Page 30 of Melt With You

Van pressed against Dori, kissing the collar bone exposed by the boat-neck collar of Bette’s shirt that she’d borrowed, a white sailor-style shirt with blue piping along the hemline and red anchors in a row across the chest.

‘You’ve got on one of Bette’s perfumes,’ he said, mouth to her skin. ‘My favorite.’

She had, chosen from the array of bottles at Bette’s apartment that morning. She’d gone for Egoiste because she’d always loved the sexiness of a woman wearing a man’s cologne. Bette had been the first woman she’d ever known to do that. In Dori’s real life, she sometimes wore Armani’s Black Code and Christian Dior’s Fahrenheit. But she didn’t even think those fragrances existed now.

‘They’re going to wonder what I’m doing,’ she said, trying to be the voice of reason.

‘No, they’re not.’ He smiled at her, pulling her skirt up as he spoke and giving her a lecherous grin. ‘They’re only going to wonder which position. They’ll know exactly what we’re doing. In fact, knowing Bette, they’re probably taking bets. Five bucks I’m going to fuck you against that mirror.’ He nodded his head to the large oval mirror leaning up against one wall. ‘A twenty that you’ll blow me after I make you come.’ God, he was so dirty. She just loved the way he spoke to her.

‘You know, lick your juices off my great big ten-inch …’ he paused before adding, ‘record of a band that plays the blues.’

She had to laugh at that, wondering if kids today would even understand the reference to the old Aerosmith song.

‘Don’t you have to work?’ This was her last-ditch attempt to be adult about the whole thing.

His eyes roamed over her body, and he seemed to be in awe. ‘I didn’t really see you last night,’ he said. ‘I felt you, of course. And I licked you a little, that curve under your neck. Delicious. But I haven’t ever really gotten to see you. The van was too dark. The Rave was too crazy. God, you’re fucking beautiful.’

The stereo was suddenly cranked, and Dori realized Bette was making fun of them, playing ‘Hot for Teacher’ by Van Halen. Letting her understand with the soundtrack that she was all-knowing. That nothing could escape her eyes. But was Dori supposed to be the teacher, or was Van?

She understood that Bette had put this one on solely to mess with her. Generally, Bette stuck to Blondie. Dori wondered what Bette would think if she told her that Blondie’s ‘One Way Or Another’ was now the soundtrack to the dusting device, the Swiffer. Devo was also their bitch, with ‘Whip It’ a sell-out, as well. How many of her treasured 80s songs were now background music for selling hamburgers, cleaning products, tires, and God knew what else? Even her beloved Cure …

But she had to stop thinking once Van started to really kiss her. His mouth was addictive, but the sensations that his warm lips brought out in her made her want more. More heat. More wetness. More of the way he was treating her.

Van seemed to understand perfectly. He worked her neck, his mouth on her skin, moving lower. ‘You left this morning before I could grab hold of you,’ he said softly. ‘I would have loved to have gotten you in the shower. The hot water. The soap suds. Your pretty, naked body.’

‘You had your hands full,’ she told him matter-of-factly.

He laughed. ‘Ah, so you’re the jealous type.’ It wasn’t a question, but she took the statement as one. Was she? She didn’t have an answer to that.

‘We’re just friends,’ he added, reaching his hands under her skirt and pulling down her panties. ‘Oh, look,’ he said, smiling, ‘You’re wearing Bette’s little knickers, too.’ He snapped the waistband of the camouflage-print bikinis.

‘How would you know that?’

‘I’ve got the matching bra in my van.’

Dori didn’t know how to respond to that. Everything the boy said, made her want to ask another question. But for a moment, she couldn’t say anything, because Van was kissing her again. Each time his lips met hers, all of the reasons not to do this vanished. But each time they parted, she felt the worries start once more.

‘Will she mind?’

‘Mind what? That her bra is in the back of my van? I think Bette goes without most of the time. She only had the bra on that night because her shirt was made of that sheer material. You know, sort of burnt-out velvet …’

‘No, will she mind that we’re … that we’re fucking?’

‘Are we fucking? I think this is called petting, actually. I haven’t brought my dick out yet.’

He was right. They were merely kissing. But, as he spoke, he popped the fly on his black jeans, and she had to suck in her breath. The sight of him made her desire to be good evaporate. She wanted to stroke him, to work his cock in her fist. The fact that they’d already been together twice only meant it was easy for her to quiet the moral voice in her mind, as Van pushed her down to her knees.

The music in the store grew louder.

Dori remembered buying 1984 – the angel on the cover with the pack of cigarettes on his shoulder. And now … now she had recently read that Eddie Van Halen’s own son was joining the band. A fifteen-year-old. He hadn’t even been alive during the recording of 1984. But David Lee Roth was back, and the group was going on tour.

What had Violet called it? The Antiques Road Show.

Dori knew that Van would never believe her if she told him that Hagar would leave … that Van Halen’s son would join up. She could blow his mind if she wanted to. But she’d rather just blow him.

Quickly, Dori parted her lips and drew in his cock. She was overwhelmed by the way she felt, having sex at work. Having sex with a twenty-four-year-old. She thought of what she’d been like in the 80s, getting this job at The Beauty Box, trying to figure out what grown-ups were really like. Up until then, she’d only been around her parents and their friends. Once she’d landed the job at The BB, she’d realized that most adults were far different from her folks.

Of course, since going back in time, she’d re-evaluated what she’d known about her parents. Her mother smoked pot. Her father had a hidden box of Playboy magazines. They hadn’t been quite as dull as she’d thought.

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