One More Time

by Kat Pace

  “Same Emmy. Just a few years older.” I laugh.

  He laughs back, tilting his head to the ceiling.

  “Come on.” He pulls back, breaking us apart.

  We step into the night, leaving the hot crowded confines of the Sandbar behind us. The moon is bright in the clear sky above. We stroll the promenade; the live music fades into the sound of the waves. There’s a beach entrance twenty feet down from the bar. We pull off our shoes. Brooks pulls me by the hand down the sandy lane and past the winding dunes.

  It’s a steamy night, the air still warm from the day’s sun. The sand is almost still warm beneath our toes. There’s no one around –no one on the beach. The last couple we passed was walking along the promenade in the opposite direction.

  I’m unconcerned. I want Brooks all to myself.

  “Cabana?” He asks, raising his eyebrows? “Don’t worry. I know the hotel owner.”

  He laughs and I can’t help but join.

  I follow him to the strip of sand dotted with white and yellow striped canopies. They’re just like I remember them –when we used to run around and hide under them as kids –when we tried to sneak into the empty ones in high school when we started dating. My heart races as we approach.

  He stops at the one nearest us. A high dune protects the backside; the sides are covered by sheer hanging curtains. The front is open facing the ocean. A queen cot is slightly elevated on a raised platform in the middle of the space. Square white pillows line the edge of the bed.

  We stop in the doorway. Our silhouettes cast a shadow onto the cot. We stand so close it appears to be the shadow of one person. Why the hell am I finding our conjoined silhouette attractive right now?

  He reaches for me again and wraps his hands around my waist. I extend my arms and find his hair again, twisting it in my palms. Fuck he tastes good.

  Brooks moves his hands over my waist and down over my ass and under the edge of my cover-up dress. He grips my cheeks, pulling my pelvic *region* against his. My mouth is watering. The kisses are so deep and so passionate it’s like we are breathing each other’s exhale.

  Guess it’s why I can hardly breathe.

  I’m not mad about it.

  We back into the cabana, inching closer to the cot by the second. It looks like the most inviting and hospitable cabana I’ve ever seen. Brooks pulls my ass and lifts me up to his waist. I wrap my legs around to steady myself. He carries me the rest of the way to the bed. He sits down on the edge and settles me on my feet in front of him. His head rests right against my chest. It’s filled out a bit since the last time we did this. He kisses my bellybutton.

  “I want you.” Brooks groans between kisses.

  “You have me,” I tell him.

  Really, isn’t it obvious? C’mon Brooks.

  “It’s been so long.” He pulls at the tie on the back of my dress.

  “Years.” I agree, breathing heavily. My body is starting to find its natural arch again.

  I pull the tank over his head and graze my fingers along his chest and arms and abs. Holy shit. It hurts. He tugs the dress down over my shoulders and hips. My electric blue bikini is still glued to my body from earlier. It still smells like the coconut sunscreen and the ocean that tried to wash it off.

  Brooks’s fingers toy with the laces on my bottoms. His eyes dart up to mine as if asking for permission –as if I’m still the timid 18-year-old he last tried to bang.

  News flash. I’m not.

  A decade worth of foreplay and bottled-up lust is a shit ton of foreplay to try and contain. The bottle is about the break. We’re gonna smash it. Pun intended.

  I close my palm over his and pull on the string. One side down. Brooks’s fingers cross over the front of my swimsuit; he lowers his head to kiss me over top of the fabric. I can feel his warmth. He unties the other side and they fall to the sand. I step closer and take his head in my hands. I run my fingers and nails through his messy salty hair. He bows forward at my presence.

  I can feel my body craving it. Craving his touch. Craving his mouth. Craving anything Brooks.

  He moves his palms over my bare back and he finds my bikini top string. It follows my bottoms to the floor. My breasts heave slightly under the strain of my rapid breathing. He kisses each one, sucking on my nipples. His hand moves south and stops between my legs. I respond by pressing into him. After a minute I can hardly take it.

  “Fuck Emmy. You’re unreal.” Brooks breathes soft against me. I’m as soft as a fuzzy peach.

  Thank you laser hair.

  Brooks slides from the cot and kneels in front of me. He wraps his toned arms around my legs and pulls me by the butt. Warm wet lips find mine. A quiet moan escapes from my mouth. I can hardly stand the pleasure. Brooks seems to sense this. His arms tighten around me, supporting most of my weight with his.

  His tongue slides in and out, deeper every time. His thumb glides over me, faster and faster. I arch my back and force myself closer to him still. I hold his head between my thighs, enjoying every single second.

  “Fuck!” I scream.

  “You can’t come yet,” he says, locking eyes with mine.

  Literally dead.

  He suddenly pulls me onto the cot and situates me on top of him. I yank at his belt and slide the khaki shorts down his leg. He reaches into the pocket on his shorts and pulls out a condom.

  Safe sex kids.

  Damn it’s on quick.

  I climb on top of him and lower my waist to his. I flip my salted mane to the side and lower my lips to his for one last long kiss.

  He places one hand on each of my hips and pulls me down over him. I ache even as he fills me.

  He’s fucking inside me. I’m just casually riding him in the middle of an open cabana.

  Jay fucking Brooks.

  Brooks's hands continue to hold my hips to his. They glide every so often up my waist to my tits. Soft squeezes. When I lean in they reach my hair. He tugs softly. My hair raises everywhere at his touch.

  My insides have never felt so good. So satisfied.

  My nails dig lightly into his pecks. Leave no evidence.

  His hands are back now, moving around my hips to my ass. Not so soft squeezes here.

  Brooks always was an ass man.

  I moan like I never have before. Which is a feat. Because I’m not quiet.

  Brooks pulls my head down to kiss. It’s another I can’t really breathe because this is so deep but I’m still gonna go with it because fuck it’s good kind of kiss.

  I still try to press myself close to him, to feel him more, but it’s not possible.

  His breathing is quicker. My breathing is quicker. We are perfectly in sync. Man did he get better at this.

  “You can come now.”

  “Fuck!” I collapse at his words like my body was waiting his permission.

  Everything hurts in the best possible way. My nipples are cold in the air. His rough hands rub over them. They part: One to my hair and one to my ass. I’m still orgasming. Like how.

  His body tightens under mine in response. His breathing stops in a deep exhale. I watch his face under the cabana moonlight. His eyes are shut. He’s biting his own lip to quiet himself.

  Nope.

  I lean in and down. My coconut soaked hair falls like a veil around our heads. I plant a kiss on him. Not just a kiss. One of his own so fucking deep our souls are connecting kisses.

  I slide off and fall to the cot beside him.

  The waves are louder now. No more screaming drowns them out.

  “I don’t have words.” Brooks laughs through deep, unsteady breaths.

  “Because there aren’t any.” I laugh back.

  “I don’t remember it being like that.” Brooks says.

  “That’s because it wasn’t.” We laugh.

  “It fucking wasn’t.” He agrees.

  “I think it was in and out last time, right.” I smirk, kissing the side of his jaw.

  He smacks the pillow on me, laughing.

/>   “I was a kid.” He reminds me.

  “We’re not kids anymore.” I roll over on the cot to lie on my back.

  “We sure aren’t.”

  Here I am. Sitting ass naked with Jay Brooks after nine mf years apart. Did time pass at all? Are people really that shit at breaking old habits?

  Fuck it was good, but I’ve got to protect myself. I can’t catch the feelings again.

  “We can’t do that again, you know.” I sit up.

  How did my bikini top make it across the cabana?

  “We can’t?” Brooks holds up my bottoms laughing. “I think we can easily do it again.”

  “I’m leaving in two weeks! Like 10 days actually.” I toss him his swim trunks.

  “Come on. One more time?” He asks. His grin is cocky like he already knows what I’m going to say.

  “I’ll consider it.” This will keep him interested.

  Am I terrible? Am I a trash human being? Keeping him here thinking there’s a chance for more?

  No. It was just sex. We don’t like each other; our bodies just can’t control themselves. We owed it to ourselves. We had to see what we had between us.

  “Consider it faster.” He’s fully dressed and standing now. He ties back what he can of his shaggy hair.

  What a specimen.

  Moment of respect for the man-bun.

  “You need an answer now?” I scoff. He beat me dressed.

  “I have other ex-girlfriends to find.” Fucking Brooks.

  “Feel sorry for them.” I laugh pulling over my cover-up.

  “Oh yea?”

  “I wouldn’t want to follow that.” I shrug.

  We burst out laughing.

  He pulls me to his waist again. My body feels his and responds with delight.

  “One more time?” Brooks asks again.

  I stare into his perfectly blue eyes. The 18-year-old in me started this, but the 26-year-old wants to finish it. Again. And again. Who am I to deprive us? I stretch on my tiptoes and kiss his lips just once. I’ve already regrown used to the taste of his salty sea lips.

  “One more time.” I agree.

  I’m going to regret this.

  Seriously, I already do.

  Back Bay Party

  It’s been one week.

  We’ve had sex at least 20 times. The roof of the hotel, the cabana again, a deck, a boat. The list goes on. What’s that about making up for lost time? Go us.

  Trix and Meg didn’t even berate me for it. Well, that much. The guys were all but expecting it from us. Apparently it was obvious to everyone at the bonfire.

  We use code now, of course. One more time has become our little textual motto. OMT in secret spy mode.

  “What are you thinking about?” Brooks asks me now, standing next to me on the boardwalk pier.

  “Nothing… Just being back here. And with you of all people,” I say, almost annoyed with myself.

  “I know,” he says. “Crazy how some things happen.”

  “You could say that,” I sigh.

  “Do you regret it? Any of the last week, I mean.” Brooks asks and I can tell he’s worried for my answer.

  “No.” I answer too quickly.

  I look at him leaning against the railing. We’re both looking into the sea below, careful; to avoid each other’s gaze. The street lamp above him casts a glow onto his already perfect face. God, the pain. Surface level, bitch. You’ve got to keep things surface level.

  “Do you? That’s why you’re asking?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “Course not. What’s to regret?” His eyes twinkle.

  “Exactly.” I agree.

  “We should get going. Travis said it starts at 9.” Brooks says checking his phone.

  “Right. Let’s go.”

  We walk the stretch of the promenade back to the pier. We snuck up here after visiting the cabana. We shared a funnel cake. It was too fucking sweet. And now we are summoned. It is time for Travis’s party.

  It’s nothing fancy –just a backyard drinking fest.

  “You can’t drive,” Brooks says, watching me pull my keys from my tote.

  “I’m fine to drive. It was only a funnel cake.” I smirk.

  “Ha-ha. It won’t only be a funnel cake later.” Brooks pulls out his own keys. “Plus you don’t have a car.”

  “I have my mom’s car,” I remind him. “It works just fine.”

  “We will drop it at your parents’ house and drive to Travis’s together. Saving the environment one carpool at a time.”

  “Ha-ha. I think you just like the idea of taking me home after,” I tease. The way he looks at me makes my stomach feel unnaturally tight. Fucking butterflies.

  “You see right through me, Emmy Lou,” Brooks laughs. “What am I gonna do?”

  “Stop being so transparent.”

  It’s already packed when we walk down the block. The crowd is spilling over onto the front lawn, side lawn, all the lawn really. If the music were a person it’d be fist pumping into the sticky night. We find our way through the house and to the back.

  I haven’t been to Travis’s house in years, but I remember it well enough. He lives on the bay side and his house backs up to the canal. Everyone calls it Back Bay. There’s a pretty sick deck with string lights and a massive fire pit right on the water. Blankets and afghans and coin pillows are sprawled across the grass next to the pit.

  We find them all sitting on the deck, arranged in a weird Kumbaya semi-circle around the keg. Alex’s guitar rests on his lap as usual. I recognize the beginning lines of Brand New’s Soco Amaretto Lime. Alex’s voice sounds like static silk. Digging it.

  I know how Alex gets all the girls now.

  “Hey! Look who made it,” Nate shouts, looking at us from his spot on the deck.

  We cross the yard together, hands dangerously close. We’re careful to act nonchalant.

  “Let me guess, you two just ran into each other?” Travis laughs.

  “Yup,” I say, raising my eyebrows. I dare him to question me.

  “Yea,” Trix says. “About eight hours ago.”

  I roll my eyes and cross the deck to Trix and Meg. They smirk at me when I sit down. I can’t help but return it. Brooks walks to the keg on the far side of the deck and leans against the railing between Travis and Nate.

  Allow me to backpedal and explain why all my high school friends still act like they’re 18. It’s because they all still wish they were. Also, only two of them have like “real” jobs. Not that real jobs even exist anymore.

  Trix is a dance teacher for ages 2-12 or wherever they cut off before pre-high school. She’s mostly ballet. Probably why she’s so damn graceful (when she’s not shitfaced). She also works part time at a boutique in town –a job she’s had since 16. Meg is a teller at a bank. Wild, right? Not 100% sure how she ended up there, but she seems to like it. Has her weekends off at least.

  Travis used to work at the same bank, doing something in financial planning. He’s a real financier which you judgmental freaks wouldn’t know based off his facial piercing and tattoos. He’s incredibly intelligent and great with numbers. Nate is the P.E. coach at the high school. So, yea he literally never left in every sense of the words. He loves it though; loves trying to teach kids about sports and activities. Meg says he wants to be a coach one day, but for now he’ll settle for gym teacher. Then Alex does whatever Alex does. Right now he’s a, hold on I want to get this right… struggling musician wannabe singer-songwriter but really just a starving artist. OK. Close enough.

  It’s why he’s always got the guitar.

  “So what should we do?” Meg asks. I hear her drunk voice starting to come out of its hiding place. The slurring has begun.

  “We could play pong or flip cup,” Nate suggests.

  “Either,” Travis shrugs.

  “Pong takes too long,” Meg says.

  “Flip cup. Let’s do flip cup. We can all play at the same time!” Trix shouts.

  “OK,” Travis laughs. �
�Queen has spoken.”

  We grab a handful of other people until we have enough to divide into two teams of five: Trix, Travis, Nate, Joe and Sara versus Meg, Johnny, Katie, Brooks and me. Everyone has their own drink and second soon-to-be-flipped cup ready in front of them.