Page 42 of Flying

You have plenty of time to overthink it all when you’re back wiping down bar tops, this is the first big vacation you’ve taken in ages. Relax, even if just for one night. Be someone else this week, instead of the always-worried about optics, sweep it under the rug, easy going River. Hell, maybe Robert has the right idea after all. River is someone who hasn’t stopped being serious and over-worked in six years.

“Hey, umm, would it be weird to use my first name?” I’m surprised I said it aloud.

Her head tilts to the side as her mouth squishes into the cutest little pout. She looks me up and down a few times. I wait, taking in the ways she fidgets while thinking.Ugh, that must have been so left field of me… why did I ask that?

She whispers a confused, “Huh?”

“Never mind,” I try to dismiss it, “this was just a silly idea. You know, since I’m in a new place, maybe I can be someone new. Give hardworking, responsible, overthinking River a break, see how George Hendrix might just enjoy a vacation.”

Her face continues to work through what I just said before a devious little smile curls around her lips, “Absolutely not to George. That name is just not you, darling.”

Tapping her chin with one long finger, shiny dark purple polish on her nails, she hums quietly. “No, no, you are certainly more of a River than a George, so that can’t possibly work…” she trails off and hums louder.

“Okay.” She leans back a bit, using her hands to frame me in view like she’s mimicking movie directors. Her smile keeps growing, I worry it might start to hurt her face. Thankfully, the words that follow are, “Let’s do it! Let’s have completely different names this week and be completely different people.” Her body turns sideways facing me head on, our knees touching. Lily is burning the brightest I’ve seen and I’m like a moth to her flame. Lost in the mirth in her eyes, fully mesmerized by the beauty, I’m shaken back to earth by her adding, “But, I will find a name for you!”

Sweat is pooling under my arms, not enough to show yet but more than I’d want. Twisting the throw pillow next to me, my worst-case-scenario-prone brain tries to convince me that she’ll pick something that’s a subtle jab. Perhaps she’ll take a page from tween River’s attendance sheets on substitute teacher days. I remember laughing as she rolled her eyes because I wrote Harry Dick, Eaton Beaver, or Willie B. Hardigan on those pages.

Now, based on the mischievous look brewing behind her eyes, I fear my middle school jokes could be thrown back in my face again. To keep this from going sideways, I try to add a maneuver which will prevent her from using the worst suggestion that comes to her mind.

“Darling,” I match the sugary and somewhat condescending tone of the term of endearment back to her and stroke my stubbly beard mirroring her chin tapping, “you name me if I name you back. Do we have a deal?” I fix my gaze firmly on her smirk and damn do I want to kiss it right off her face.

She doesn’t let me sweat long though before firmly replying, “Pacey, like that show I made you watch on DVD with me. The one my older cousin left at the beach.”

I remember the show. I remember when she made me watch the DVDs on repeat in middle school. Stef and Lily would argue about the love triangle in the show all the time, and I’m busy trying to recall which team she was on so I know how to react. Thankfully I don’t have to think too hard because she continues.

“It’s because he chases what sounds fun in the moment. Plus, he waswicked smart, smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Let those snarky jokes you’ve texted me out!”

Shit, now I regret the quid pro quo I insisted on.Do I want her to know how I feel yet?

“Hey, Pace,” she cocks an eyebrow, “you aren’t allowed to overthink. Name me. Now.” She is so adorable with her hands balled into fists and sitting on her hips.

It might be the way she looks at me, the idea of being someone else, or just a force stronger than I can control but something takes over.

I’m moving like a magnet towards her, turning my body so I’m fully facing her while she’s sitting perpendicular to me. My voice isquiet, deeper than usual, my lips skim her ear, breath lightly grazing her skin. I can see the pulse in her throat quicken and a line of pinpricks rise on her flesh. She’s turning pink, and so I let the words I’ve been holding back since my shower leave my lips, “Is that whose name you moan when you are using the rainbow of surprises you left for me to shower with?”

She turns ever so slightly and I can see her eyes have gone wide. Lily’s pupils are huge, her dark brown eyes are nearly black. There are a million tiny tingles and twitches across her body that I just barely can see, but they’re there. I swallow hard, trying to read her but second guessing myself with overlapping questions.

Has she ever thought about this before? Did I cross a line? Did she not leave those out intentionally? Did I just embarrass her? Is she actually seeing someone and I didn’t know? She leans forward, is she tempting me to cross the line?

I need her words, I can’t do this without them. Time stretches on and it feels like an eternity has gone by. Her lips part slightly letting her pink tongue dart across the bottom one. Lily looks me in the eyes with a spark, this is a version of her I hadn’t met before.

This woman has a fire in her eyes and I’d willingly let her consume me. I’m yearning to close the gap, to bring us closer together and capture her lips with mine, but I stay silent. This is something I have wanted for longer than any man should bear, but I’m statue-still.

She surprises me by swinging one leg across my lap and placing herself over me. Legs wide and pushing her hips lightly against the thin material of my gray sweatpants, her arms rest over my shoulders in a hug that sends electricity crackling between us, and I wrap my own arms around her back causing her hips to accidentally grind against me. Her center is brushing against my quickly rising hard on.

Who is this goddess? A beautiful woman that exists outside of Peacock Springs and is right here with me. There’s nothing shy or timid about her here.

“Fucking exquisite,” I whisper to the crown of her head. As if they have a mind of their own, my hands roam up and down her back before grabbing a handful of hair at the nape of her neck and angle her face towards mine. It’s clear: we’re playing chicken.

Lightly, I yank her hair again listening as a light gasp leaves her mouth and her hips push down on me further.I’m thirty years old and dry-humping my lifelong friend that I’ve been secretly in love with, and I can’t just kiss her? This is ridiculous.

Inhaling against her neck I catch the scent of lavender, sandalwood, and chamomile tea, and I graze the tip of my nose against her soft skin. Everything she has done and every glance she’s given suggests we are on the same page.

“Darling,” I simply land on using the term of endearment for her, “I need you to tell me what you want. I refuse to lose the game of chicken you started, but if I start I don’t think I can stop. Do you want to play pretend with me this week?”

She is breathy and nods, she seems to be struggling to find her words but gets out a weak, “Who am I?”

There’s no blood left in my brain, erect cock straining against boxer briefs and sweatpants; nestling himself against her parted legs. He’s twitching in complaint, there’s too many layers covering us, as he continues to lightly graze against her leggings.

---