Page 122 of Never Forever

We both froze.

The things I wanted to do to her. Every memory that taunted and tortured me over the last ten years. That hot quick fuck in my bedroom weeks ago had only made me hungrier for her. A taste when I wanted a meal. I wanted hours with her body. Hours with her mouth and her breasts. Her arms. Her legs. Her pussy.

And she looked just as hungry. For more than just Cheetos.

“Carrie,” I leaned forward, and watched her eyes go wide. Her heartbeat pounded in her neck. “Whatever you’re thinking? I want it. I want all of it. All of you. So, you decide you’re ready for that? I’m in.”

She shifted all her attention to the food box in front of her.

“I made an appointment with an OB/GYN. A get to know you thing in a few weeks, to see if I like her,” she said in a rush, like I hadn’t just offered myself up on a pregnancy platter.

“Great,” I said, as calm as I could be, despite the blood pounding in my body. I felt like she was a deer on the trail out on Capstone Ridge. If I moved too fast she’d spook. But if I was slow and careful she would let me get close. “I’ll drive you.”

She tilted her head, like she wanted to see me from a new angle. “Your father hardly ever took days off work.”

“You’ve often told me I am nothing like my father. Do you not want me to come?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. I felt that in my belly too. It would take more than a few dinners to get her to trust me.

“The Fall Festival is starting today,” I said, changing the subject to easier things.

“Really?” She perked right up.

“We’re not doing the three-legged race.”

“Why? We dominate the three-legged race.”

“Carrie. You’re pregnant.”

“That’s some bullshit. Let’s go.”

I shook my head. “It’s tech week forChildren of the Corn. I can take you into town if you want to look around, but I need to be at rehearsal to make sure everything is working.” I grabbed the garbage and boxed up the other food for a snack for later.

She stood up too. Her face, stricken. “I completely forgot.”

“That’s okay,” I said. Trying to alleviate some of the stress on her face. “It’s not your job.”

“But Weidman asked and I…”

“Do you want to come with me? I can take you and I’ll bring you home.”

She lit up. The difference between this person – with the chopped hair and the bright yellow Crocs, and the perfect actress who’d been filming here all summer, distracting me with short shorts and fingernails with crystals on them was – dramatic. And refreshing. This woman looked like a Calico Cove girl, half sea water, half granite cliff.

The love I felt for her, that I’d pushed away and built dams against, flooded me. Swept me off my feet. I put a hand against the chair where I’d been sitting, just to stay upright.

“Give me five minutes,” she said.

“I brought the skiff. We have lots of time.”

She ran off to the house and I followed her at a slower pace, taking in the food I’d brought and putting it in the fridge. Screwing the lid on the peanut butter jar. Dumping out the coffee.

If Hollywood could see her now.

Four minutes later she came down with her hair combed into some semblance of a bob, mascara on her lashes and lip gloss on her lips.

Except she was in the same terrible house dress with the same yellow Crocs.

Same gorgeous smile though.

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