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“Racing is his forte, though,” Lake says, leaning back as well. “This guy is a bank of golden wisdom when it comes to NASCAR.”
“Really?” Lydia exclaims. She stands, and Dale and Lake immediately grab her arms on both sides, assisting her. “Well, you must come with me. I have something I think you'd really appreciate.”
She winks at me, and although it's simple, I feel the weight of it in the depth of my heart.
I never had a mother like her. Someone that cared about me more than herself. Lydia's that type of mother, though. Selfless. And in one wink, I feel more for her than I ever felt for the one who birthed me.
Colin follows her and Dale down the hall towards what I'm assuming is Lake's old NASCAR memorabilia, leaving Lake and I alone.
I look up from my empty plate, catching his eyes from across the table. Lake's staring at me with a light grin and what looks like admiration in his narrowed eyes as his fingers toy with his spoon, spinning it on the hardwood table ever so slowly. His smile fades softly and his fingers stall, his stare changing into something of an appreciative yet remorseful look.
He's so tight with his feelings. Stingy with his emotions. And in moments like this, I really wish I could read every thought in his mind. Moments where he looks at me like I’m disappearing before him, too.
It makes me uncomfortable.
“Dry for me?” I ask suddenly, peering at my plate, then back at him, needing to break him of this spell.
His eyes cast downward at the plate, suddenly putting it together. His grin returns as he nods, and I’m able to breathe again. Finally, he gets up from his seat, grabbing a stack of plates as he does.
We wash dishes while Lydia and Dale listen to Colin in the living room around the corner, describing the 2015 Goody's Headache Relief Shot 500 race, in which a revenge crash from Matt Kenseth sent Jeff Gordon on to win his final victory race and punched a ticket for him to go to the Championships.
They are so good with him. Listening to him and treating him like an adult rather than a child. It truly makes me happy because sometimes people don't know how to act around Colin, so they treat him like he's slow. They speak in careful words, talking to him like one would a toddler. It annoys me more than anything because he's not slow by any means. He just thinks differently, and not everyone understands that.
Lake and I are side by side at the sink, occasionally bumping into each other as we continue washing. A casual brush of an arm here, a soft trailing of a finger beneath the water there. The silent flirting is in full force as we spend more time than we need washing dishes that are already clean. He dries a pan I've handed him, setting it in the drying rack, before leaning over me, placing both arms on either side of my body around the sink.
He presses his body against mine, trapping me against the counter, and I still in place. I feel his lips trail along the side of my neck, and my eyes fall shut at the sensation that somehow sinks to my chest. He breathes me in, resting his forehead against the back of my head, almost as if he’s savoring me.
After everything today, the conversations with his mother, the care and attentiveness towards Colin, and the beautiful family dinner we shared, I realize I've slipped. Slipped and fallen so hard there's no getting up.
I turn my body around to where he's leaning over me, finding the nerve to look up into his eyes. They sweep mine, and that feeling overtakes me again. My heart literally beats for him alone. It awakens in his presence, wanting to escape my chest, to grip onto him and never let go. This pain he's holding? I want to take it on as my own. I want to be everything he needs, especially now, because I understand him. It's so complicated, yet so simple.
He drops the towel he was using to dry the dishes, and his hands find my shoulders, slowly sliding their way up the sides of my neck. I break out in chills as they move ever so softly against my skin. Pausing with his thumb and forefinger on my jaw, his eyes peer from my eyes to my mouth. Tipping my head up higher for him, he drops his, brushing his lips against mine.
I feel it everywhere. The simple touch of his lips brushing against mine sends a warm electrical current down my neck to my chest, settling somewhere in the tightening of my stomach. We breathe against one another before his mouth surrounds my bottom lip, sucking it gently as his hands hold me in place.
He kisses me then, with a passionate hunger. It's wet and warm and makes my entire body tingle. The idea of pulling away is something I'd never do. I let him devour me in his rush for a connection, meeting every flick of his tongue with my own. This kiss is more than two people looking for some sort of physical pleasure. This kiss is binding in a way that so many kisses often aren't.
It makes me sad for all the wasted kisses out there that aren't this kind. So many wasted kisses.
But this kiss isn't wasted. It's monumental. It’s forgiveness, it’s thank you, it’s pain, need, and love, all wrapped in one.
Until he pulls away.
Taking a step back, I'm left breathless as those hands that we so delicately wrapped around my neck now plunge through his dark, thick locks. He stands tall and pulls at the roots of his hair, looking frustrated, and the idea that he just needs a minute to calm himself around his mother and Dale makes me blush.
I cross my arms, then trail my thumb along my bottom lip, holding back my smile at the power of our connection as he stares down at the floor.
But something changes in the air as the seconds pass.
He doesn't look me in the eyes again.
Grabbing the towel from the floor where he dropped it between us, he grabs the plate he set down and continues drying it before placing it back in the cupboard nearby.
He just kissed me with everything he had, and now he can't look at me.
I'm really trying to figure him out, but with the stress of seeing his mother like this, I can only imagine the guilt he feels for kissing me like that in her home. At least, I think that's what is going through his head. I honestly can't tell, and it's making me nervous. Just like the way he brushed me off after asking about the phone call from Coach. Is there something I don't know? Is he withholding the truth from me?
“I-I need to use the bathroom. I need to go,” I hear Colin say from the living room.
