. The truth I never had the courage or strength to hear was coming right at me like a freight train.
Preston holds a hand in a Boy Scout's Oath. "I have no reason to lie to you right now. I could tell you we did all kinds of things, but we didn't. We drank, we smoked some pot, we fucked. Once. She got dressed. Her brother drove us home."
His hand scrapes his chin. The stubble sends an earthy, scratchy noise into the quiet.
I'm trying to wrap my brain around these words, this new information. "You never told me any of this."
“Would you have listened? You were so fucking set to be angry." His words are terse, his voice clipped. "After a while, I figured I deserved your anger. You were right. I let you believe you were first. I let you waste all your firsts on me."
He parrots my words back to me with a bitter twist of his tongue. "When you asked me if I was a virgin, I didn't answer you."
"Yes, you did. You said you wanted me to be the first."
“And I did." He let that sit for a beat before he went on. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal, but the longer we dated, I saw how important it was to you. I wanted to let you have that.”
The flames die to glowing embers. Preston doesn't move to stoke them or put them out. The sun has long since dipped below thdifferent if you didn't caree horizon. The lakefront neighborhood and the hills across the way are wrapped in darkness. A refreshing ribbon of air whips through the patio.
"I thought I had it all, had my life all mapped out.” Preston grips the back of his neck with his palm, rubbing a knot between his shoulder blades. “My girlfriend was my best friend. My folks were cool. I had a nice job and a car. Graduate, go to college, move in with Angie, marry her, maybe have two or three kids.”
These plans sound familiar to me. He wasn't the only one that had to re-do the map for life.
“I miss looking forward to the future with you.”
Preston slides close to me on the couch, but I don’t move away. My heartbeat ramps upward and goosebumps wave across my skin when his arm lands on the cushion behind me.
“You don't think about me, do you? You don't miss me. You don't like me. You don’t trust me. And I don't blame you. But I miss us. I miss hanging out with you, talking to you, being with you. We went from best friends one day to nothing the next. Like that."
He snaps his fingers. The sound startles me.
“I miss you, Angie.”
Preston leans over me, his lips gently pressing to mine. It's a familiar feeling, like coming home. The kiss is feather soft for a few strokes, and then he presses more urgently. His tongue works the seam of my mouth until my lips part, and the kiss deepens.
My breaths come in stutters. I moan into his mouth.
His chest vibrates with the groan that rolls from deep in his throat as he moves closer. He runs a hand from my neck to the curve of my breast, around my back, my hip, my thigh. Then back up, this time creeping up under my skirt–not too far, but far enough. He turns his head and assaults my mouth in a way I haven’t experienced since the last time he kissed me and holy fuck….
My nerve endings are on high alert, so much so that I’m on the verge of climax. My mind is occupied by nothing; I’m drowning in the pleasure of how good he feels. It's been so long...
Slowly, my head begins to clear. The wheels turn. Rational thought fights its way to the surface.
I. Am. Kissing. Preston.
When my brain catches up, I tear my lips from his and launch myself off of the couch. “Shit! I gotta go."
"Angie, wait!" I hear him get up and trip over the edge of the fire pit. I almost caught it myself. “Fuck!”
In the house, I search for my purse. I check the kitchen and there it is, on the counter next to the refrigerator.
Preston has limped inside and placed himself between me and the front door. In the light, I see his bloodshot eyes, his near drunken state. I taste the remnants of Stella Artois.
"Angie, please stay. I didn't mean—”
"I know. You're drunk. Let me by, please.”
"I didn't tell you all of that because I was drunk. I wanted you to know. Finally."
"Did you kiss me because you were drunk?"
"I'm not drunk."
I sigh, closing my eyes, clutching my purse to my chest. "Are you going to let me by, or do I have to spray you with Mace?"
He doesn't look angry or sad or irritated. He’s blank as if I didn't say a word to him. Finally, he steps aside, reaches out and turns the knob to the front door. It stands wide open, ready for me to walk through it. Away from Preston.
Why don't I want to walk out of that door right now?
Why aren't I running away, horrified that this man that I cannot stand just turned my world upside down with the best kiss I’ve had in years?
I force my feet to move, one in front of the other, until I make it to the porch, then I will my feet to keep moving, not to turn around and throw myself at him.
"You kissed me back." Preston still stands in the doorway. I pause for half a second before getting into my car. "Think about what that means, Evangeline.”
He's got one thing right. I need to think.
I need to think about what it means when a man you claim to hate kisses you, and you kiss him back.
I need to think about why my body has so wholly betrayed me, has reacted to a simple kiss with a lava-hot flash of erotic pleasure so strong that five miles down the road, I have to pull over, pull off my uncomfortably wet panties, ball them up and toss them into my purse.
I need to think about why my chest is heaving with my hard breaths, why I’m pulsing with need and why my heartbeat thumps in my clit.
I don’t even want to think about why I can't stop thinking about kissing Preston.
14
My feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm. Right, left, right, left to the beat of Linkin Park's Bleed It Out blasting through my earbuds. The hard driving drums push me further despite the vice grip on my thigh muscles, faster despite icepicks stabbing my lungs.
Neither the trail nor the music— despite the lyrics about bleeding out frustration to throw it away — is on my mind.
The Kiss.
It's now a full-blown incident that deserves Capital Letters. The Kiss.
It bobs to the surface at the most inopportune times, bringing with it the swell and arc of emotion—elation, attraction, fear, anger, confusion. I haven't let myself analyze it or make up reasons to myself as to why it happened. It can never happen again.
Rooms and airfare have been booked. Bridesmaid dresses, wedding dress, and tuxes have been fitted. Shoes have been purchased. Excursions have been planned. I’ve been packing for two weeks. Seven days on an island requires extra preparation. Swimsuit shopping alone took me a month.
The engagement party is in a few days; then the bachelorette/bachelor parties and the shut-in, our all night, co-ed party. And then the wedding. I am so, so close to shoving Preston out of my life forever.
And then I lost my mind and gave in to a kiss. Not only did I give in, but I kissed him back! What was I thinking? I don't know. I only know that I don’t want to talk about it.
I didn't want to sit at home, and I couldn’t sit at work. I couldn't go to Morgan's, because her house is Wedding Central. If I think about the wedding, I will think about Preston and Preston is the last person I want on my mind.
Running is my only obsession that exerts energy and clears my mind. I hope to tire myself out enough to not think about The Kiss.
Or about how well I remember his full, soft his lips.
Or about how I loved his moans, the sound rumbling through his chest, my body absorbing waves of pleasure.
Maybe I'll exhaust myself enough to go home and go straight to sleep instead of restlessly flipping from one side to the other before reaching into the bottom drawer of my nightstand and unearthing my rabbit vibrator.
Preston was halfway right—it’s not a big, black, Mandingo dildo that gets me off. Lately, his face and the sounds he made while kissing me and the weight of his body against mine seeps into my fantasies. It’s disturbing how fast I climax when he's on my mind.
The thrash of my music is loud and I'm in a zone, ignoring the pain, blocking out my thoughts. I catch a glimpse of a runner falling into step beside me. I grunt, push the buds further into my ears and speed up, hoping to eclipse him, but Preston matches my pace.
I yank one bud from my ear as I slow down. No way could I keep up that pace. "Go away."
“I’m out for a run. Free country.”
"Over here, by my apartment?”
"Strange coincidence, huh?"
Preston's breathing is off. He works out, but he’s not a runner. He’s pressing hard to stay on pace with me and it’s taxing his system. His forehead and neck glisten with sweat; his shirt is already sporting a ring around the collar. I almost laugh aloud.
"I'm trying to get some time to myself. You need to pace slower anyway. Like, a half mile behind me."
I replace the bud in my ear and try to speed up again. Preston pulls the bud from my ear.
"Not until… you talk to me."
At least I think that's what he says. He's panting so hard I can't understand him. I'm seriously concerned for him, so I slow my pace and then stop. We're deep into the wooded area of the trail. There's nothing but trees, wild grasses, and short brush around us.
"Let's take a break, so you don't die. I won't have Morgan blaming me for killing Nate's Best Man."
We pace back and forth, hands on our hips until our heartbeats return to normal.
“What do you want, Preston? And how did you find me? Are you following me?”
“You like to run here; it’s not a secret. I figured I’d catch you out here. And, obviously, I want to talk."
"So, talk."
"I want us to talk. To each other. About what happened. About… what now?”
“What now? There’s nothing now. We kissed. So what?" I shrug a shoulder, nonchalant. "It was a mistake. We both had a little to drink. We were talking about old times. Someone got a little caught up in the moment."
