Page 19 of The Keeper
She laughs. “Girl, you have got itbad. He dropped you off five hoursago.”
“I know. I feel ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous, RJ. You have a crush. I used to be concerned when youdidn’treact this way.”
I let out a huff.
“Whatever. Let’s not talk about all of the strange things that make me special. What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t wallowing in self-pity, so it sounds like I called at just the right time.” Her voice is bright and happy and I regret staying at home by myself to pretend to study. “Any chance you want to give your psych test the middle finger and head out to meet us at O’Reilly’s? I knowyou didn’tactuallyget any studying done tonight.”
I look at my watch. If I leave immediately I can be there in fifteen minutes, enjoy some time with my friends, and take my mind off the fact that Mack hasn’t texted me back.
“Yeah, okay.”
I hear a whoop on the other end of the phone, followed by Richie’s voice in the background, shouting “Get your fine ass down here, sweet thing!” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me.
After ending the call, I pull my hair into a ponytail, grab my wallet and keys off the entry table, and pull my favorite gray Glendale College sweater from the closet. I’m tugging it over my head when I open the door and come face-to-face with Mack, his hand poised to knock.
I stop moving.
I think I nearly stop breathing.
Yup, I just had to remind myself to inhale.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hey.” I’m trying to sound unaffected by his sudden presence, but I’m pretty sure the sudden pounding of my heart in my chest made my voice waver. He just stands there looking at me. “What are you doing here?”
“I was driving around to clear my head when I got your text. And I just… drove here.”
At the mention of my text, my moment of vulnerability feels foolish. My face flushes and I’m embarrassed at the fact I told him I wanted him to kiss me. I want to tell him I didn’t mean it. I want to tell him that a robber stole my phone or I was drunk or something. This might be the first time I actually wish I drank alcohol. But I don’t say anything. I just stare back at him. Because saying any of those things would be lying to him. And I like that we say strange and very honest things to each other.
“I’m heading to meet some friends at O’Reilly’s,” I finally offer, as I close the door behind me. “Do you want to come with, or…?” I let my voice trail off as he shakes his head ‘no’ and then takes a step towards me. He’s inches away now. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted. And oh do I want to. I want to wrap my arms around him and let him hug me like he did earlier.
He reaches his hand to me and places his hand on the back of my neck and traces his thumb along my jaw, like he did at the mini-golf course. His eyes drop to my lips and he stares. He just stares at them with such intensity and focus I begin to wonder if he’s trying to read my emotion in the creases in my skin. If he could, my body would be shouting at him.Kiss me, kiss me. Please kiss me.
And then he does.
He presses his lips against mine. Softly. Delicately. Like my lips are fragile and he doesn’t want to break them. He kisses my top lip, sucking on it lightly. Then he kisses the corner of my mouth, and the side of my jaw, and my neck. His mouth opens against me and I feel his tongue on my skin. A moan escapes from deep in my chest.
Suddenly everything moves from slow and languid to full speed. He’s back at my lips, and our mouths part, our tongues seeking entrance. His hand is still behind my head, his fingers gripping my hair, his other hand at my lower back. He pulls me against him. I can feel just how much he’s enjoying this kiss, but I know there is no way he could possibly be feeling as riotous and reckless as I do.
I snake my arms around his neck, letting my fingers tangle in his hair as our kiss deepens. When I tug slightly, he moans into my mouth, and his hand at my lower back drops lower to my ass and he squeezes. He takes a step into me, and with nowhere to go, I find myself backed up against the door. He presses himself against me and my stomach muscles clench. We are nothing but a pile of moans and kisses and tongues and heavy breaths.
I feel something brewing inside. I’ve never been kissed like this, like my next breath can only come from this connection, like if we pulled apart something inside of my soul would tear in two. This one kiss puts all of my other youthful fumblings to shame.
Our hands are everywhere. On shoulders and arms, gripping skin and clothing, pulling and tugging to get our bodies closer, closer, so much closer. We are fused together, my body soft and pliant, his body hard and firm. He grips my thigh and lifts my leg just slightly, pressing into me with a roll that has the space in my lower belly tightening and shivers skittering through my body.
I can barely breathe and suck in a long breath through my nose and inhale his warmth. His scent is familiar. Comforting. I breathe him in as deep as I can, to try and imprint the essence of who he is into my veins, burrowing that comfort into the lining of my lungs.
And just as quickly as the kiss became frantic, I can feel it slowing down. He leans further into me to kiss my neck, and then my jaw, and then the corner of my mouth, before kissing me one more time on the lips. Softly. Delicately. Our foreheads are resting against each other. Our eyes our closed. Our breathing ragged.
“Wow,” I whisper, sure that there has never been a bigger understatement.
“Wow isn’t enough,” he whispers back, bringing words to my unspoken thoughts.
I smile as I try to catch my breath.
