by S. R. Grey
I sit down on the couch, laugh as I recall. I was such an ass to take her hair tie, but the payoff was well worth it—I got to touch beautiful girl’s hair. And fuck, was it ever soft and silky, wavy at the ends. I couldn’t stop myself that day from imagining her chestnut mane fanned out on a pillow, me above her, moving in her, feeling her, inside and out. My voice was a little husky when I whispered in her ear. I knew that was why she was blushing when she turned around. But that was okay. I like that my words have the power to pink her cheeks. She’s easy like that, and at times I can’t resist. But apart from all this fun we have, there’s something more.
It touches me somewhere in my hardened heart that attentive girl gets so into my stories, especially the ones that include my brother. Maybe my heart’s not so hardened after all. ’Cause the day I saw Kay getting so emotionally invested in the outcome of my story about Will and the lizards, I wanted nothing more than to reach across the booth and kiss her. She’s never even met my brother, but there she was, rooting for him to catch a lizard. Her heart is pure and good like that, just another thing I like about my girl.
Except Kay’s not really my girl, now is she? Not in the way I wish she could be; that’s for sure. And I need to remember why this is so. How could I miss the curious look Father Maridale gave us the other day when we were leaving the church office to go to lunch? Trust me, I didn’t. Father was coming in as we were going out, and when he caught my eye he shot me a look of warning. I gave him a little bit of an eye-roll back, one I hope said: yeah, yeah, I’m following your rules, just being her friend, even though it’s fucking killing me.
Father Maridale nodded like he’d heard my thoughts and patted me on the shoulder, then continued on his way. Thankfully, Kay was talking about something and seemed completely oblivious to the whole exchange.
Speaking of Kay, the doorbell rings. She’s here. Shit. I am so fucking nervous about tonight. I hope this is a good idea.
When I open the front door, Kay smiles and the feeling that everything is right when we’re together helps to calm my nervous ass. And, wow, now that I look—like, really look—I’m kind of floored. Kay looks amazing. She’s wearing the same lacy dress she had on earlier at work, but she’s lost the cardigan, so I can clearly see how her body fills out the dress in all the right places.
This lacy number is similar to the dress she was wearing the day I stole her hair tie, except this version is blue instead of white. And it’s a whole lot shorter. So much so it takes me an extra few seconds to pull my gaze away from her smooth-looking legs. But I do, I look up. And that’s when I notice Kay’s hair appears extra soft and shiny. More so than usual, like maybe she just brushed it out before she got here. I think she has on a little makeup too. Her lips are dewy, and her eyes, kind of smoky. Whatever she’s done, she is stunning.
And I think to myself that, true, Kay may not be my girl in all the ways I’d prefer, but she’s most definitely my girl when it comes to this friendship we’ve developed. In that, we belong to each other.
“Hi,” Kay says all shy-like, as if she’s suddenly not sure if she should be here. To me, she looks like she’s belonged here all along.
I say hi and invite her in, but she doesn’t move.
“Kay, are you coming in?” I ask when she shifts slightly, looking a little nervous.
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Aw, sweet girl makes me smile. Guess she just had to get her bearings.
Kay steps into the hall and, trying to be subtle, she glances up the stairs, and then leans forward slightly so she can see into the rooms off to the left and the right. She’s obviously curious about this house I live in, so I offer to show her around. I don’t know why, but she gets pretty excited about a tour.
The house is of moderate size, not overly big, but not exactly small. It’s a typical farmhouse, I guess. The rooms are a bit old-fashioned, and there’s definitely a country-living vibe, thanks to Gram’s decorating. But I’m changing things bit by bit, slowly making this place my own, starting with fixing things that were broken and moving into the twenty-first century.
I’ve fixed up a lot in the past few weeks—polished the hardwood floors, got all the ceiling fans working, cleaned out the upstairs bedrooms no longer in use, and even ordered Wi-Fi for the computer Gram bought the year I got arrested. It was still sitting on the open rolltop desk in the living room, dusty and unused just like the record player.
Kay and I start down the hall. I point out the living room to the right and the dining room on the left. There’s a powder room and an empty room farther down the hall, but there’s not much to see in either so I lead the way through the dining room, past the hutch, and into the kitchen.
As we step in, Kay gushes, “Oh, I love these old farmhouse sinks.”
She walks over and runs her hand along the porcelain surface of the sink that’s been there for years. She glances up at the copper pots hanging above the center island, takes in the small table and chairs over by the oven, and allows her gaze to travel to the window above the sink.
The view is of the land behind the house, and since there’s a lot of it I’m hardly surprised when Kay’s eyes widen. “Wow, Chase, all this property is yours?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s all mine, all the way down to the creek.” It feels weird saying that, like it’s not yet set in these many acres now belong to me.
“Did your family used to farm?” she asks as she continues to gaze out the window. “That’s lot of land for just a big yard.”
I chuckle. A big yard is exactly what it is nowadays. But that wasn’t always the case. “Yeah, my grandparents farmed, a long time ago, back when my grandfather was still alive. That was before I was born.” I gesture to the window, to the gentle slope of land on the other side of the glass. “My grandmother gave up farming after my grandfather died. I think she hoped my dad would someday take over, but he never had any interest. His heart was always in building houses.”
“Well, it’s really pretty back here,” Kay muses, still seemingly enthralled by the sea of green.
I decide we’ve seen enough of the downstairs and lead Kay upstairs. I start to show her the bedrooms along the long hall, opening doors along the way.
The room that was my grandmother’s is just about cleared out. I went through and boxed up most of her things after I first moved back. I put away her keepsakes, and gave a bunch of her stuff to the church for the next rummage sale. That’s what she always said she wanted whoever was left to do with her stuff when she passed, so that’s what I did. But there are still a few pieces of furniture in her room.
Kay glances around and gives me a couple of “oh, very nice” responses, but otherwise doesn’t say much.
Things are the same—mostly cleared out—in the next bedroom we come to, the one that belonged to my father when he was growing up. It’s also the bedroom my parents used when we lived back here when I was a little kid. Cleaning out that room was tough. There were things in there from when my parents were first married. One of the keepsakes I found was a small wedding album, the cover all lacy and white. In the photos, Mom is showing. She must have been about five months along, pregnant with me. I always knew I was unplanned. But, damn, my parents still looked happy. Guess I was a surprise, but never unwanted.
I also found ticket stubs from a bunch of movies my parents went to, and mushy cards they’d given to one another. I just boxed that stuff up and put it up in the attic next to my Gram’s keepsakes.
I give Kay a peek into my father’s room of fucking memories, then close that door real fast.
“Which one is your bedroom?” Kay asks when we’re left standing in the hall.
“Oh, it’s down there.” I gesture to the other end of the hall.
I lead the way past the bathroom and my grandmother’s old sewing room. My bedroom is simple and basic, not much to see. I got used to living spartanly in prison. There’s nothing on the light-colored walls, no paintings or art, not even my own, though
my sketchbooks, filled with my art, rest over on the dresser. There’s a double bed with a pine headboard up against one wall, a bedside table with a clock, and a closet.
That’s about it.
The only bright colors in the room are the blues and greens on the quilt, made for me years ago by Gram, and now folded at the foot of my bed. There’s color in my sketches, lots and lots, but those books are closed.
I watch as Kay takes it all in, the plain wood floor, the bare walls, the complete lack of décor.
“Well,” she says at last, brow crinkled, “you kind of have a minimalist vibe going here, but everything is very tidy.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, you should have seen it before. I cleaned before you got here.”
“So, you’re secretly messy?” There’s a twinkle in her caramels as she asks.
I shrug one shoulder. “Maybe a little—not too bad though.”
Kay continues to glance about, her gaze eventually falling to the sketchbooks on the dresser.
“Are those your drawings?” she asks, all cute-like, her voice excited. “Can I see them?”
I wince. The sketchbooks she’s asking to see contain my sketches from prison, and, unfortunately, I don’t feel quite ready to share them with her just yet. Bad enough Father Maridale flipped through one of them that day at the courthouse.
“Maybe not those books…” My voice trails off.
My girl’s expression gives away her disappointment, so I backtrack. “I mean…you can see them, just not right now.” I run my fingers through my hair. How do I put this? “The sketches in those books are a little harsh, Kay. I’ll let you see them, I promise, just some other day. If you really want to see some of the things I’ve drawn, there’s a better sketchbook in the dining room. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, all recent, and much…nicer.”
Kay nods, but still appears a little crestfallen. I want to put the smile from earlier back in place, and I think I know just how to do it.
“Hey, there is something I’d like to show you. It’s pretty cool and I think you’ll like it.”
Kay perks back up. “Really, what is it?”
I go over to the window that’s opened a crack, open it all the way, and take out the screen.
“What are you doing?” she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she walks over to see what I’m up to.
“Just trust me on this one.” I hoist one leg over the sill, to where the roof is even and flat. I straddle the open window and offer her my hand. “Come on, I want to show you where I go to sketch, and, sometimes, just to think. The view from up here is amazing, better than the one from the kitchen window even.”
I kind of can’t believe I’m sharing this private piece of myself, but I know Kay will get it. She gets me, she’ll get this. She kicks off her low heels, game again for one of my suggestions. Trusting, my sweet girl is so damn trusting when it comes to me. I need to be careful with that.
Trusting girl puts her hand in mine and we smile at one another. I swing my other leg out onto the roof and help her over the sill. It takes some care since she’s in a dress, and it is kind of a short one. I try not to look when it rides up, but I do catch a glimpse of white, silky panties. I try not to groan as I think how much I wish I could touch her there, right fucking there.
Kay hurriedly straightens herself out once we’re out on the roof, and I turn so I’m not staring.
There’s a long ledge next to the window and I sit down on it. I stretch out my legs and pat the spot next to me. Kay comes over and sits down. A light, warm breeze kicks up while the sun sets off in the distance, streaking the sky in hues of red, orange, and pink.
“This is the kind of shit I draw when I’m up here.” I motion to the sunset.
Kay and I are sitting so close that when I bring my knees up to sit more like she is our bare feet almost touch.
“It’s peaceful up here,” Kay says, curling her pink-painted toes next to my foot, “and very scenic. I can see why you like it.” In a softer voice she adds, “Thank you for sharing this with me, Chase.”
Kay gets it, just like I knew she would. I smile at her, and then we just sit quietly and watch the sun sizzle into the horizon. I am decidedly happy I shared something so important to me with someone who always seems to see what I see.
I shift slightly and the sides of our feet touch. Neither of us makes any move to change positions. So, with bare feet pressing close, her warm skin against mine, I point to off in the distance, to where the tree line begins. “Part of the creek Harmony Creek is named for runs through there. You can’t see it from here with all the trees filled in, but it’s just over the hill.”
“Do you own the land down by the creek too?” Kay flexes her foot and I nudge back with my own. She stares straight ahead, but I catch her shy-girl smile.
“Yeah,” I answer after a beat, trying to suppress my own lips from curving up into a silly grin. “I go down there to fish sometimes.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun.”
Wait, what? I shoot her a sidelong glance. “Really?” My voice betrays my skepticism.
“What?”
One more flex, another nudge, and two surreptitious smiles, one from each of us.
“I just can’t see you fishing,” I say.
The breeze blows Kay’s hair and she tries to smooth it back into place. “Oh, really? Why is that?”
I nod to her dress, raise an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know, girly-girl. Just don’t see too many lacy dress-wearing people down at the creek.”
I chuckle and she huffs, “Like I’d wear this dress to go fishing, Chase.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically, but I can tell she’s not really offended; she’s just playing like we do.
“I’d probably catch more than you,” she continues, all sure and cocky as she turns her head away and raises her chin a little.
“Ooh, a challenge.” I nudge her foot. “Wanna bet on it?”
She looks down at our feet, which are closer than ever. “Sure. What are we betting?” she whispers.
“I get to pick the terms?” I ask, astonished she’d allowed such a thing.
Her caramel eyes meet mine, and damn, my girl looks determined. “Well, you pick whatever I have to do if you win. And I’ll pick what you have to do if I win.”
I think about it for a minute. I’m pretty fucking sure I will win, so I want to make my prize worthwhile. What’s the one thing my girl has been holding out on, something that’s been driving me crazy?
I say it now, “If I win, you move into my apartment.”
Her eyes narrow. “Chase—”
“Oh no, baby girl.” I can’t help but smirk, she walked right into this one. “You agreed. You said I get to choose whatever I want if I win. And that’s what I’m picking.”
“Fine, fine,” she mutters. “But if I win then you have to sit up in the front of the church for, let’s say”—she ponders—“an entire month. And you have to sit between me and Missy.”
Fuck, I better win, is all I can think as I quickly look away. Sitting in the front would be bad enough, but sitting between Missy—who’s had my dick in her mouth—and sweet girl Kay? Uh-h-h, no fucking way, talk about uncomfortable.
Nonetheless, I agree to her terms, a deal is a deal. Besides, I am so going to win this bet, there’s really no doubt about it. We shake on it to make it official, and since it’s getting late I suggest we go back inside to get started with a movie.
Once we’re back down in the living room, I turn the TV on and hand Kay the holy grail—also known as the remote. But first I show her how to work it.
“Go ahead and pick something,” I suggest when she pulls up the on-demand menu. “I’m game for anything. I’ll go grab us something to drink, okay?”
Kay mock-rolls her eyes. “Sure, as long as it’s nothing lemon-lime flavored.”
She may sound all disgusted, but there’s a teasing twinkle in her eyes.
I put my hand on my chest and back up a fe
w steps, pretending to be wounded. “Hating on the lemon-lime? That’s just plain wrong, Kay, blasphemous even.” I point at her. “Admit it, you tried one last week and loved it. You know that shit is awesome.”
“Okay, okay, it was good,” she admits, letting out a laugh. “I don’t know about awesome though…” She trails off and I frown. “Oh, quit looking at me like that. Fine, lemon-lime it is.”
I tell her I’m just kidding and if she really wants something different I also have iced tea and beer, but she insists on the lemon-lime. Maybe Kay wants to help me get the sodas, or maybe she wants to keep talking, but, in any case, she puts the remote down and follows me to the kitchen.
She doesn’t come in all the way. She just kind of lingers in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room while I get the drinks. I can see her over the door of the refrigerator and it’s apparent something in the dining room has caught her attention. She takes a step back, grabs whatever it is, and holds it up. It’s my sketchbook.
She arches an eyebrow at me. “You said I could see this when we were upstairs, remember? Do you mind?”
I close the refrigerator door and give her a one-shoulder shrug. What the hell, I did say she could see it. I try to think of everything that’s in there. Since the book is new, the sketches are recent, which means it contains just shit I’ve sketched around here. Various views from the back porch, sunsets from the roof—like the one we were just viewing. I think and I think, recalling all that I’ve drawn as of late.
There are sketches of fields and farmland, a detailed tree branch with apple blossoms I did in oil pastels, and a charcoal of the empty barn at the back of my property. Yeah, it should be fine, I finally conclude, there’s nothing in that book that could potentially embarrass me. Except…
