For the Love of Raindrops

by Beth Michele

  I press the pillow to my chest for comfort. “I’ve never thought I could ever have a chance with Dylan… because,” I shrug, “he doesn’t look at me that way. But,” I chew on the inside of my lip, “I don’t know. Something’s changed, I think. I can’t pinpoint what it is. But whatever it is, I like it, and I want more.”

  Playfulness stirs in her green eyes. “By more, I’m assuming you mean, groping him and ripping his clothes off?”

  I smack her with the pillow but can’t deny the desire pooling in my core. “Yeah, okay, maybe a little of that, too.”

  “A little? Have you seen Dylan recently? I’ll take all of that for a thousand, please.”

  Our laughter spills out into the air until an all too familiar voice brings it to a screeching halt.

  “Evie?”

  I freeze and my eyes nearly bug out of my head. “Oh, shit. He’s here,” I whisper to Nora, who can’t seem to wipe the smug grin off her face. “Lock up those dirty thoughts,” I wink then stand up, “for now.”

  I rush over to the door, conjuring up my best ‘I wasn’t just thinking about mauling you’ expression.

  He doesn’t make it easy for me, though. His jeans are far too low on his hips, his bronze skin peeking out from a snug t-shirt, muscular forearms flexing as he sets something down on the porch.

  “Hey.” Rich, brown eyes lock on mine and I’m lost in their depths, my mind wiped of all coherent thought, and, apparently words. A slow grin spreads across his face, and my belly does a series of somersaults in return.

  “Eh hem.” Nora creates a noise to broadcast her presence and breaks us out of our trance.

  “Oh, hey, Nora.”

  “Dylan,” she nods, “I was just leaving.” She tosses her ponytail over her shoulder. “Call me later, Evie. See ya, Dylan.” She squeezes by him and through the doorway, making sure to rub it in by doing something that resembles a pelvic thrust behind his back.

  “Later.” Dylan watches her as she gets in the car then turns back to me. “She’s still strange.”

  “I love her that way. So, are you going to come in?” I ask, trying to scope out what’s under the blanket that he’s now bending down to pick up.

  “Yes. I have a present for you.”

  The giddy twelve-year-old in me jumps for joy. “What is it? Is it a puppy?”

  “Hmph, no.” He places the surprise on the table in front of the piano. “I don’t make a habit of smothering puppies. They’re too cute.”

  “Oh, right.” I giggle, and he points to the sofa, gesturing for me to sit down.

  “You ready?” His excitement is contagious and my heart rate kicks up a notch. He pinches the fabric with two fingers and lifts it off. “Voila.”

  I’m quiet as I stare at the cement statue with the big belly and happy grin. My silence and expression must convey disappointment because the smile falls from his face.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No, it’s not that.” I try to appear thrilled, even though I have no idea what the heck it is. “What is it?”

  “Oh!” He laughs, relieved. “It’s a Buddha. For your meditation.”

  “My what?”

  He looks at me like I’ve grown three heads. “You know, that new meditating thing you’re doing. I had to go to three stores to find it.”

  A lightning bolt flashes over my head and I finally get it. “Ohhhhh… right! It’s fantastic. And perfect.”

  My heart melts at his sweet gesture and I bound off the couch and go to him, flinging my arms around his neck. His hands land on my waist and he pulls me close.

  “Thank you, Dylan. That was so thoughtful,” I whisper, my chin nestled in the warmth of his broad shoulder, my lips only inches from his neck. Of course, when I realize I’m getting a little too cozy, I break off our embrace and head back over to the sofa where it’s safe. “Can you stay for a bit or are you headed into work?”

  “Yeah. For a few minutes.” He makes himself at home next to me and the second he hits the cushions, his hand wanders to mine. It’s almost as though he has to touch me, as if there’s a magnetic force drawing him in. And even though we’ve always been affectionate, after last night, I get it, and I’m not complaining.

  Little does he know, his touch has the same effect on me. Except mine comes complete with goose bumps and tiny hairs rising on my arms.

  “So, I said something to Jordan this morning about selling the diner,” he confesses, his thumb tracing circles over my skin. He lets out a bitter chuckle. “It didn’t really go that smoothly.”

  “Well,” I begin, as we both watch the doodles he’s making on my hand, “you have to give him time to let the idea sink in. Jordy is nothing if not methodical. He’s a planner. He isn’t spontaneous like that.”

  “Funny,” his gaze finds mine, “Grandma Molly said almost the exact same thing.”

  My mouth splits into a cocky smile. “You know what they say. Great minds and all that. Besides, I’m always right.”

  “Let’s not get carried away, Hopper. I’ll give you a seven out of ten.”

  “Pfffttt.”

  “Did you just spit at me?” His grin turns devious and my breathing accelerates. “Because I’m thinking you did. And you know what else they say? Payback’s a bitch.”

  And then he pounces on me. As in, his body covering mine, fingers tickling my ribs, vital organs touching one another. Laughter overtakes me, but something else does too. My imagination. Because right now all I can picture is him on top of me without his clothes on, his erection between my legs, mouth against my breast.

  Damn it. This is all Nora’s fault.

  “Stop!” I laugh, as he drags out his merciless torture. “I give, I give.”

  He pauses with a gleam in his eye, the sound of our heavy breaths filling the space between us. “You give? What are you willing to give?”

  “What do you want?” I clamp down on the corner of my mouth, my belly a sudden flutter of nerves.

  His lips brush my cheek, coming to rest above my ear, and he whispers, “Everything, Evie. I want everything.” My heart practically falls out of my chest, and a loud gasp escapes as he lifts his large body off of mine. Then he walks away as if what he just said didn’t rock my entire world.

  “By the way,” he stops, pivoting around to face me, “if you’re not busy tonight, do you think you can meet me somewhere?”

  My mouth is still dry and trying to push the words past my lips is somewhat challenging. “Sure, where?”

  “Under the sky. Eight o’clock,” he tells me, being incredibly vague.

  “That’s very cryptic. Where under the sky?”

  “Just follow the stars, Evie.” He winks and the flutter starts up again. “See you tonight.”

  I’ll follow the stars, Dylan… as long as they lead me to you.

  SWEAT BUILDS ON my brow as I wait for Evie, the brisk air doing nothing to cool me down. I’m completely wrecked, and nothing has even happened yet. Everything is all set with time to spare. Still, I’m circling the yard like some crazed lunatic.

  When I think about my life up until now, it’s as though destiny has had a firm hand on my back since the day I met Evie, pushing me in this one direction. And for the first time, I know that no matter the end result, this has to come out. Because I can no longer pretend she doesn’t mean everything to me.

  I stare at the blanket, at the chocolate-covered strawberries and sparkling cider that I’ve laid out for us, and then I shake my head… at myself. I’ve never considered myself a romantic. I’m not usually interested in doing shit for girls. I’d much rather have them do things for me.

  With Evie, that’s never been the case. She makes me want to think and feel, and be. She inspires me to do better, to want more—and I want it all. I’ve just been too chickenshit to go after it. I’ve let my father’s shadow cast doubt over who I am, and he’s not even here.

  Evie’s presence breaks into my thoughts. I feel her before I even see her, my body responding
with a faint shudder. My heart tells me in the way the beat changes, a solid hammering against my chest. Sure enough, when I lift my head, there she is, picking up the trail of plastic stars I left for her to follow.

  “You found me,” I call out as I make my way over to her. She holds up the glow-in-the-dark stars, lighting her smile.

  “Of course. You said follow the stars, and I’m very good at listening to directions when I want to be.”

  “Want to, being the operative words,” I say and she grins. “I’m glad you’re here.” Reaching out, I thread our fingers together, leading her toward the blanket and guiding her to sit. She lowers herself onto the soft wool and drops the stars, curling her legs underneath her.

  “Oh yum. Chocolate-covered strawberries. Did you get those at the pastry shop in town?”

  “No,” I retort, handing her one, “I actually made them myself.”

  Her hand flies to her chest before the strawberry makes it to her mouth. “You dipped these yourself?”

  “Uh, yes. It’s not rocket science, Hopper. And I’m quite skilled with my hands.” I tilt my head to the side, begging her with my eyes to give me some smartass comeback. Instead, she shoves the strawberry into her mouth, her cheeks almost as red as the fruit. “Do you want some cider?” She nods, her ponytail flapping with the movement. I love that she wore her hair up and wonder if she did that for me.

  I pop the top on the cider and she squeals as it sails into the darkness. She holds both glasses out in front of me. After pouring the bubbly drink, I set it down on a flat clearing in the grass. “So, did you have a good day?”

  “Yeah, but we had a lot of people grumbling about hair today.” She swallows, and my eyes are drawn to the slope of her neck, her smooth, creamy skin. I want so badly to know what she tastes like. “It was fine, though. Not everyone is going to be happy. What about you?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re not even listening to me, Dills.”

  “I am, I am. What was your question?” Her eyes pull in as she finishes the rest of the cider, placing the glass next to the bottle.

  “Just wanting to know how your day was.” She eases her body down until she’s flat on her back, staring up at the sky.

  “It was okay. Nothing to write home about.” I empty my drink and lie down next to her. “I tried to talk to Jordan again. Like you said, I’ll just give him some time.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees, stretching her arms up as if grabbing for a star.

  “You still have the smallest hands,” I remark, watching as she twirls them in the air.

  She swivels her head my way, curiosity crinkling the corners of her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “When we met. Don’t you remember? I told you, you had small hands.”

  “Oh yeah,” her mouth curves at the edges, “and you called me funny girl.”

  “Well,” I admit, grinning at the memory, “you were funny.”

  “Funny looking, maybe.”

  “But still cute.” My shoulder grazes hers and the heat of her bare skin nearly burns through my shirt.

  She follows the line of her hand with her index finger as if she’s tracing it. “I have my mother’s hands. She had small hands, but very long fingers. It worked really well for playing the piano.” A heavy sigh drops from her mouth. “She’d probably be upset if she knew I wasn’t still playing… but I just can’t.”

  “No, she wouldn’t, Evie.” My tone is firm, determined. “Your mother would want you to do you. She always did.”

  “I suppose.” She lets her arms fall back down on another breath, this one seemingly woven with regret.

  We lie on the blanket in silence, legs side-by-side, arms brushing. My heart is racing, Gran’s words echoing in every part of my brain.

  ‘Sometimes life doesn’t give us a second chance.’

  My chest is pounding—fear, insecurity, excitement knocking so loudly I wonder if I’m already transparent.

  Hesitation forces me to pause briefly before my fingers crawl over to hers and I lace them together. The tingle that works its way up my arm makes me feel like I’m twelve years old, holding hands for the first time. With the pad of my thumb, I trace small circles over her knuckles. Her skin is like silk under mine. She turns her head and her lips warm into a smile that completely unravels me.

  Something inside me is breaking, yet being repaired at the same time. I’m on the brink of discovery—or maybe utter devastation. Either way, at least I’ll finally know. I take a loud swallow to muster up some courage.

  “Close your eyes,” I encourage with a soft, yet demanding voice. I smile when I glance to the side and see her lashes feathering her cheeks. “What do you hear?”

  I close my own eyes then, but my ears pick up her contented sigh. “I hear crickets, and they sound happy.” Leave it to Evie to be so optimistic. I love that about her. Even the crickets are happy.

  “Okay. Now, tell me what you feel.”

  “What I feel? Umm… I feel your fingers. Your thumb is tickling me.” She giggles and the sound sends a shot of warmth rippling through me.

  I open my eyes and as quietly as I can, shift onto my side, leaning over her, watching for any sign that she knows. The lines of her face are calm, features relaxed, breathing steady. I cup her cheek in my palm, her heated skin a contrast to the cool, night air, and her breathing instantly changes. “What do you feel now?”

  “Umm… your hand. It’s… warm,” she says, her voice quivering slightly.

  “And now?” I dip down, my breath blowing lightly over her lips, and her eyes fly open. She tips her head back, cheeks colored pink, wide-eyed gaze boring into mine. And there’s something there. I can see it now, as clearly as if I was looking beneath the surface of the bluest ocean. She drinks in my hair, my eyes, my jaw, before settling on my lips.

  “Evie,” I murmur, my finger tracing the curve of her plump mouth, catching a tiny hint of wetness on her lower lip. “Close your eyes, because I’m about to kiss you, and I want to know what you feel when I do.”

  She inhales sharply as her lashes flutter against her cheeks. Pushing herself up closer to me, she circles my nose with hers, her warm breath a whisper to my skin sending shivers up and down my spine. Her smell, that vanilla scent overpowers me, hypnotizing, intoxicating, until I’m dizzy with her.

  Then I finally do it. I take her face in my hands, cheeks warm against my palms, and seal my lips over hers. And fuck if she isn’t the best thing I’ve ever tasted—lips so soft and sweet, eager as they move against mine. I brush back and forth over her mouth, teasing, until she parts for me and I slide my tongue inside. And like two vines meant to intertwine, we wrap around one another dancing and exploring.

  I’m immediately lost in her warmth, her own unique flavor mixed with berries and rich chocolate. It should be illegal to taste this good. She’s driving me insane and I want to cover her with my body so I can show her just how much.

  But I take my time, and when she moans into my mouth, telling me she’s been waiting for this as long as I have, fireworks explode in my chest.

  She threads her fingers through my hair, pulling me closer, wanting me deeper, and I let out a groan, the sound vibrating between us. My hands slide down the curve of her neck, drifting over her skin, and she lets out another whimper.

  I’ve dreamt about those sounds, gotten off to the thought of those sounds, but now I’m actually hearing them and it’s a thousand times better than my dreams. My body feels as if it could melt into oblivion, my own name lost to my mind. Years of longing and desire are unleashing, my tongue in her mouth, my hands on her bare flesh.

  I’ve kissed a lot of girls. But it’s not until just now that I realize I’ve never kissed anyone. Nor have I ever been kissed. Not like this. This explosion of feeling in my chest is powerful and intrusive. It’s the kind that can move mountains. And I want more. I want it all.

  I slowly slip out of her mouth, teasing her bottom lip, and feel a loss once the connection is b
roken. Her lips are flushed, chest pounding in time with mine. “So, what did you feel?” I whisper, and her blue eyes come into focus again.

  “Everything, Dylan,” she says softly, and I kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her, “but I do know I want to do it over, and over, and over. Shall we start now?”

  I’M NOT SURE how long we kiss for, but I know my lips are bruised and swollen, yet I don’t want to stop. I could kiss him forever and still it wouldn’t be long enough.

  “We should go,” he whispers, “even though I want to kiss you until my lips fall off.”

  I giggle. “I can’t even feel my lips.”

  “Come on, funny girl. Let’s get you home.” He offers his hand and pulls me to my feet, then collects the blanket. I pick up the strawberries and the bottle of cider, making sure to take the stars. I want to remember this night. “Just leave those on the deck. I’ll grab them on the way back.” He folds his strong hand around mine and my nerve endings tingle. It’s funny how holding hands can make you feel as if you can fly.

  I’m smiling so big, it hurts, but when I chance a look at Dylan, he is too. Meanwhile, my feet are hesitant. I don’t want this night to end. Still, the walk to my door is much too fast and I find myself being engulfed by a wave of shyness even though we just made out for two hours. I fidget with the stars in my hand.

  “Thank you, Dylan. For the stars, for tonight.” He slips his finger underneath my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His hair tumbles over his lashes and I sweep it to the side, lifting on my tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He stares into my eyes right then, but it’s like he is seeing my soul.

  “And then she kissed him,” he murmurs, “and all manner of thought left his head. It was a kiss he had dreamed about, but it was a thousand times better than his dreams. And he was ruined in all the best ways… and he’d never be the same again.”

  I can’t catch my breath, or the tear that trickles down my cheek. I’m suddenly grateful for the darkness so he can’t see what he’s doing to me, the way my heart is dancing too fast, struggling to find a normal beat.