My breath is heavy when I pull away without warning. Looking up at him, I can tell the burning in his eyes is the same fire that I feel down my entire body. A nagging urgency builds to climax within my core, and I can’t stand it anymore. Turning away from him, I bend myself over the hood of the car. Pushing my skirt up, he slides his hands across the smooth of my rear as if memorizing the feel of me standing there vulnerable and ready for him. Then I feel the first thrust of his head against my slit, the sensation causing me to cry out in an explosive pleasure.
He presses into me, inch by inch, and with a solid grasp of my hips, he finds a slow but steady cadence. My palms are splayed flat against the hood of the car, straining for support. I stand solid as I can, taking every thrusting hit until he bends atop me and drops his sweaty forehead to my back.
Every fiber in my body sizzles in anticipation of the release I know is coming. I feel it building with every rock of Garrett’s hips, and with the control of our passion completely his, I’m nearly there.
Everything around me, save for Garrett, ceases to exist, and all I care about is him getting off inside me. “Harder,” I moan wanting more from him.
He pushes his mouth into my shoulder blade, muffling a grunting cry that rumbles in the base of his throat. I know that sound. He’s almost there, and the idea of him being so turned on is enough to tip me over the edge. With every ounce of pleasure inside me, I cry out his name, my cheek pressed into the hood of the car, the strength from his desperate thrusts causing the car underneath us to keep our rhythm. My legs go weak from the unbridled tightening of my womb around his length.
Harder he pushes, bringing our skin together in loud claps. Snaking his hands up around my shoulders, he gives himself the leverage he needs for his thrusts to match his ragged moans that surround me in his rapture.
With a tortured, sinful grunt, I feel the ecstasy of his thick warmth as it fills me. His knees buckle causing him to clutch at me while he collapses down over me. “Goddamn,” he says, laying a small trail of kisses down my back. “You’re somethin’ else.”
Short of breath and all the energy drained from us, we take our time getting back to our feet. After finding his pants, he shuffles around the gravel collecting my clothes and helps dress me. Pulling my shirt around over my other arm, he pushes my hair out of my face and kisses my forehead. “Guess I was right.”
“About what?” I ask, buttoning up my blouse.
“About your wild ways.”
Chapter Thirteen
With the Shoreline drama between Franklin and Garrett having ceased, my life suddenly grows quiet. Strange as it is, I hadn’t seen Kate in three days, not even at the apartment. I guess she’d taken on a few extra work shifts as tourist season started blossoming, so our usual schedule of catching each other in the evenings was amiss. But the plan was for me to get off dog-grooming duty early today and meet her at my dad’s lakehouse to help set everything up for the party. I shoot her a text before leaving work.
Me: Hey, is there anything I need to pick up on the way in? Let me know!
Back at the apartment, I take a quick shower and change my clothes. Instructions from Kate had been to look nice, but not like I’m attending a funeral. So I settle on a floral printed skater skirt and a white tank top.
The heat swallows me whole as I hurry down to the car. Cranking the air condition, I hear my phone ding with a text.
Kate: bring whiskey. lots of whiskey.
On the drive to Wilmington, I can’t pull my mind from Garrett. I’d had trouble concentrating at work most of the week just thinking about him. We’d seen each other a few evenings this week, but he still hadn’t told me his decision about whether he’d be coming to Kate’s party or not. And while I want him there, I'll completely understand if he decides to skip it. In fact, I can’t blame him, as I’d rather sit the thing out myself. But Kate is counting on me to, at the very least, help get things ready.
After stopping at the ABC store on Carolina Beach Road and buying four bottles of cheap cinnamon whiskey, I head west toward Lake Carson. Pulling through the weeping willow trees and into the gravel driveway, I can’t help but notice how bare it is except for Kate’s Ford Focus with Franklin’s bright red Jeep parked next to it. Before even opening the front door, I can hear a hint of music over the downstairs speakers. Walking in, I half expect to find Frank’s angry face staring back at me as I hadn’t seen him since the celebratory dinner-disaster, but there’s no one in the front foyer.
“Franklin?”
The house lights are already dim, and there’s an untouched game of beer pong set up on the glass tabletop up front with a mason jar of neon colored ping pong balls. Bowls of chips and dips, vegetable trays, fruit kabobs, cheeses, stuffed mushrooms, and sausage balls all line another table off to the side of the foyer. No one at this party will go hungry.
“Kate?”
Over the music, I hear someone rustling around in the kitchen. Turning the corner, I find Kate setting a tray of mini cupcakes onto a tiered platter.
“Hey, do you need a hand?”
Shaking her head, she makes no effort to turn and look at me. “It’s fine, I’ve got it,” she shouts over the music.
“I brought whiskey,” I say, my arms still full of brown paper bags. “Where should I stick it?”
“Grand,” she says, her voice rolling like honey. She turns to me on the heel of one of her red stilettos and cocks her head. “Why don’t you stick it up Garrett’s ass.”
My jaw drops, her sharpness pulling me from my reverie of the day. Out of nervousness, I chuckle even though I don’t get the joke. “Excuse me?”
As the doorbell rings, she shrugs with a vindictive giggle. “Go get the door.”
My mind whirring at our momentary interaction, I pull the four bottles of whiskey out of the paper bags and set them on the drink table in the living room. There are buckets full of ice with various bottles of tequila, cheap wine, and two silver Shoreline kegs perched on the floor. As I head for the front door, I have only one thought. If this is the kind of party my dad thought Kate had been planning, he would’ve never let her have a key to the place.
When I open the door, a group of old high school acquaintances walks in, the guys each carrying a twelve pack of beer. The brunette chick with pink tips that I recognize as Moira smiles at me.
“Hiya." She looks around the foyer, eyeing the place.
“Hey, guys. Come on in,” I say sheepishly.
“Thanks for having us, Rachel. Your dad sure has a nice place,” she says, sounding way too artificial. She continues poking her head around the room. Her tightly curled hair sits stacked on top of her head like a pineapple, the pink tips a flaming tiara up there. “Is Kate here?”
“Yeah, in the kitchen,” I say, feeling my phone vibrate in my fist.
A guy beside Moira nods at me. I recognize him as Nate from my tenth grade Trigonometry class. He’s wearing a tan pair of boat shoes and tight navy slacks. Eyeing me, he smirks, his dimples still as prominent as they were years ago. I feel my cheeks pull a shade of pink in front of him, but hopefully, it’s so dim in here that he hasn’t noticed.
As I wander through the house to the French doors on the other side of the living room, I step out onto the back porch and instantly breathe easier at the fresh air. Checking my phone, I read a text from Garrett.
Garrett: On my way.
Thank God. It’s only been a day since I’ve seen him, but I already miss him.
Smiling, I look out at the backyard and immediately choke up at the view. Growing up, it had been a special place where late summer afternoons were spent lying out underneath the sinking sun, our respite from the overcrowded lakeside.
But tonight, the yard looks downright magical. The sun having almost set makes the twinkling lawn lights that are laid out on the grass flood it golden. They illuminate the ground like fireflies settling into the green of an empty field. The weeping willows that line the back of the property are swaying
in the warm breeze causing a plethora of hidden birds to softly chirp in the treetops. And far off in the distance, I hear a wild goose honk his melancholy song. Beyond the yard and forest of weeping willows, there’s Lake Carson, her waters shimmering from what little bit of moonlight is rising in the sky. I love that lake and hate it for everything she robbed us of ten years ago. Some days it feels like I’ll never fully forgive her. But no matter my feelings, she still holds a certain beauty.
My eyes are drawn to the center of the yard where three white paper lanterns hang off of wooden stakes pinned in the ground, and even from afar, I can see Lydia’s name scrawled in beautiful black calligraphy across each one. My heart aches with wanting to see her again—my best friend. But the sight of the lanterns floods me with the good memories. Spending the night in a pop-up tent in the backyard. Chasing fireflies up and down the grass with squeals of laughter. Calling Southport boys after midnight just to giggle at them until early morning. I can’t help but wonder what life might be like right now if she’d never died.
I hear Kate laugh from the open kitchen window which pulls me from my solace. The sound of her voice chattering at Moira sounds guarded and foreign. She jokingly snapped at me earlier, but what if she’d meant it? Does she finally realize I have feelings for Garrett? Is she mad that I hadn’t been more of a helping hand in preparing for the party? I decide I'm overthinking things. It’s probably the stress from the anniversary of Lydia’s death looming. If it had been affecting me the past few days, I know it’s likely weighing on her, too.
Heading back inside, I make my way to the formal dining room. At first glance, I notice Kate has moved the table and chairs elsewhere which makes the place look more expansive. But as I turn toward the grand staircase, I catch sight of two oversized canvases perched atop flimsy easels. The setup immediately ties my stomach in a knot. Each canvas is a life-sized photo of Lydia, her green eyes shining bright, that knowing smile worth a thousand suns. My heart plummets, and I feel all of my anger from the past ten years swell inside my chest.
A dark fire coursing through me, I round the kitchen corner, planting myself right in front of Kate and cutting off her conversation with Moira.
“What the fuck,” I say to her, tears brimming my eyes.
“What?”
“Kate, really?” I'm breathing so hard now, I start to feel faint. “The pictures. You promised there’d be none.”
“You need to calm down. It’s just a picture.”
Shaking my head, I feel like I could almost smack her and not think twice about it. “First of all, no. There are two of them. And they’re not just pictures. They’re goddamn canvases.” Even as I speak to her, my voice sounds like it might crack wide open from all the anger and fear those canvases hold in my heart. “Really fucking offensive, Kate. You told me there’d be none of that tonight. It wasn't supposed to be that kind of a party.”
She shrugs and turns to Moira who’s bent over going through my dad's refrigerator. “Hey, Moira. You see anything offensive about a few pictures?”
Having peeled the plastic off of a string cheese, Moira stands and faces us with the cheese stick hanging out her mouth like a flimsy cigar. “No, I saw them. They’re cute pictures.”
“Fuck you,” I tell Kate.
“Hmm,” she says, tapping a metallic purple fingernail on her chin. “How about fuck you. Oh, wait. Garrett already has.”
Her statement stops me right in my tracks, my breath having fallen. “What are you talking about?”
“Drop the charade, Rachel. I saw you.”
“Saw me what?” I quickly play back my Garrett timeline. Had she caught us kissing in the parking lot at the River Roast a few weeks ago? Stumbled upon us up at the golf course?
Kate scoffs and shakes her head. “Don’t be stupid. I saw him fucking you in his driveway.”
In pure denial, I shake my head not sure what to say. I feel like I might throw up at how right she is. But does she not realize this is the most inappropriate place to discuss it?
“Just admit it,” she says.
Shaking my head again, I feel a cold sweat forming on the back of my knees, and I suddenly want to cry.
Kate crosses her arms across her chest. “My name is Garrett,” she says in a deep voice as she throws me a catty smirk. “Let's fuck in the driveway.” She then mimics a high pitched groaning noise causing Moira to fall into a fit of laughter. "You really should be careful about getting it on in public places, Rachel. You never know who could be watching." Her shit-eating grin rips through me.
Anger overtaking me and throwing me on autopilot, I storm off to the staircase, grabbing an unopened bottle of whiskey on the way. Garrett will be here soon, and there’s no way I’m letting these canvases stay. I rip them down from each of the easels with so much force that one of the easels flips over into the floor. One by one, I drag each portrait to the basement door and kick it down the steps. Each one sets a rhythmic thud as it tumbles to the bottom floor. I slam the door behind the chaos.
“Real mature,” I hear Kate shout at me overtop the music.
Locking myself in the downstairs bathroom, I perch on the side of the bathtub and crack open the bottle of whiskey. There’s no way I’m letting Garrett go through this tonight. I have to put a stop to it. I gulp a few mouthfuls of whiskey, the cinnamon burning like fire as it swims through me and settles in my belly. My upset fuels the pounding of my heart, and I can’t shake the vindictive tone Kate had set for the evening.
After swallowing another mouthful of whiskey, I frantically dial Garrett’s number. His phone rings and rings and ends up on voicemail, but I hang up. As someone bangs on the bathroom door, I try calling again.
“Someone’s in here,” I shout.
I try calling Garrett one last time, but still nothing. “Goddamnit,” I say, slamming my phone on the edge of the tub. As I sit there with the bottle of whiskey between my knees, I consider texting him.
The moment I pick my phone up to write him, I feel the rumble of an engine vibrate the floorboards, and it has to be him.
Clumsily weaving through the growing crowd of the living room, I leave the bottle of whiskey at the bottom of the staircase and race outside to meet him. My head feels floaty with a whiskey buzz, but it stokes my persistence. With something of a wicked grin on my face, I push him back against the side of his truck as soon as his boots hit the pavement.
“Oh,” he purrs. “Hey there.”
He seems happy as I slip my lips against his with a soft intensity that melts a piece of my anger. My kiss aims to keep him rooted right where he is because my number one mission for the night is to not let him inside that house.
“Hi,” I say, pulling away from the kiss just long enough to look up into his eyes. “Did you miss me?”
“Mhmm,” he says against my lips as I go in for another kiss.
“How are you?” I ask trailing a hand down the side of his neck. I let my fingers linger at the folded collar of his white polo shirt.
“Pretty darn good now.”
The bass booming from the house reminds me why I desperately have to keep him away from the madness. And there’s only one way I can think to entice him to leave with me. “You know,” I coo, gathering myself in his arms. “We could just go somewhere else for the night. Away from everyone. For a little privacy.”
He quirks his eyebrow and dips his head down to me. “You asked me to come to this thing.”
“Well, technically,” I sing with a sneer. “Technically Kate wanted you here. But she’s good now, so we can leave if you want.”
He plants a kiss on my cheek and looks me square in the eye. “I’m here for you. Not for Kate. So let’s make the most of it, and it’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but,” I hiccup, throwing my word in the air which causes him to grin.
“Anyway,” he says, slipping his fingers around my wrist. “I can tell you’ve been drinking. I can taste it on you.” He starts drifting me toward the stairs.
/> “Yeah, but it’s your favorite though,” I tell him, anxiety taking hold of me. I resist taking the stairs until he’s practically leading me up them by my waist. “I’ll bring us a bottle out, and we can drink in the back of the truck. Like old times, Baby.”
He furrows his brow at me. “Baby?” he chuckles. “Rach, it’s okay. I can tell you’re on edge. We’ll get through it together.”
And before I can stall any longer, we reach the door. Stepping us through the doorway, Garrett immediately sees a group of guys with whom he played football in high school. The murmur of the crowd dampens as soon as people notice him, but he ignores their poignant stares in exchange for a few menial lines of small talk.
The whiskey must be affecting me now, because my breath locks in my throat the moment Garrett passes by the staircase to the dining room. I don't know if I was imagining Kate having set the canvases up again just for spite. But the two easels sit folded up and pushed against my grandmother’s old pie safe. Part of my whiskey brain expects him to notice the easels and bolt at what had been on them, but he seems oblivious and heads straight for the snack table.
“You’re hungry?”
He grins at me. “What? I’m always hungry,” he says, shoveling a mini cupcake in his mouth. He peels a liner from another one.
My mind feels like a cinnamon fog is lying overtop of it now, everything feeling soft and surreal. “Didn’t you eat before you got here?”
“Yes, and my statement still stands. I’m always hungry. Anyway,” he pops the second cupcake into his mouth. “This is dessert.”
“Attention!” Clinking a crystal wine glass with a fork, Kate kicks off her stilettos and steps up onto a corduroy ottoman in the front of the living room. She watches as everyone gathers into a sea of Lydia's friends and acquaintances laid out before her. She somehow looks both proud and somber standing up there in her black, off-the-shoulder dress. “First off, I just want to thank everyone for coming out tonight. This is truly a special occasion, and I know Lydia would’ve appreciated all of us coming together as one. In her honor, I want to share just a little something I put together,” she says, the words animated, “with all of you tonight.”
All the Wild Ways Page 10
