Page 51 of Second Chance

24

Open Doors

[Mati]

As I pull into my driveway, I see a light on in the front hall of my home. The etched glass in the front door gives nothing away other than the yellowish beams streaming through the design. Did I leave the light on? As I near the door, I stop, placing my forehead against the cold glass. It’s so difficult to enter alone some nights. My palm flattens on the cool pane, and I take a deep breath. I’m startled when a palm matches mine on the other side of the glass, outlined by the light, and I smile a little, thinking it’s one of the boys.

When Jax and Jordan were little, and Chris would return home late from his office, the boys would press their little hands to the glass waiting for their father. Chris would come to the door and rest his larger hand against the other side. The boys would squeal with delight, trying to reach for their dad through the solid panel. Assuming it’s one of the boys, I turn the knob and enter the hall.

Then my voice freezes in my throat.

“Mati.”

“Denton?” His hands slip inside his jean pockets, his head lowering sheepishly. “How did you get in here?” I ask, looking around the front hall as if I’ll discover the answer.

“It’s a small town, Mati. We all had a secret hiding spot with an extra key.” So much for the false bottom on the underside of the flower box.

“What are you doing here?” An awkward silence falls between us. I don’t invite him farther into the house. We just stand before each other in my narrow front hallway.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I nod as if I understand when I don’t. I take a step back, finding the wall for support. It’s almost like we’re in high school again. Me against the lockers. Him talking to me from less than a foot away. My knees feel shaky as does my stomach.

“So.” I swallow. “Where’s Cora?” I hate that I asked. I hate how I sound jealous.

“Mati,” Denton exhales, stepping forward. “Nothing happened.” His fingers reach for my cheeks, hesitate a moment, and then return to his side. Still, his presence fills my space, his chest delicately pressing near mine. So close, I breathe.

“Sounds familiar,” I say, my voice snappy. Next, he’s going to renege his statement and tell me it didn’t mean anything. It’s Kristy all over again.

“Don’t be like this.” His voice lowers as his hands lift for my face, giving in to whatever held him back moments ago. My eyes shift toward his feet.

“I don’t know how to be.” I’m quiet as I speak. “I don’t know how to feel.”

“Just feel,” he says, his voice sultry, deep, rustic, but I misunderstand his meaning.

“I mean, I understand Cora’s beautiful and flirty and—”

“Mati.” His breath caresses my lips as he exhales my name again. He’s close enough I hear him swallow, but I continue, the roll building inside me.

“The other night. And then that kiss, Denton. That…kiss.” I look up at him, my eyes filling with traitorous tears at the ache in my chest. Did he kiss Cora? “You pulled away and—”

His mouth crashes against mine, swallowing any other words and stealing my thoughts. Eager, energetic, all-consuming, his lips take mine, sucking and tugging, drawing me into him. I melt against his body as he pushes forward, pressing me against the wall at my back.

“How can you think I don’t want you?” His words stutter between kisses.

“You couldn’t even look at me after the other night after what happened on the floor, and—”

“Spice.” He chuckles, pulling back and pressing his forehead against mine. “I couldn’t look at you because your boob was hanging out, pointing at me.” His eyes lower, taking in the offensive breast. “Wanting me to take it in my mouth.” His voice dips. “Begging me to suck it. Love it.” A finger draws a line from my cheek to my neck. His hand momentarily circles my throat. Then his index finger slides downward, dragging the neckline of my overlarge sweater with it as it heads for the swell of one breast before resting at the tip of a ripened nipple, peaked and protruding through my bra. My breath catches.

“How can you think I don’t want you, Mati?” His voice roughens, and a hesitant finger lowers to swipe at the seam of my shorts. My core pulses at the tease. “This is all I think about since I’ve been back.”

Then he cups me, a full palm pressing against my covered sex and I gasp at the abruptness. He stills.

“I apologize. Maybe that’s too much,” he whispers, withdrawing his hand as if he’s offended me as if touching me there crosses a line. Only my traitorous body follows his retreating fingers, erasing any lines drawn between us.

“Sweetheart?” he questions. My chest rises and falls, grappling for air I can’t seem to bring into my lungs. His eyes search my face, questioning me. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell him what I crave. I need him.

He clears his throat. “Spice, do you want me to touch you?”