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“Nothing.” I shake my head but amend myself with a reminder that I don’t want to parse my words. “I just didn’t expect adorable to be so sexy.” He nods with understanding, light dancing across his features from the flames burning between us.
“I called my brother a fart knuckle earlier.” Straight-ass face, speaking into the fire, Rex’s words don’t sink in at first.
“A … What?” My brow furrows and nose flares in question at the randomness and confusing statement.
“A fart knuckle.” he answers, face still dead serious as he turns to look at me. I can’t help the outburst that ensues. Doubling over with full-on belly laughs, I hold the pizza out from being smooshed and mull over the words in my head.
“What are you, twelve?” He snickers with a shake of his head.
“Thought you might want to take me a little less seriously.” He shrugs. “Besides, he started it.”
“And what did your brother start it with?” I hold my abdomen, my guts threatening to evacuate my body with the cackling that racks through me.
“He called me a turdscicle.” Blinking, I chew on the words, the scene playing out in my head in real-time when it smacks me like the knowledge finally makes sense.
I howl.
I’m overcome, noise no longer leaving my body, my lungs seized with hilarity. The cushion next to me receives a few slaps in an attempt to force air back into my body.
“You’re joking.” I guffaw, tears leaking from my eyes. He shakes his head.
“Nah. We’re immature like that.” As if I didn’t just fall into this fit of laughing rage he pushed me towards, he snags another slice and folds the thing in half. Except, it’s not in the way New Yorkers eat their pizza, no. He flips up the edge where all the toppings are to the crust and begins to eat it like a sandwich as if proving he defies all logic with comedic flair.
“Jesus, you are too much.” Hand to my chest, I try to regulate my breathing back to a semi-normal state, but his incessant pizza eating has me giggling all over again.
“Try it, makes the shit taste better.” He shrugs but can’t help the smile that tugs his lips.
“Doubtful, but why the hell not?” I follow his lead and bite into a pizza sandwich with lightness in my chest. It doesn’t taste different to me, but it changes the experience to something immature and fun. And that’s enough for me to embrace.
“So, Ms. Soul. Who’s your favorite artist?” My eyes bug out of my skull and I look away with my hand to my mouth to cover how full it is. Redness heats my face more than the flames have already.
He remembered that little tidbit about me?
“You remember that? Sheesh.” I think for a moment, index finger to my chin as I stare into the flames and try my best to tuck the embarrassment into the burning logs. “I like a lot actually, but I would say my favorites are Sam Cooke, The Temptations, Otis Redding.” Turning to him, I catch his rapt attention on my features as the light from the fire dances across his face, reflecting in his eyes. He nods, a slow close of his eyes, and begins to hum. Rex keeps time with his thumb against the Styrofoam on his thighs, and then his hand waves about, his head swaying to the beat. I don’t recognize the song at first, but when it sinks in, I find a vibration to my vocal cords sounding along with his. Breathy at first, almost a whisper, the lyrics of a Bill Withers song begins to leave my lips.
See, I don’t sing in front of others, except my sisters, but they don’t count. However … I love soul because I love the melody, the tune, the words I can replicate with a carelessness that no other genre can produce. Words sung from the chest, time kept with a heart.
So I sing, belting the notes higher and longer than that of the original, creating my own mix of the song I almost wish I was recording to play back later. I feel Rex’s gaze on me, he slips the box from my person, sets the bag on the ground, and pulls me to my feet.
Rex’s hips meet mine, his hand landing just above my ass and leading me into a sway to the beat we produce. Fire snaps beside us, warming my bare hands and kissing my cheeks, the heat battling to be felt over that which is coming from Rex.
He’s struck a cord I’m not willing to cut off just yet.
My chest expands, my vocal cords in tune more than they’ve ever been.
In reality, I am basking in this moment where I feel truly alive, singing along to a true classic about women and sunshine around a fire that I created, next to a man that feels comforting.
Almost feels like home.
His hums bring the song around to the last set, the final lyrics already off of my breath. I still, allowing myself to absorb the fuzzy feeling settling behind my breastbone, a soft smile playing on my lips.
“Damn, Aria.” I chuckle at his breathy tone, nerves snaking their way up my spine and begging to settle into the base of my skull where I keep all the tension anxiety brings me. Rex doesn’t let me sit in my head too long, though. His fingers find mine, bringing my hand to his upturned lips, and places a gentle kiss to each knuckle. “That was fucking beautiful, babe.”
I flush, but Rex doesn’t stop at my knuckles. His lips trail up my palm to my wrist and down my covered forearm. He cups my jaw, bringing those soft plump lips to mine. The Italian on his breath tastes heavenly, his tongue slipping along mine, his hand migrating to my neck. The heat builds between us, the intensity making our moves harsher, more desperate, as I sneak a hand into his hair and grip the hem of his shirt at his waist.
Pop!
The noise has me breaking our contact, jerking my head toward the fire to investigate the cause. Watching on, I catch the tail end of a large ember float off into the night sky then extinguish into mere ash.
