Page 24 of The Sky in Summer
The only sweetness I crave is another kiss. To start with. Followed by Pussy Pie. My absolute favorite.
6
Layla
“I wanted to get the chlorine out of my hair,” I say, entering the family room, while running fingertips through a still wet head.
“Yeah. The shower felt good. Where’s the dryer?”
“Around the corner, second door.”
His boxer briefs are rolled up in his hand. He is free balling. There’s nagging temptation coursing through my veins. Would it be so bad to rethink my vow not to get physically involved? I don’t have to report to anyone. The alcohol level I’m still dealing with may have something to do with it, but very little if I am being honest. It was the extraordinary kiss. And the hands on my face. The way he looks at me. I need to start a list. It will be longer than a CVS receipt.
“Are you trying to seduce me with that Visit Montana sweatshirt?” he says with a straight face.
“Oh, does this do it for you, freak? Is it the extra-large size, or the bleach spot here on the hem?”
“Freak?” His face transforms. “I like that you sense Icanbe that guy. If the situation calls for it.”
“When would the situation call for it?”
“When it would please my woman.”
The heat rises to my face, but it wouldn’t be smart to show I may be putty in his hands.
“Go dry your underwear.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that…” The words fade as he chuckles.
The man’s fun and witty, and so sexy it makes me ache. A trifecta of man meat. The clean scent as he passes is noted for my detailed report. It’s all redundant at this point. Not to put too fine of a point on it, but the man is hot. How am I supposed to fight this Mt. Everest of sexual tension? I’m only familiar with hills.
Walking into the kitchen, I take the cheesecake from the refrigerator and place it onto a serving dish. Keeping hands busy might be the only way through. The dryer’s sound precedes Van’s return.
“What can I do to help?”
“Just find a comfy place to sit on the patio. Let’s have our fixins under the stars. Like real cowboys do.”
“Yes, mam. I will save a comfortable spot for you to rest your tired peaches.” He says it with a twang.
The man is adorable. But I give resistance one more try. A weak one.
“Quit talking about my peaches. Get them out of your mind.”
“That’s impossible. They are burned in my memory. So is the truth of what I am owed. Back in kindergarten, I was more generous sharing my special gift. Which you have conveniently forgotten.”
That makes me smile. “I can’t really remember if it was special or not.”
“Then you definitely need another look. You must have been in a coma or something.”
I slice our cheesecake, like I am not secretly imagining fucking him, and set them on plates.
“You are awfully confident,” I say, looking him in the eyes.
“Well…” he says awfully confident.
“Take these and I’ll meet you out there with the coffee.”
“Good idea. I still have to drive home.”
