I take my time getting back to my parents’ house, trying to process it all. My brother would tell me I should meditate, and for the first time since he went off the deep end, I consider that he could be onto something. Feelings rush through me, too quick to hold on to, like a twig going down a raging river.
I push the door to Sofia’s room open gently, making out her form in the dim moonlight streaming in from the open window. She’s on her side, the luminous skin of her bare back facing me.
Tenderness floods my chest, and a sweet, relieved feeling—like coming home. I force my mind to silence, push out the crazy confusion that’s swirling, stripping down to bare skin. Then I slide into bed, determined to focus on this moment. The simple here and now. Just her.
But before I touch her she turns over, surprising me.
“How’d it go with Jenny?” she asks.
I push damp hair back off her face. “It was . . . enlightening.”
“What do you mean?”
Truthfully? I have no idea. For so long, I thought Jenny Monroe was my endgame. It was a certainty, like the sun rising in the east. To realize that nothing about it is certain, and that I’m actually okay with that, is throwing me for a major goddamn loop.
I wonder if this is how people felt when they discovered the earth wasn’t flat? It’s a shift in perception—in how I view the world—and what my place is supposed to be in it.
My thoughts about Sofia are a whole other level of fucked up. What I feel for her extends further than admiration for her stupendous tits and magnificent intelligence. Deeper. I know that now—I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. Would she believe me if I told her? Is there any chance she feels the same way?
So I’m not going to do anything. Because when you’re driving a car, if you try and change gears too quick? They’ll grind, screech, possibly cause the transmission to drop out of the bottom of your car.
When in doubt—it’s better to wait it out.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Her face tightens, like she’s going to push the issue, but then she turns onto her back and complains, “It’s so fucking hot—I’m literally melting.” She wipes sweat from her forehead.
I smile. “My grandma used to say Mississippi was closer to God. The downside is when you’re closer to the heavens, you’re nearer the sun—and that’s why it’s always so goddamn hot.”
Sofia chuckles. Then she arches her back and rolls her neck uncomfortably. “I’m never going to be able to sleep.”
That’s when I have the best fucking idea.
“I want to take you somewhere.”
? ? ?
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Completely.” I pull on the handlebars, testing the weight the rope will handle. It creaks like an old house in a storm, but holds. “See?”
We’re at Sunshine Falls, a few miles down from Jenny’s and my spot—where everybody goes swimming. They’re not really waterfalls—more like a three-foot ridge of rock that the water cascades over, cool and clear. But . . . that’s the name. The best part is the line of deep-rooted old trees on the bank, whose branches hang out over the water—making the perfect, most epic swing. This one has old bicycle handlebars tied to the end, instead of just knotted rope, which helps with the grip.
“The only thing you have to remember is to let go.”
She nods with rapt attention. “Let go. Got it.”
“Don’t freeze up and hang on. You’ll swing back and smash into the trunk . . . which will be fucking hilarious, and I’ll never let you live it down. But it will also hurt like a mother. Don’t get nervous.”
“I wasn’t nervous, but now you’re making me nervous.” Sofia shifts from foot to foot, and her awesome breasts shake beneath the triangles of her tiny red bikini.
I lick my lips. It would be so easy to just bend down, suckle on her tasty, peaked nipples through the fabric of her suit. And the things I could do to her with this rope and handlebar . . .
I close my eyes with a groan, a full-out hard-on now aching against the fabric of my trunks. But I ignore it—’cause it’s time to swim. Sofia is hot. So hot.