Dance with Me, page 20
“Nice night?” she asks.
“It was fine,” I say, but I can actually feel the blush crawling up my neck to cover my whole face. My ears are so hot, it wouldn’t make me blink an eye if they burst into flames right now.
“I bet.” She gives one nod as she lifts her cup to her lips. “You’re blushing and your shirt’s inside out.”
“Gah.” I turn and run quickly up the stairs, pretending I don’t hear my grandma’s satisfied laughter coming from the kitchen. Listen, Grandma and me? We’re tight. We talk about a lot of stuff. Love? Sure. Fine. Fire away. Sex? Are you fucking kidding me? No. Hard no. Absolutely not.
I’m running late because leaving Marisa was hard. Like, not just kind of difficult, but really, really super hard. If I had a different job that wouldn’t have involved calling ten separate people and telling them I have to reschedule their appointments—and then manage to take the time to actually do that—I might’ve called in sick. But Marisa gets it, seems to be a person with a strong work ethic, and tempting as it was to stay, she sent me on my way this morning complete with a travel mug of coffee and a make-out session in her front doorway that really, really had me rethinking my own work ethic. People can find a new hairstylist, right? How hard can it be?
I’m taking a quick shower when I start having flashbacks of the one I took last night with her, and yeah. That sends my body along for the ride, making my stomach tighten, my fingertips tingle, and my center wet for reasons that have nothing to do with the shower water.
Penelope never wanted to have shower sex. I suggested it many times, but she would wave me off, saying showers were for alone time, for washing and shaving and thinking about the day ahead.
Sex.
One of the many differences between Pen and me. I’ve learned a lot about myself since our breakup. She wasn’t my first girlfriend by any stretch, but she was the one I was most in love with. The only one I ever saw a forever with. When I look back now, I roll my eyes and can’t figure out how I would’ve thought those things, but while I was in the midst, Pen was all I could see. Being away from her has been healthy. I know that. I’d become a shell of myself, some watered-down version that Pen transformed me into so she’d be sure to always be the standout in the relationship. One of those methods was by controlling our sex life. We did it when and where Pen wanted, and I rarely got a say.
Marisa is completely different, and oh my God, I can’t begin to explain how lucky I feel in finding her. One of the things I learned about myself in the time I’ve been away from Pen is that I’m sexually adventurous. Not that I’ve been with anybody since her, but I had a lot of time on my hands after we ended. I did a lot of reading and a lot of watching TV and movies and, yes, a little porn here and there, and the realization just came to me one day—the realization that I’ll try just about anything once. I want to try just about anything once. And though it wasn’t a discussion, yet, I get the feeling Marisa is the same way. Now, as I sit in my car in the parking lot of the salon, I flash back to that shower last night. The sight of Marisa’s water-slicked olive skin bared before me, her dark hair wet and brushed back off her face and beyond sexy. Her back against the cold tile of the shower wall, her hips rocking toward me as I held the showerhead between her legs, set to pulse. Kissing her deeply and thoroughly as the warm water slowly brought her to orgasm. The way she wrenched her mouth from mine to arch her neck, her head back, a low, husky groan coming from deep in her throat.
Jesus, I’m gonna need to change my pants if I keep reliving last night. I’m already on my second pair of panties since I got dressed. Officially pathetic, yup, that’s me.
“Morning,” I say to Bash as I put my purse in my little cubby near my supplies. He’s still in his boot while he’s working on a guy named Jeff who comes in regularly and—I think—has a crush on him. I mean, who doesn’t?
Bash narrows his eyes at me and follows me around my chair with his gaze as I prepare for my first client, who’s sitting in the waiting area. I pretend not to notice his stare, but I can feel it, like he’s poking me, and I finally meet his eyes.
“What?”
He waves his comb at me, up and down in front of me. “Something’s different.” A glance over his shoulder and Demi is also looking at me, her chair empty for the moment. She looks at me for no more than three seconds.
“She got laid,” she says matter-of-factly with a half shrug to punctuate it.
Bash ignores my soft gasp. “You think?”
“Totally. She’s all glowy.”
“Oh my God, you’re right!”
“You stop that,” I say with great vehemence, casting a glance toward the waiting area, which is only steps from my station. “Both of you.”
“Hey, I am simply reporting the weather, ma’am,” Demi says, but she’s smothering a smile.
“And?” Bash asks in an exaggerated whisper. “How was it?”
I want to hold on to my anger, I do. But the smile comes all on its own, and I can’t even begin to help it. I feel my cheeks flush—I guess I’m a regular blusher now—and I glance down at my feet as I say softly, “It was incredible.” No lie. “I think my legs are still rubbery, and I got about three hours of sleep.”
“That good, huh?” he asks, pulling out his electric razor to shave the back of Jeff’s neck.
“So good I don’t even have words.” And I don’t. I’ve been thinking about that since I left Marisa standing in her doorway in her red silk robe, completely naked underneath—another thing I’ve been thinking about since I left.
“When do you see her again?”
“We’re going out tonight. Jaden is at her parents’ for the weekend.” I give him a look that tells him we’re tabling the conversation for now because my first client is Mrs. Haversham, who is in her eighties and does not need to hear all about my dating life.
Aside from a couple of whispered, teasing comments as the day goes on, Bash and Demi obey my wishes. Marisa, however, does not. Texts come from her sporadically all day long, starting off innocuous enough—I miss you or I’m thinking about you or Last night was incredible—to things like My inner thighs are sore and I can’t wait to touch you again and I just took care of myself while thinking about your naked body.
Seriously, how is a girl supposed to get any work done when those messages are coming at regular intervals? I’m lucky I don’t chop somebody’s hair completely off, I’m so distracted. I need yet another pair of panties because I’ve soaked through these. When I finish with my last client at about five, I just grab my crap, hop in my jalopy that takes four tries to start, and head to Marisa’s house, doing my best not to speed, but my foot on the gas pedal seems to be doing its own thing, and I’m apparently just along for the ride.
Marisa opens the front door before I even have a chance to slow my pace up her front steps, and in the next three seconds, she grabs me by my shirt, kicks her door closed, and slams me against it before her mouth crashes into mine and we’re full-on making out in her foyer.
“God, I’ve missed you,” she whispers between delicious kisses. “What took you so long?”
“I had to work,” I tell her. “But I’m quitting tomorrow.”
She laughs, takes my hand, and drags me upstairs to her bedroom, and forty-five minutes later, we are both naked and breathless and spent.
“Holy shit,” I say, on my back, my arms still over my head where Marisa had pinned them before she finished me and rolled off. There’s a fine sheen of sweat covering my torso, and my center is still throbbing. Marisa’s head is pillowed on my stomach, and I can feel her ragged breathing.
“Right?” she says, then lifts her head to meet my eyes. “Have you…” She seems to take a moment to find the right way to phrase her question. She clears her throat, and I think she’s hesitant to say what’s on her mind, so I reach down and play with her hair. Which, by the way, is the softest hair I’ve ever felt in my life. I wind my finger in it.
“Have I what?” I ask, gently prodding.
“Has it ever been this good for you?”
I snort-laugh. No, it’s not pretty, but it shoots out because is she serious? “God, no. I don’t think I even knew it could be this good.”
“Oh, thank Christ,” she says with a laugh and lays her head back down. “I was really hoping it wasn’t just me.”
“Hey.” I say it softly and give her hair a little tug. When she looks at me again, I tell her to come up, and then I watch as she uses one fingertip to wipe the corner of her mouth. Which sends everything below my waist into pleasant tightening. Soon we’re snuggling, her head on my shoulder even though she’s taller. I squeeze her to me and press a kiss to her forehead. “I promise, it’s not just you.”
That seems to make her happy because she snuggles in closer and we’re quiet for several moments, just being with each other.
“Scottie?” she asks after a while.
“Hmm?”
“Do you struggle at all? With this? With, like, who we were to each other versus who we are now?”
I bark a laugh. I can’t help it. It just shoots out of me. “Oh my God, yes. Yes. A lot. It’s so weird.” And now is probably a good time to tell her about the texts that have been coming pretty regularly now from Penelope, but I just don’t want to spoil the mood, so I decide I’ll tell her later.
“So weird.” We laugh together over it, and then she asks what I want to do tonight.
“I’m torn,” I say honestly. A glance at the clock tells me it’s just past six. “It’s Saturday night and I want to go out with you, but I also want to be in with you.”
“Same.”
“Also, I’ve just worked up one hell of an appetite.”
That makes her laugh, that beautiful, musical sound. Almost lilting. She lifts her head, props it in her hand, and runs soft fingertips along my stomach, up and around each breast, and back down. She’s driving me a little crazy, to be honest. In the best of ways. “What if we go out and grab some dinner, then come back here and watch a movie?”
“Can we watch it all wrapped up on your couch?”
“Oh, I think that’s a requirement.”
“I’m in.”
It’s another hour before we manage to get dressed again.
Chapter Seventeen
Whatever weekend is closest to the Fourth of July, that’s when Northwood has its street festival. They shut down all the roads in and around Jefferson Square, so people can set up vendor booths of art and crafts and food and music, and it’s just one of my favorite things in the world about summer in my small city.
But walking through it with Marisa? That has become my favorite thing in the world about summer. At least this summer. We stroll slowly, stopping at different booths—Marisa likes the jewelry vendors and seems partial to silver, which looks incredible against her olive skin, I have to say. I make a note. We hang out at each musician’s location, listen for a few minutes, drop a couple dollars in their guitar cases, then move on. We’ve had kettle corn and warm cinnamon almonds, and I’m sure that’s not the last of the food. Not by a long shot, because festival food? The. Best. I still plan on getting an Italian sausage with peppers and onions, and maybe a hot dog and also maybe ice cream. And a funnel cake. I think Adley has a booth here. And if there’s anything deep fried, I’m there. Thank goodness Marisa doesn’t seem turned off by the fact that I become a bottomless pit at festivals and carnivals. It’s a thing.
Last night was amazing. We went out to dinner, just simple burgers and fries. Then we came home, cuddled up on the couch, and attempted to watch an action flick together. All I can tell you is that I don’t remember one damn thing about the movie, but I have marks on my body to remind me of every single part of me that Marisa touched, stroked, licked, or nibbled on. Couch sex? Check! I’m sore today. I want to be sore every day, just like this.
As we get beers and a funnel cake to share—and I mentally check that off my festival food list—it occurs to me that I’m feeling a bit more secure in this thing with her. Not totally secure—let’s not go overboard—because it still feels a little bit like she’s way, way the hell out of my league. But a little more secure, and that means I can look around at other people now instead of being totally focused on how I might mess things up. What do I notice? I notice that Marisa turns freaking heads. Holy moly. It’s not a surprise. Of course not. She turned mine. But wow, just about everybody checks her out—men, women, kids—and the fact that my hand is in hers makes me stand up a little taller. Yup, that’s right. She’s with me. Suck it, losers.
Listen, I never claimed to be mature. Or cool.
“Scottie!” I hear my name called out in a little kid voice, and when I locate its source, I’m shocked to see my little brother Drake running his five-year-old legs toward me as fast as he can until he throws his arms around my waist.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, hugging him back. I run my hand over his soft, little boy hair as my dad and my stepmother, Connie, come toward us. “Hi, Dad. I didn’t know you were coming to this.” I spoke to him on the phone only a couple days ago and he said nothing.
“Oh, yeah, last-minute decision,” he says, but his eyes dart away from mine and land on Marisa.
“Marisa, this is my dad and stepmom. Dad, Connie, this is Marisa.” I purposely don’t qualify who she is because…I’m not sure how to do that. Friend? Girlfriend? Hot chick I’m sleeping with? While they’re all shaking hands and saying how nice it is to meet each other, I look down at my little brother, who’s still got his arms around me. “What have you eaten so far, little man?”
He counts things off on his fingers. “Cotton candy. Funnel cake. Candy apple. Fried Oreos.”
“Ooh, where are those?”
He points vaguely behind him and waves his arm around. His eyes are wide.
“So, no sugar high for him, huh?” I joke to Connie.
She grits her teeth and makes a face. “Getting him to bed tonight will be interesting.”
I laugh. “Where’s Noah?”
“Sleepover,” my dad says. “We’re headed to get him soon.”
We talk a little more about mundane, surface-y things, then say our good-byes and head in opposite directions. A few minutes go by, and before either of us can say anything, I hear my name again, this time from a teenage girl. Jordie is with a couple friends, and she waves at me from the hot dog stand.
“You’re here, too?” I ask as she high-fives me, too cool for hugs in front of her friends.
“Too? Who else is here? Did you see Mom?” She sips from her soda and doesn’t bother to introduce me to her friends. ’Cause, you know, thirteen.
“Mom’s here?” I ask and look around.
Jordana nods. “With Dad and Kai.” She turns in a circle. “Somewhere.” I’m sure she’d rather avoid them, and I don’t even bother to introduce Marisa because the gang of girls is on their way, and I don’t want to cramp Jordie’s style.
“Both your parents are here,” Marisa observes.
I nod. “And neither of them told me they’d be here.” I say it quietly, and Marisa must sense my hurt, which I’ve been trying to tamp down, but I don’t think it’s working.
“And didn’t invite you.”
“No.”
“Does that happen a lot?” The question is soft and gentle.
“All the time,” I tell her. “They have new lives and families. I’m the old one. There’s not a lot of time for me. There hasn’t been in quite a while.” I swallow down the hurt that I inevitably feel when this kind of thing happens. “You’d think as time goes by, it would get easier, but…” I shrug.
“It still stings.”
I nod, surprised she gets it. Happy that she gets it. Relieved that she gets it. She takes my hand in hers again, and we continue walking down the fairway. We play a couple games, and Marisa wins me a stuffed penguin that I immediately name Peter and decide will live on my bed forever. Marisa shakes her head at me, but her smile tells me she likes that. We run into a couple of her friends, and she introduces me as her friend Scottie, and I think I’m relieved at that. It’s too soon to think of each other as girlfriends, even if I want to. Patience, I tell myself. I rushed into things with Pen. I don’t want to do that with Marisa.
Speaking of Pen, I have three separate moments of thinking I see her. The third time, Marisa asks me what the matter is, and somehow, for whatever reason, it feels weird to tell her the truth. So I shrug and shake my head and tell her I thought I saw somebody I knew—which isn’t a lie, by the way—but I must’ve been wrong.
“I need to grab some cotton candy to take home to Jaden,” she says when we’ve decided we’ve eaten so much we might explode.
“When’s he come home?” I ask as she pays and takes the bag of blue sugary goodness.
“Tonight. My mom will drop him off after dinner.” She doesn’t say so, but I feel the cue that our time is over, and she needs to focus on Jaden now.
“Well,” I say as we get into her SUV, “I’ve had an amazing time with you this weekend.”
She stops with her hand on the ignition button, turns to gaze at me, and smiles so tenderly, it almost brings tears to my eyes. “Me, too,” she says in barely a whisper. “I wish we could see the fireworks together tonight and tomorrow, but I promised Jaden we’d spend some time just the two of us and…” She trails off, clearly not wanting to voice what she’s thinking, but I get it.
“And you’re not ready to let him in on us yet.”
A nod. “Exactly.” She makes a face, like she’s worried I won’t understand.
“It’s okay. I get that.” And I do. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting, and I’m smart enough to know that it only stings because my heart is already raw from the wounds my own parents served up to me today. I completely understand not telling Jaden anything yet. Yes, he knows me. Yes, I’ve been to his house for dinner. But that’s it. As far as he’s concerned, I’m his aunt’s friend, and I’ve cut his hair. Telling him anything more would be premature. We have no idea where this is going, and it’s irresponsible to bring a child in on things when they might not work out. Right? I think about how my parents never really introduced me to their now-spouses. They were both just…suddenly around. And it was a bit weird for young me. Makes me even happier that Marisa is so careful with Jaden. At the risk of sounding like a petty teenager, Marisa is already better at parenting than either of my parents was with me.
