Page 7 of Salace

Kasey tips his face to the sky again and chugs the remainder of the alcohol. “You don’t mess around, Ms. H. That’s a strong drink.”

“No point in drinking it if you can’t taste it.”

Kasey laughs. It’s deep and joyful. His abs flex with each heave of laughter. My finger reaches out to trace the lines of his six pack, but I stop before making contact. He looks between us at my hand almost on him and presses the sweating glass into my palm. The coolness sends a chill up my arm.

“You’re pink.”

“What?” I clutch the glass so hard I fear it might shatter.

He touches the top of my shoulders. “Sunburn starting. You should put some sunscreen on, or you’ll burn.” His finger ghosts my clavicle as he drops his hand to his side. I want to lean into it...really feel it. Let him touch me. Would he be bold or shy? Rough or gentle?

Swallowing thickly, I point to the table under the umbrella. “Would you mind?” I ask.

Kasey beams.

I sit in a chair at the table, in the shade, and hand Kasey the bottle of sunscreen. He squeezes a glob directly from the bottle onto my skin. It’s chilly compared to the air and a gasp rushes out of me.

“Oops, sorry,” he says.

I collect my hair and pull it over one shoulder so he can massage the lotion into my skin. His hands land on my shoulders softly. Gently he makes little circles, spreading the sunscreen.

“Make sure you rub it all in, I don’t want any wonky suntan lines.”

Kasey laughs. His thumbs begin to dig into my shoulder blades, his fingers over my shoulders, squeezing. Massaging. A small groan slips from my lips. “God, that feels good.”

“You’re so tight.”

“I hate raking and apparently so does my body.”

He doesn’t stop. I’m certain the lotion is all rubbed in by now but I don’t tell him to stop either. I let him massage my shoulders. His fingers are long and thick, and his grip is strong. I tilt my head to the side as he kneads the tight muscles connecting my shoulders to my neck. His hands slide forward just slightly, toward my collarbone. I bite my lip. He lets his fingers slide forward a little more, mere inches from the tops of my breasts. My chest heaves with each breath. Kasey’s fingers slide further still, and just before they reach my cleavage, I still his hands by putting mine over them. Neither of us move or speak.

His hands pull back, massaging aching muscles as they go. He clears his throat. “All rubbed in. I’ll go finish the bushes.”

I take a moment to steady my breathing and my pounding pulse.

KASEY

Iwonder how Mrs. H is doing?

For some reason, it’s the only thought I have as Aimee sits down across from me with her small bowl of yogurt. Hilariously, she reallyisdoing the girl thing. Having a dainty serving of something healthy when I purposely brought her to this ice cream parlor to pig out with me and talk about what’s bothering her.

Not to mention, each time I steal a glance into the mirror across the way, I can’t help but think about how good we look together.

I dig my spoon into my sundae, then raise it to my lips, eyes steadily watching Aimee who’s currently using her spoon to spin swirls in her yogurt.

“So… how ya been, Aimee?” I ask, before I shovel the spoonful into my mouth. I never knew how much silence bothered me until it was a forced scenario. I don’t care what she says, as long as we can get this damn conversation going soon.

She shrugs as I lick the back of my spoon and do my best not to appear as anxious as I feel. I always thought that taking her out on a date would be a fun experience since I already have a girlfriend, but it’s starting to seem like more of a nuisance than anything else.

“How are things at home?”

I’m starting to sound like the guidance counselor,I think, shrinking slightly in my chair.

“Does it really matter, Kasey?” she asks in a subdued tone. I arch an eyebrow as she finally scoops up some of her yogurt, gently cleans the excess on the edge of her tiny bowl, then slips the spoon between her lips.

“I mean, it must, since I asked,” I reply in a clipped tone. Aimee finally looks up at me and I smile as best as I can, hoping that it’ll be enough to forgive the agitation in my voice, but she’s making things harder than they need to be.

“Fine,” she begins, as she moves her bowl to the side, then folds her hands on the top of the table. “Julia drinks.A lot.Ever since Dad left, she drowns herself in bottles of wine. I have to keep up the house, make sure the bills are paid–that is when she decides she wants to go to work and we have the money–and maintain my grades at school, because Heaven forbid they slip. Apparently, that would be therealembarrassment. And on top of everything else, I’m sitting in a strange place with a guy I barely know, all because I just wanted to get out of the house and away from responsibilities that shouldn’t even be mine.”

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