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“I always think people are judging me in the quiet. I always like to know what people are thinking, and when they’re talking, I think I’m distracting them from thinking about me.”
I feel the coolness of a shadow cover my body and think a cloud has managed to appear and block the sun. But when I open my eyes, Connor’s body is looming over me.
“I am thinking about you,” he says softly. “I’m thinking about how badly I want to kiss you again.”
“Why?”
“Your mouth, it’s … irresistible. It reminds me of a ripe plum. Such a pretty color, so soft and sweet.”
His hand cups the back of my head and he presses his mouth against mine. He kisses me, softly at first, and then harder. He gently releases his weight and then devours and nips. And while we lie there, I hear the sound of our mouths, wet and hot, sucking and licking. The click of teeth. The chirp of birds chattering among the branches of the trees. The leaves applaud the soft summer breeze as it drifts lazily through the branches. I can hear the water tumbling in fast giggles over the stones in the creek bed. I can hear Connor’s breath and my heart. A symphony of music and noises. Connor is right. It is loud.
From somewhere beyond the trees, I hear a woman scream softly, followed by a man roaring. My body goes rigid and Connor stops kissing me, leaving his lips just a centimeter from mine.
“Sounds like Ox and Tori are finally finished.” And we both break out into a giggly laugh.
We take our time putting on our shoes and walking back to the bikes. Connor’s shirt covers his lion tattoo again, but knowing it’s there feels like knowing a secret about him that is hidden from the rest of the world. And I feel special, somehow, for knowing a secret about him. The thought flashes through my mind, and I grin as it settles and takes a firm hold. I want to know all of his secrets.
“Hey, anyone else hungry?” Ox asks. He and Tori slip out from a knot of trees carrying the blanket. His shirt wrinkled and her cheeks and neck pink with a flush. “How about we stop at that cool fish place up the road for some dinner?”
“What do you say, Lainey? You game?” Tori asks me. She has a leaf in her hair. Ox plucks it away and then leans down to kiss her cheek. The hand that carelessly tossed the leaf to the ground reaches around and tweaks her backside. They’re so cute with one another. I can’t help but wonder if she was a fan first or his wife first. Every single one of my friends in high school would have given anything to have been loved by Ox Carr. And this woman has him forever. He loves her. And she loves him. It’s so perfect. And enviable.
We ride to the restaurant, which is nothing more than a small cabin alongside the Chattahoochee River. It’s cozy and filled to overflowing on a Friday night. Ox steps up to the hostess stand and smiles. “How long is the wait?”
The hostess, a small slip of a girl, barely twenty, doesn’t bother to look up at him and mouths almost robotically, “About twenty to thirty minutes. Seating around the bar is first come, first served. Domestics are $5 until six if you care to wait at the bar. Name?”
“Ox Carmichael,” he answers.
At this, the woman glances up, taking a serious inventory of the man standing in front of her. A look of shock and utter disbelief crosses her face. It washes away almost instantly as Ox gives her a sly smile and waggles his eyebrows.
“Ohmigod! Mr. Carmichael. Um … give me a couple of minutes, sir. How many in your party?”
“Just four, darlin’. I sure do appreciate it.” And just like that, we are getting a table, and our hostess is getting hot and bothered. I can’t blame her. If Ox Carr had walked into a place where I worked when I was her age and waggled those brows, calling me darlin’ … I would have fainted on the spot.
She smiles, blushes and rushes away to clear a table recently vacated by four women who look as if they’ve been drinking since lunch.
“You guys never wait for tables, do you?” I mutter quietly to Connor.
“Not usually,” Connor replies, his mouth close to my ear. I can feel the heat of his breath and it sends a happy shiver into my belly where the butterflies are taking wing inside again.
The hostess seats us right away and I drop my purse before heading to the bathroom where I see her motioning to another young woman, tapping an order onto a keypad by the bar.
“You guys must be big fans, too?” I say a bit offhandedly. If they areClimaxfans, then we’re practically family. Although, they look a bit young to be true disciples of the band, but honestly, their music is timeless and really transcends generational limitations.
“Fans?” She asks. “Of …”
“Climax? The band? I saw the way you looked at Ox when he came in, and …”
“Oh, he’s in a band? Cool. No, Mr. Carmichael owns this place.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, although I shouldn’t be. So that’s why they never wait for tables. They’re not frequent customers, they’re owners.
Returning to the table, I see a hard cider at my place. “It’s a girly beer. Not too strong,” Conner says. “Do you mind?”
“No. It’s fine. Thanks.”
I see that Ox and Connor are both drinking some sort of non-alcoholic beer and Tori has ordered something pink in a champagne glass with a cherry bobbing at the bottom of it.
The cider is sweet, and I’m thirstier than I realize. The bubbles feel good sliding down my throat.
