Like Dragonflies, page 7
I find my voice and clear my throat. “Hi.”
Her smile is radiant, burning straight into my soul. “Hi.”
“Alice in Chains?” I nod my head at her hoodie.
“They’re a great band.”
“I think it’s cute.” I laugh and hold out my hand for her to take. “Your love for 90s grunge bands.
“And your hoodie?” The amusement in her voice has me chuckling.
“What?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“NASA. Really?”
“With a name like Mars…” I trail off. “Did you really expect anything less?”
She giggles and I swear it’s the sweetest sound on Earth. I help her into the passenger side of the truck before climbing in on my side. When I fire up my engine, it probably scares the whole damn neighborhood, but I don’t care. As long as she keeps staring at me like I’m her favorite star in the sky.
I let her fiddle with the radio while we drive. She tells me a little about her classes and asks about my job at Jimmy’s. Our conversation is easier, and less tense than the other day. She keeps sneaking glances at me.
“Okay, so since I screwed up our last date, I’m going to just go with what feels right this time,” I tell her with a smirk. “I hope you like milkshakes. If you don’t, this is over before it even began.”
She laughs. “Strawberry. I love burgers too.”
“A girl after my own heart,” I say as I pull into Sonic.
Apprehension leaves my system when I look over to see her smiling. So fucking happy. With me. Sage doesn’t need to go to some expensive restaurant. She just needs me to show her a good time. I can definitely do that.
“What do you want?” I ask, once I pull into one of the bays.
She unbuckles and slides across the bench seat to take a closer look. With her thigh up against mine, and leaning over me to look at the menu board, I can’t help but inhale her sweet scent.
“Cheeseburger—no onions—strawberry shake, and tater tots.” She looks up at me, her face just inches from mine. “What about you?”
“Same.”
She snorts. “You don’t want the same.”
“I swear, I do,” I say with a laugh.
Her brow lifts as she regards me. “Seriously?”
My eyes drop to her plump, pink lips. “You made it sound good.”
Heat floods her cheeks making them burn crimson. Tonight, her hair is down, hiding her cute telltale ears from me. It makes me want to tuck her hair behind them so I can see them. Instead of getting handsy on her, I place our order. Once I’ve paid, she starts to scoot back over, but I rest my hand on her jean-clad thigh.
“I like you right here.” My voice is husky. “But put your belt back on.”
She nods and then fastens her seat belt. For one moment, we sit in an almost uncomfortable silence.
“You’re so intense,” she says, biting on her bottom lip as she looks at me beneath her dark lashes.
I wince at her words. “I don’t mean to be. I just…” Really like you. I really don’t want you to slip from my grasp.
“I like it,” she breathes. “It reminds me of how I get when I paint. All my frustrations melt away and I give in to this overwhelming intensity to create. I get that vibe from you, and I don’t know, I just like it.”
Her head dips and her almost dark hair hides her pretty face from me. I do what I’ve craved to do and tuck the hair behind one ear. My thumb lingers on the shell of her ear and the flesh grows warm to the touch, as it burns red.
“I love your ears,” I murmur. God, sometimes I sound like an obsessive freak. “I mean, I like them a lot.”
She tilts her head to look back up at me. The corners of her mouth tug into a smile. “I like the little scar on your chin.”
I absently rub the spot. “You wouldn’t like how I got it.” My brows furl together as I think about that day. A shudder ripples through me.
“Hey,” she says softly, reaching up to brush her fingertip along the groove of my scar. “Will you tell me how you got it?”
I close my eyes and rub at the back of my neck. “It’s not a pretty story to tell.”
“I can handle not-so-pretty stories. I can handle all your stories. I want to hear them,” she urges. “I’ll tell you mine.”
When I reopen my eyes, she’s staring at me with an unguarded expression. Her green eyes shimmer with sadness and loneliness. I want to chase the look away and fill her with more of what makes her eyes gleam with happiness.
“My dad,” I say softly. “He, uh, he’s…”
She waits patiently.
I rip off the proverbial Band-Aid. “He’s a mean drunk.”
Her hand finds mine and she squeezes it. “I’m sorry, Mars.”
“It’s fine,” I lie. It’s not fine, but what can you do about it? “He’s my dad.”
She leans up and kisses the scar. “It’s not fine,” she whispers. “Hurting you is not fine.”
I’m about to capture her mouth with mine but we’re interrupted by the carhop delivering our food. Soon, we have food spread across our laps and the tense moment has vanished. Sage tells me about how she’s been an art lover since she was a baby. I tell her mine was born from a need to escape and express my emotions. At first it was drawing on my school textbooks in the margins. Sometimes it was carving pictures into the desks. Eventually, it took on a form of graffiti on walls. But my favorite pieces are my sketches in my books. Just plain ol’ pencil and paper.
After we eat, I take her on a drive. I like her right next to me and am glad she didn’t move to the other side. We ride free of conversation as the music plays. It’s completely dark out now, so I drive her someplace away from all the lights and city noise. We end up down a country road, halfway between Duncan and Ashton Hills. I drive us past some cornfields and turn down a dirt road that leads to one of my favorite places when I want to clear my head.
I pull over and shut off the truck. “You ready?”
Her brows bunch together in confusion. “Ready for what?”
“To learn to drive this rust bucket.”
“W-What? Now? What if I mess up?”
I laugh and give her thigh a squeeze. “Impossible. I’ll show you how.”
“It seems tricky putting your feet on all those pedals and then trying to move the stick thingy,” she says, her voice taking on a shrill note.
“Aww, you’re not scared, are you?” I flash her a teasing grin. “Bock, bock, bock, bockaw.”
“I’m not a chicken,” she huffs, lifting her chin.
“Prove it, babe.”
Her eyes widen at my slipup and I groan.
“Sorry,” I grumble.
I’m rewarded with a small, pleased smile. “I like it better than chicken.” She lets out a resigned sigh. “Fine, show me. But if I break your truck, it’s all your fault for making me break it.”
Chuckling, I open my truck door and slide out. I pat the seat for her to take my spot. “You’re not going to break it, and if you do, it’ll be fine.”
She slides over and flashes me a panicked look. “I am scared, though.”
Her voice is so small and worried. It has me grabbing hold of both her hands to comfort her.
“You don’t have to do it,” I say, bringing one of her hands to my lips. I kiss each knuckle. “We can stay right here.”
“Stay here, on the side of the road, and do what?” she asks, her voice breathy.
I twist her arm and kiss the inside of her hand. “We could do this.”
“And if we go?”
“I’ll show you the best place to see all the stars in the galaxy.”
Her smile is shy. “You drive a hard bargain.”
I release her hands to go through and explain the parts of the truck. Some of them she laughs because they’re obvious—like the steering wheel—but others, she is genuinely confused about. I give her a watered-down version of how a transmission works, specifically this one, and discussing the purpose behind a clutch. Once we’ve established the basics, I round the truck and slide inside to take her vacated middle seat.
She kills the truck three times in a row, just trying to get it started. I can’t stop laughing, which earns me an indignant glare that only makes me laugh more. Eventually, I manage to help her get on the road. Once she gets the concept, she happily drives along the dirt road. Country driving is a lot easier than city driving, but we’ll work up to that.
“You’re doing a great job,” I tell her. “I wasn’t sure we’d ever leave that spot back there.”
“Shush it,” she huffs. “I’ll get the hang of it eventually.”
And she does. Pride thumps in my chest as she cruises along the road, a huge smile on her face. When we near the turnoff, I walk her through what to do next. She ends up killing the truck and grumbling in frustration. We’re close enough to my spot, so I help her get the truck shut off properly.
I climb out of the vehicle and walk around to her side to open the door. She shivers against the cool wind.
“Don’t worry,” I say to her. “I brought these.” Behind the bench seat, I’ve stowed away a couple of blankets. After tucking them under my arm, I grab her hand with mine and walk her past the edge of the road onto a field. It’s a slight climb to the top of the hill, but once we arrive, I lay out a blanket. I sit down and pat the spot next to me.
“Check out the view.” I look up at the stars all glistening bright above us. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” she breathes.
She plops down beside me and I use the other blanket to lay across our legs. We lie back side by side. Her hand finds mine before threading our fingers together.
“Can we stay here forever?” she murmurs. “I love it.”
“I love it too.”
Talking is easy with Sage and all the easy stuff gets covered without effort. Movies, childhood pastimes, funny people we’ve run across in our lives. For probably hours, we enjoy this little slice of heaven together. Eventually, I grow bored of looking up when I could just look at her. I roll onto my side and admire her as she stargazes. The serenity on her face has that surge of pride once again soaring through me. Nervous, shy, awkward Sage is relaxed and happy here. I reach over and brush her hair from her face.
“Sage,” I murmur, my voice husky with the need to kiss her.
Her head turns and her hooded eyes meet mine. “Hmmm?”
“I really like you.”
“I really like you too.” She smiles sweetly at me. “This is the best do-over date. It is perfect.”
Leaning closer, I admire her pretty face and inhale her sweet scent. “Not quite perfect.”
“It couldn’t get any better than this,” she whispers.
I inch closer until my lips are hovering over hers. “It could. Want to see?”
“Yes.”
Pressing my lips to hers, I take a moment to enjoy the softness against mine. Her lips part though and I can’t wait to taste her. My tongue eagerly searches hers. The moment her sweetness slides across my tongue, I let out a groan of pleasure. I slide one hand into her silky hair and grip her gently, so I can angle her head the way I want her. Her kiss grows just as eager as mine.
Oh, God, she’s so fucking perfect.
I kiss her deeper, loving the way her fingers dig into my shoulders as she tries to pull me closer. My body aches to push against hers. She lets out a small moan that has heat rushing down my spine, straight to my cock. I urge my thigh between hers in an effort to get even nearer to her.
Fire seems to burn wild between us.
An unstoppable inferno.
I want to go slow with her. Learn every part of her bit by bit. At the same time, I want to consume her in one instant. The dizzying madness of those polar opposite thoughts has me pulling away slightly.
Her green eyes are nearly manic as she regards me with hunger. I drop my stare to her swollen, plump lips. Leaning forward, I nip at the bottom one.
“Mars,” she whimpers.
She wants more too.
I need to go slow, though.
Savor my sweet Sage.
Pecking kisses all over her face, I try to quell the burning inside me. But my effort to preserve the innocence of the moment has me running my tongue along her jaw to her earlobe. She moans loud enough I’m sure both Ashton Hills and Duncan residents heard. I suck her earlobe into my mouth.
“Mars,” she cries out.
I lick at the skin on her neck, below her ear, and then bite it gently. “I want you so bad I can barely stand it,” I admit. “I want to keep you here all night, kissing and sucking on your sweet neck.” The thought of her going to school Monday with a purple love bite on her throat, marking her as mine, has a growl of possessiveness rumbling through me. I suck the flesh and then tease it with my tongue.
“Oh God,” she breathes. “That feels good.”
Her fingers dive into my hair, messing it up, as she writhes beneath me.
I taste and suck her throat some more. A feral need to mark her overcomes me. I feast on her pretty throat and try to keep my eager hands from roaming. Eventually, though, my hand wins and I tentatively cup her breast over her hoodie.
“Sage, I—”
Her phone starts blaring a song, interrupting us. I fly off her as she scrambles to pull her phone from her back pocket.
“It’s my mom,” she squeaks before answering. “Hello?”
I can practically hear her mother yelling through the phone. It’s then I check my own phone. It’s just after two in the morning.
Fuck.
We spent hours under the stars and God knows how long making out.
“I’m on my way, Mom. I’m sorry.” She hangs up and stands quickly. “We have to go.”
Disappointment surges through me but I nod and rise to my feet. “Of course.”
Why does time with Sage never feel long enough?
Sage
My mind is full of incessant buzzing and chatter. It’s so loud I barely mutter a goodbye to Mars as I bolt from the safety of his big metal beast. I look over my shoulder when I get to the porch, and give a small wave, before I feel a surge of air from the front doors swinging open.
I whip my head around and crash against Mom’s icy stare. It casts a chill so deep my bones ache. Crushing weight turns my breath shallow as I hear the sound of Mars’s engine fading down the road.
“Sage Emerson, do you have any idea what time it is?” It’s pretty damn late.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I lost track of time.” I step inside and pull my arms around myself to create some sort of barrier between us. Mom would never hit me, but the way she throws her words feels like a sucker punch.
“Lost track of time?” She repeats the words like they’re foreign. Like I’m speaking a language she’s never heard me speak before. We move up the steps to my room, the sound of our feet marching in unison sounds like an angry drumbeat.
“Who is he? I saw a guy drop you off.” Her eyes are all over me, probing and searching for clues. I rake my fingers through my hair, hoping to cover the bruises Mars left on my neck.
I can still feel his lips on me. His tongue sliding over my skin.
I snap my eyes to Mom. She’s pissed. Her lips are pressed into an unforgiving line and her hands are anchored to her hips.
“A friend. He’s just a friend,” I say. All the words I want to say clog my throat and refuse to come out. Mars is more than just a friend.
He’s my bright spot.
My dragonfly.
He’s not corrupted by Ashton Hills. Somehow he hovers right above the poison that runs through the veins of this town.
“A friend?” She scoffs then slaps my hands away from my hair. A blanket of prickly heat wraps around my throat. Her eyes narrow and hone in on my neck like laser beams, and then I can’t breathe.
My lips part involuntarily in effort to suck in more air. She leans in close and I smell the toothpaste on her breath. “Friends don’t leave hickeys, Sage.” She’s so pissed her cheeks are turning crimson and now splotches are covering her neck too.
I’m almost nineteen years old. She can’t be mad at me for staying out late and having hickeys. I’m grown.
I can’t bring my mouth to speak those words though. Instead, I turn my head away from her judgmental glare. She can’t possibly understand what it feels like to find someone who finally gets you. Someone else who feels alone in a world of people who don’t understand.
Someone who feels alone in their own home.
The wall rolls in and the stone is thunderous in my ears.
“You’re out there running around with some boy—who’s probably beneath you—judging from the piece of trash he was driving, and you’re lying to me. What has gotten into you?” My heart thumps hard and fierce at the way she talks about Mars like she knows him.
She doesn’t know anything.
She doesn’t know how sweet he is, despite the pain in his eyes. She doesn’t know how he lights up when he talks about art or how soft he says my name.
Dad walks in my room and sighs at the scene unfolding before him. I’ve tried to shrink myself into nothing. My shoulders are drawn up to my ears, my arms are hugging my middle, and my chin is tucked against my chest.
I want to disappear.
“Eleanor, let Sage go to bed. She went out on a date. It’s not the end of the world.” He looks at her with a frown on his face that weighs his features down and she bristles.
“Do you know what time it is, Charles? You’re okay with your daughter running the streets with some boy we don’t know?”
“I’d like to meet him, but do you think yelling at her at two in the morning is going to make her want to bring him to dinner? You’re not exactly being warm and inviting.” Dad glances at me, his brown eyes full of sympathy.
“As long as you still live in this house, Sage, you will not stay out until two in the morning again, and you will definitely not come home with hickeys!” Mom fumes. At the mention of hickeys, Dad’s gaze finds my neck.
I’m on display and I fucking hate it. Where’s the law against eighteen-year-olds going out and coming home with hickeys?
Anger piles up high in my belly, until it’s pressing against my chest in an effort to break through my breastbone. I want to be alone. I want to shove them both out of my room and lock the door, so I can replay the perfect date I had with Mars.
