I roll my eyes and drop them both.
揗eyer,?she laughs. 揅ome on. Look at that creepy thing. You walked over here looking like that old painting of the angry farmer. I had to.?
I do look, and she has a point. It抯 a petrified wooden pole sporting what looks like Freddy Kruger抯 curled, rusted hand at the end. But, as Fee herself would put it, I抦 just over it now, so I start to make my way back in the direction of the car.
At least, I think I am? Shit, this place is a maze.
揥ait. Are you actually mad??she calls.
揘o, Fee. I抦 not mad.?I say, sounding exactly that.
揂nnoyed, then??I level her with a look as she skips to my side. 揋ood, because so am I. I抦 sure I have blisters on my pinky toes, and sweat stains under my ass cheeks. Definitely working on a GoldBond-required type chafing situation. If this were a real date you would so not be getting to first base.?
揑 guess it抯 good that this is all just fake, then, isn抰 it??I spit, before I can hold it back. I know she was just trying to get a reaction out of me, and I know I played right into it. 揧ou know what厰 I sigh, frustrated and defeated. 揟his wasn抰 supposed to go like this. I抦 sorry. I抦 just trying to make the best of it, and I抦 clearly failing. Maybe you should go with one of the football players.?
When I meet her eyes, they抮e nervously assessing, even as I抦 thinking of a way to backpedal out of that last statement. 揥e should just kiss,?is the last thing I expect her to say, and yet I抦 almost certain it抯 what she抯 just said.
揑抦 sorry??I shake my head, trying to clear it.
揘o, really. Nothing particularly funny is happening, so this isn抰 exactly helping me with my material. So don抰 you think we should just work on the second part of the assignment? It抯 just that, if I need to pose for pictures and practice PDA with some stranger it抯 going to mess with my head and be an even bigger distraction, right? That抯, like, one of the biggest hurdles, at least I think, don抰 you? I mean, obviously, I don抰 want to coerce or force you into feeling like you need to kiss me or anything. But, I also refuse to jump on you in public and make you feel manipulated or forced, then, either. And we can抰 do anything in front of Hazel. Not to mention, we have that football game coming up that they want to photograph us at, plus they want the social media manager to start working on my accounts, which means more pictures and PDA. But, of course, if you don抰 want to do this with me anymore that抯 fine, obviously, totally, but if you are still open to it then maybe we should just kiss and棓
揇o you want to kiss me??I ask, even though I hate cutting her off and usually find her word vomit endearing. This thing is urgent, though, and I need to know. My voice comes out rough, strained, and I hope she doesn抰 pick up on the desperation.
揧es,?and then she blinks. 揊or the reasons stated previously.?
What are those again? I can抰 recall?My mind goes blind in some sort of white flash. Like staring into the sun too directly and then trying to blink it away, starbursts of light behind eyelids, I抦 still attempting to clear my head when she asks, 揇o you want to kiss me??
揧es,?leaves my mouth. 揑 mean, I think it抯 a good idea. For the reasons previously mentioned.?
She takes a step and so do I. I抦 mentally mining for the justification in this, but coming up empty. Do I care? She seems to think she needs this. I do like to think I抦 a helpful guy.
揊ee厰 I say, reaching for her hand. 揂re you sure??
She answers me by pushing up onto her toes in slow motion and sliding her palm from mine, up my arm, fingertips grazing beneath the edge of my shirt there. I see the damp hair stuck to the corners of her forehead, the little smudge of makeup under one of her eyes. She seems possessed, compelled by something, the edges of her gaze uncertain. But, she抯 so soft in this moment that something in my chest squeezes. I feel greedy for this side of her, for all of her quiet moments. Never for her uncertainty, though. God, I want to kiss that uncertainty away.
I lay my hand against the slope of her neck, stroking the thrumming skin at the base of her throat with my thumb, floating it up along her rosy bottom lip before I lean to take it between my own.
She meets me, gently, at first. The kiss somehow feels like her in the most Fee-like way; like how she came into my life, how she conducts every show, and every conversation. It抯 a firm press, followed by a softer one, a little more open. Something tart梥ome fruity-mint gum she must抳e been chewing at some point. A surprising, almost-too-hard nibble here, a wet, sweet glide there. And when her tongue meets mine, my fingers curl in her hair, just as my back hits something. A tree? I don抰 know, but she抯 backed us against whatever it is and molds her body to mine, as my palm presses into her lower back. I break away and a noise rolls out of her梐 short, huffed whine that shoots up my legs through my groin, effectively crushing the last vestige of restraint I have. 揊uck,?rasps out of me, unrecognizable, before I turn us, gently place her back to the tree and slide a thigh between her legs, my hand clutching at her hip.
揌EY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?!?
13
NOW
揟he love that comes from friendship is the underlying facet of a happy life.?- Chelsea Handler
FARLEY
Meyer tenses above me, eyes wide on my face梘oing to my mouth quickly before he turns, shielding me from sight.
揝orry about that!?he yells out towards the stranger.
I peek around his broad frame to see a small older man in overalls marching toward us. Meyer steps away and grabs the haunted farm tools, thrusting them out to the man. 揑, uh, think these are yours??
The guy gazes down at the tools, his frown cinching before he looks back up at Meyer and puts his hands to his hips. 揓ust how old do I look, then? Those there are from the 1800抯, son.?
I snort-laugh and pop all the way into view. 揌i sir. We抮e sorry if we wandered into the wrong area here.?I jut my hand out to shake the man抯 and his frown melts away. He抯 shorter than me, with unkempt, pure white hair and black caterpillar eyebrows, brown eyes and rosy, plump cheeks. He抯 grinning openly at me now, and I can抰 help but return it. He抯 a garden gnome come alive.
揑t抯 not that it bothers me, miss, it抯 just that you two are lost,?he chuckles.
揥e抣l get out of here. We apologize again,?Meyer says before turning and crowding me protectively, positioning himself between me and this ostensibly harmless old man. Ridiculous.
揂nd just where do you think your car is??the stranger asks.
揥e抣l find it,?Meyer retorts.
揑f you keep heading in that direction, you抮e going to go over a damn cliff. This part of the orchard is notorious for getting folks mixed up. Especially if you抮e?distracted.?
I poke my head around again and he winks at me.
Meyer turns back with a frown and sizes up the guy. 揥ould you mind pointing us towards the main road, then??
揑 wouldn抰, but I抎 rather you come up to the house and get a ride down, instead, so I don抰 worry about finding your bodies somewhere later.?He lifts a single eyebrow so high it disappears under his downy hair, and reaches out with a gnarled hand. 揑抦 Abel Larsen. Owner of the farm.?
揗eyer Harrigan.?Meyer takes his hand and starts a little, apparently surprised at Abel抯 grip.
揂nd you, Red??Abel twinkles at me.
揊arley Jones.?
揕ovely to meet you. Hasn抰 anyone ever warned a beauty like you not to wander around with city boys who抣l get you lost? Or were you enjoying getting this guy all mixed up??he maintains his grip on Meyer as he addresses me.
I laugh, charmed, if not a little chagrined. 揘o comment,?is the only acceptable response that comes to mind.
揂lright, then. You two follow me.?
揅rap. I抦 drunk,?my reflection says to me in the bathroom mirror before letting out an award-winning belch.
It抯 the first time I抳e seen a mirror since this morning梐 mistake in more ways than one. Not only has my makeup been smeared, courtesy of sweat and laughter, but I抦 only just now seeing the little red, irritated skin on my chin, my lips that still appear nettle-stung. Meyer抯 kiss comes bursting to the forefront of my mind, and I reach up to touch the mild beard burn with my fingertips. It doesn抰 hurt at all梛ust feels exposed, over sensitized.
It was born from an intrusive thought that popped into my mind, really. One that had whispered on a loop, from that part of my brain that I typically reserve for comedy; a deeply-seeded instinct that always tells me, just say it, what抯 the worst that could happen? One that eventually won out again, giving me the gall to straight up suggest kissing, when I noted how defeated he looked after I needled him about the shortcomings of the date.
Sometimes I really think my mouth is an entirely separate being from my brain, or that it抯 running at a different speed. Maybe in a completely different race.