This was the thought circling around and around my brain. The image of them, of his mouth moving against hers, was branded in my vision, making my insides cold, and eclipsing my ability to reason.
My first instinct had been to march over to them and pull them apart by the nose. I’d seen my mother do this once to my cousins when they were fighting. She’d put her index finger in one nostril of each of their noses and tugged them apart. They’d never fought at our house again. All she had to do was wiggle her index fingers in the air. Tina would have known what it meant.
I slowed my pace further, not sure if the sensation beneath my feet was cold damp, or just cold. Three steps later I realized it was cold damp. I’d reached the edge of the lake. I turned, my hands out, and walked a few steps back to the last tree I’d passed and leaned against it, waiting for Duane to show up.
I heard his footfalls, not too far off now. His approach made my insides tense in a delicious and disquieting way. I balled my hands into fists and squeezed my eyes shut, giving myself a mental talking to. Despite the fact it was near forty degrees, I was not cold. In fact, my skin and my lungs and my belly felt like they were on fire. I guess anger, intense aggravation, and frenetic lust will do that to a person.
I needed time, I needed distance.
We’d just kissed less than five hours ago. I was being stupid. Feeling territorial about Duane Winston made no sense. I wasn’t in Green Valley for the long haul, I was here to pay off my student loans, gain teaching experience, and then move on and out and see the world.
One does not make life-altering decisions based on a single, solitary make-out session, especially when I’d been kissing Duane thinking he was Beau.
Maybe, I reasoned, Duane wasn’t a great kisser. Maybe I’d built the whole thing up because I’d been working under a mistaken identity misconception.
I told myself that these bizarre cravings would disappear just as quickly as they’d encroached upon my sanity. I told myself that tomorrow everything would be back to normal. Duane was irritating, challenging. Beau was nice. Even if my obsessive crush for Beau never resurfaced, my strange surge of feelings for Duane were likely fleeting.
I had a plan and my momma hadn’t raised me to be stupid. End of story.
“Jess…”
I stiffened at the whispered sound of my name and was surprised to find him so close. Standing straighter, I turned, offering him my profile. I must’ve been so lost in my head I didn’t hear his final approach.
“Hey,” I whispered back, then frowned, glancing at him. “Wait, why are we whispering?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he walked slowly forward and reduced the space between us. I could tell by his outline that he was shirtless. This revelation elicited a barely contained moan because, dammit, I wanted to touch him again.
I turned completely just as he stopped two feet from my position.
He blurted, “Jess, can we…can I…?”
I listened as he abruptly paused then released a loud breath; he sounded frustrated. I couldn’t see his face so I had no idea what his intentions were or what he was thinking. I waited a beat for him to complete his thought. Five seconds turned into twenty, the quiet broken only by owls hooting in the distance, the wind through the trees, and the gentle lapping of the lake against the water’s edge.
I sensed that he moved, and a moment later I felt his hand brush against mine. Already taut with nerves and my continuing internal boxing match, I flinched away from his touch, mostly because it was unexpected.
At my involuntary reaction he shifted a step back and pulled his hands through his hair. I don’t know why I felt embarrassed, but I did. Maybe because I wanted to grab his hand, not recoil from it. But then, how pathetic was I?
He’d just kissed another girl—one he had history with and might be dating—right in front of me, no more than ten minutes ago.
Less than five hours ago, he’d pretended to be his brother and I’d held his penis in my hand. I’d stroked it for hootenanny’s sake! I’d given him a penis stroke under false pretenses. I should be running in the opposite direction. Instead I was girl-stupid for a guy who thought I was a brat.
He was right, of course. I was a brat sometimes. But I didn’t want him to think I was a brat.
I cleared my throat, sought the steadiness of the hemlock tree at my back, and said, “Let’s get this over with.”
I reached for the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head, folding it for no reason in particular and placing it at the roots of the tree. Next I unclasped my bra, hesitated for just a split second, then dropped it on top of the dress.
At this point I stopped because I heard the sound of Duane undoing his zipper and my belly filled with lava. Hot, hot, hot molten lava. My body tensed and braced. I didn’t realize it at first, but I was holding my breath. I strained my ears and listened as he pushed the fabric of his pants down to his ankles, then bent to remove them completely.