by Pike, Leslie
“Sorry. That’s the second time today I’ve cried in front of you. Usually my girlfriends are the ones I go to. But a telephone conversation just isn’t the same as a shoulder.”
He gets up and comes close, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. Our knees touching, he takes my hands in his. A shiver runs down my spine.
“You can’t rely on me to be there every time, because no kidding I’m fucked up on a regular basis. But if you have a bad day you’re welcome to see if I’m having a good one. If I am, you can use my shoulder. Same goes for Sam.”
I squeeze his warm strong hands. My voice is silenced by the lump in my throat and the big emotion causing it.
“I’m short on friends here too,” he says. “My problem is I’m way too fucking picky. You and Sam are the first people I’ve been able to tolerate in years.”
He chuckles when he says it, but I think there’s truth hidden between the words.
“Being tolerated is the first thing I look for in a friend. Yeah, I think we can do that,” I say.
Chapter 5
Parish
So far so good. The morning after that first dinner I was afraid I’d made a rookie mistake. Lowering my wall enough to let Sam and Scarlett over it was impulsive. But three weeks ago, as October turned into November, I began to relax into the idea. It’s not so bad waving to my neighbors or joining Sam for an occasional walk to the lighthouse or coves. It’s freeing not to have to avoid the people next door.
And even if the only good thing to come of it is that I haven’t slept on the beach since that night, or gotten stinking drunk, it’s enough. Baby steps.
The last time I was around a thirteen-year-old boy was when I was thirteen. My Justin would have been that age. Boys are almost everything at thirteen. Almost men, almost tall, almost driving and almost ready for their first kiss and the life changing realization of what it will lead to.
Sam’s at the doorstep to it all. If he can get through the sorrow, he’s about to be in a great stage of life where it’s all about first times. You have no idea yet what all the firsts feel like, you just know everyone loves remembering theirs. Anticipation is at its height. Life still promises.
Mostly the two of them leave me alone. I’ve a sense Sam told Scarlett about my loss. A tenderness crept between us that only could have come from sympathy. She knows.
And they respect the fact I need to be holed up in my writer’s cave every day. When we do get together I value the break. All three of us have eased into the friendship. It’s taken almost seven weeks. Not one of us rushed the connection.
When we do hang out it’s easy, nothing’s forced. I like listening to them talk. Sam and I haven’t had any additional discussions about his sadness or any reference to his parents’ accident. I’m letting him take the lead on that one. Sometimes when you’re forced to put words to grief it feels too fucking painful. Other times it’s cathartic. The problem is you never know which it’s going to be.
But we talk about everything else. The kid has opinions. He makes me laugh and get out of my own head. Now that I’m thinking of it, who’s soothing who?
I find myself drinking less and I guess that’s because some of my tragic thoughts have been tempered. I’m distracted. Sometimes a whole hour goes by without me thinking of that horrible day. That’s new.
I still have alcohol every night, but the passed-out drunk is taking a break. Lately, if I have too much I put myself to bed. In the house. The smokes have lost their draw altogether. I was never really into it anyway. It enabled the drinking. Cigarettes and whiskey just went together so smoothly. I’m sure I smelled like an ashtray. It seems disgusting now.
Scarlett’s an interesting woman. I haven’t taken the time to find out if a woman’s interesting or not in a long time. Forgot how satisfying a good conversation can be. The kind you get lost in. All of a sudden three hours have passed. Those are the kind Scarlett and I have. Sometimes it’s on the phone and other times it’s while we walk the beach.
In another world I’d be looking for more from her. God knows I’ve noticed all the details. The eyes. Those are hard to get past. In bright sunlight they look greenish, but when we’re on the deck, under the lowlight of the lantern, they change to a blue. That along with the chestnut-colored hair makes an impression.
Then there’s the mouth. I’ve imagined all sorts of scenarios. Simply put, I like to look at it. The full bottom lip and the defined bow on top make for a beautiful combo. Lipstick’s redundant because her natural shade is pink. Kissing them could end some man’s search.
To say I like what I’ve seen of her body is an understatement. Once in a while I catch myself looking at her breasts a little too long. Like teenage boys do when they haven’t yet actually touched one. I can’t help myself. Another adolescent excuse. Maybe she leans over or jogs in the sand, whatever. My eyes automatically dart to those two beautiful orbs and the pink nipples I’ve imagined in every masturbation session I’ve had since we met. They’re my kryptonite.
And below those gifts a narrow waist curves in and out to rounded hips. Turn around, baby. That thought comes into my mind on a daily basis. Looking at her ass is becoming habit. Solid and high. That’s all a man can hope for, and she’s delivered.
What the fuck, Parish? I return to reality and call her cell. She picks up on the forth ring, just as I was about to disconnect.
“Hi,” she says breathing heavy.
“Am I interrupting something?”
She starts giggling. I don’t hate the sound.
“Unfortunately, no. I was exercising to that yoga DVD I told you I found.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be aerobic. Are you certain you’re doing it right?”
“No I’m not! I told you I’m a klutz. I hate it anyway. Thanks for interrupting my downward dog.”
I’d like to go downward dog on her right now.
“Why are you exercising in your house when you have the greatest natural treadmill right outside?”
“What are you suggesting?” she says.
“Interested in a walk?”
There’s no hesitation. “Sure.”
“Grab your coat. It’s chilly.”
“Are you kidding? I’m sweating here!”
She can’t see my smile or know how good it feels just to realize I’m going to see her in a minute.
“Meet you outside,” I say.
Before I leave, I run my hands through my hair and check my breath. This is the house of one mirror, and it’s in the bathroom. I consider it for just a moment. I’m good. She might be waiting.
At the last moment I grab a handful of the butterscotch candies in the glass bowl and stuff them in the pocket of my sweatshirt. They’ve become a habit as I leave behind other more destructive ones.
The wind blows my hair in every direction as I close the door behind me. The immense energy of the ocean is putting on a show. But the bright sunlight accompanies it. The perfect day. Like a dog in the wind, I’m feeling frisky.
Making it to the bottom of the stairs I turn to see she’s walking my way. No ponytail today. The hair is loose and dancing in the breeze. It looks beautiful. The white v-neck long sleeved T-shirt and black yoga pants make me grin. They don’t hide the shape of her.
I wait and watch as she approaches. At first she waves and meets my gaze. But when I don’t look away her behavior changes. Her head dips and she looks down at her feet as she marches forward. All the while there’s a smile she’s holding back by biting her lip. She’s embarrassed by my stare. I like the reaction. A lot.
When she gets within a few yards she picks up a rock and throws it at me.
“Hey! Don’t start something you can’t finish, woman,” I say dodging the stone.
She laughs and hits my arm as she passes. I jog the two steps to catch up.
“You started it,” she says as we walk.
I don’t deny the charge. We both know I was enjoying the view. I’ve got a feeling it’s
about to get better. As she passed me I noticed how cold she was getting already. It’s a nipple extravaganza. I’m so glad she ignored my coat suggestion. Thank you, God. Maybe you’re there after all.
“You cold by any chance, Scarlett?” I say with a raised eyebrow and a meaningful tone.
“No, it feels good,” she says with no conviction. Then she laughs.
The sound of that was in my dream the other night.
“That’s bullshit. Your teeth are chattering,” I say jogging a few steps ahead.
I turn and walk backwards in front of her.
“Then there’s this whole thing happening.” My hands making concentric circles in front of her T-shirt.
The look on her face is priceless. Shock followed by amusement. She crosses her arms over her breasts.
“What a pervert you are!”
“True,” I say taking off my zip up. “Here, before those things tear holes in your shirt.”
She doesn’t fight me. I help her into it as we walk to the edge of the ocean. It looks like she’s wearing a giant’s sweatshirt. It’s cute on her. Down, boy.
“Hey! Look!” she says pulling a butterscotch from the pocket and tossing it to me.
“I put them there for us.”
“Nice.”
She unwraps one for herself and I watch surreptitiously as she sucks on the hard candy. My superhero peripheral vision is coming in handy. Oh, brother. My dick’s waking up. Maybe I should pour butterscotch syrup over my penis when we get back and see what happens. That image isn’t helping the situation. Look away, man.
“Sam said you showed him some coves. Is that where we’re headed?” she says.
“No. They’re in the opposite direction.”
We walk silently for a while, just sucking on our butterscotch candy and enjoying the beautiful day. She plays in the foam of the waves that roll to the shore. The impromptu dance makes me grin. And when she sees my reaction she smiles too.
“I needed this. Thanks,” she says resuming her walk.
“Having a bad day?”
“It’s just that every time I think I’m making some progress with Sam, I crash and burn. Today was the worst. It’s pretty demoralizing.”
“What happened?”
“He’s going through puberty. You remember how bad that can be.”
“Oh yeah. Confusing, embarrassing.”
“Exactly. Well, I only know about girls because my brothers had already gone through it by the time it was my turn. My perspective is from that angle. This morning before school I made a huge mistake,” she says emphasizing the word huge.
“What did you do? I want to hear this one.”
She stops walking and I follow suit. Her eyes squeeze shut and her face scrunches up.
“I walked in on him masturbating.” A squeal comes out as she relives the event.
I start laughing. “What the hell, Scarlett?”
Another hit to my bicep.
“Stop it. It’s not funny! I didn’t do it on purpose. I thought he’d overslept, and I just walked in. There he was with a sock on his …and he was looking at his phone propped up on a pillow …and I got embarrassed and ran into the door as I was leaving! Look.”
She unzips the sweatshirt and peels down the shoulder of her T. A raised black and blue bruise marks the spot.
I’m laughing so hard I’m doubled over with my hands on my knees.
“It’s not funny! You asshole!”
“I’m the asshole? I’m pretty sure you’re the voyeur in this story.”
“What?!” Her voice goes up three octaves.
Then in response to the accusation, she shoves me over. Like the Hulk. The unexpected move sends me onto the wet sand, where the reach of an icy wave rolls over me, shocking my senses. When I sit upright and make eye contact, a hand goes to her mouth.
“That’s gonna cost you, princess.” I spit out a mouthful of seawater.
It’s on. She screams and turns to run. I’m too quick for her and grab her ankle as she tries escaping.
“Wait! I’m sorry I did that to you!” she yells.
“Too bad, baby.”
I take her down, roll her over and pin her arms in the sand under the last of the retreating wave. When she tries using her legs to wiggle free, I lay on top of her. Our clothes are drenched and stuck to our skin. Feeling the softness of her breasts and the erectness of the nipples makes my dick push hard against her squirming body. It’s turning out to be one hell of a day.
Leaning close so she can hear me over the sound of the waves, I give my warning.
“You’re about to get really wet.”
Her lifted eyebrows tell me she’s a little shocked. The misinterpretation is exactly what I hoped for. That’s the precise moment the next wave rolls over us both. Uh oh, that was bigger than expected. It rolls me off her, then with its retreat tries to pull us out to sea.
My hands reach for hers. Pulling myself upright I lift her in one quick move. Neither of us are speaking, but all kind of messages are being exchanged silently. Scarlett’s getting a kick out of this. My smile’s genuine. I move a long strand of wet hair from her lips.
“The ocean looks good on you,” I say.
We’re both freezing. Doesn’t matter. I take her face in my hands and eliminate the space between us. She presses against me and gazes into my eyes. God. She’s so beautiful. And my dick. It’s pushing back. Water drips from our hair and eyelashes, from her perfect mouth.
Fuck waiting. I lean in, and with one hand wrapped around her neck and fingers threaded through her wet hair, I take the kiss. Slender arms lock around my waist. The sea’s wild and the wind is whipping the foam to free floating peeks that break off and float in the air.
We’re trying to keep our balance, feet sinking as the tide ebbs and flows. But this kiss. Neither feels the need to cut it short. Nothing’s held back. The feeling coursing through me is fucking unbelievable. Electric. Lips part and our eyes lock.
“Well, that happened,” Scarlett says.
“I’m not sorry it did. You?”
“Not really.”
We start laughing. I grab her hand and lead us to solid ground. All the way, random butterscotch candies dot the shore or float in the shallows.
“Was it my wrestling skills that turned you on?” she says twisting out the water from her sweatshirts hem.
“It was your mouth,” I say, sure of the answer.
She likes that, I can tell by the way she’s biting her bottom lip.
“What about the friend thing?” she says. “Are we just going to conveniently ignore that?”
“Can’t we do both?”
Her expression hides what she’s thinking. I’m not certain she agrees this is a good idea.
I wrap my arms around her shivering body and lean my nose against hers. “I don’t think it would be so bad to enjoy what we both want. In fact, I’m feeling very friendly. We could go back to my place and get warm.”
But the suggestion falls flat. She gently pushes me away, and something new shows up on her face. I think it’s determination of some kind, and not in my favor.
“Let’s not ruin what we have, Parish. As much as I enjoyed that awesome kiss. I’m freezing. Let’s go back.”
What? Didn’t see that coming. Where did I go off course? She starts walking back. Fuck me. Now that I’ve kissed her I want more.
“Wait,” I say catching up. “Let’s think this out. What’s the harm of enjoying a kiss, or ten? We’re adults and capable of not letting it ruin our relationship.”
Scarlett stops walking and looks me squarely in the eyes.
“See how fast this escalated? It was just a little kiss. Now you’re talking ten and getting warm and going back to your place.”
“Little kiss? Are you really going with that?”
I get a grin. “That may not be completely accurate.”
I nod my head in agreement but let her know I’m questioning her assessment.
“Wh
at?” she says softly.
“It was good and you know it. Why should we deny ourselves a little tenderness? Some physical mercy. We both could use it.”
Her hand lifts to my face.
“That all went through my mind. Before you said it I was saying it to myself.”
I’m unfamiliar with having to talk a woman into kissing me. It feels odd. But in this case I’m not above begging.
She starts walking.
“What’s the problem then? Tell me, Scarlett.”
“Something horrible has happened.”
I take her by the shoulders and turn her to face me. “What?”
“I’ve started to think like a parent. Like a mother. It sucks.”
“So? Mothers kiss. And more.”
She gives me a reluctant grin and a meaningful stare. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you again. It shocks me as much as it does you that we’re not heading to your bed right now.”
“Sounds great to me.”
“But this whole selfless thing is happening without me consciously trying. I’m starting to put Sam first. Now that sounds kind of beautiful in theory. And surprisingly unselfish. But in practice, like I said, it sucks the big…”
I interrupt her soliloquy by wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her close. My lips find hers. There’s no resistance despite the things she just said. It’s me who pauses for the question that just occurred to me.
“How is not kissing me putting Sam first?”
She looks up into my eyes. “He can’t lose you as his friend right now. I won’t risk having that happening. Because his life’s a shit storm and you’re one of the few things that make it better. That’s more important than our sexual satisfaction.”
It’s noble. I’ve got to give her that. It’s right. Morally right. Compassionate. But the most important thing I’m taking from the conversation are the words sexual satisfaction. I’m encouraged she’s thinking ahead.
Chapter 6
