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Electricity runs between us where we connect, filling my whole body with a restless energy despite the fact that I’m sitting utterly still. I curl my finger, sliding it along the length of hers, and she gasps, so softly I’d miss it if I wasn’t completely in tune with her. That’s the response I both wanted and feared, and while my mind is screaming for me to stop, my body doesn’t care. I rub her hand again, and she moves closer, linking our two fingers together.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye. Her chest still rises and falls steadily, too steadily for her breathing to be anything but forced. She’s looking forward, same as me, letting our fingers say what our minds aren’t quite ready for. Only our pinkies are touching, stroking, but my entire body is on fire, my cock swelling with anticipation.
I shift again, adding my ring finger to the mix. She responds in kind. Now two fingers are touching, caressing, a slow and sensual exploration despite the rapid thumping of my heart.
Sawyer still doesn’t look at me, and I don’t do more than glance sideways at her, too afraid that this will end if our eyes meet, and reality steals the moment. Instead, I let my fingers roam over hers, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under mine.
I’m barely moving, but I feel as alive as I do on the field. That should terrify me. Instead, I feel sort ofcontent. Anxious, excited, turned on, yet also complete. Like all the noise in my head about why this should be wrong is just…noise. Stuff that doesn’t matter.
Crap that isn’t anywhere as real as the way Sawyer is making me feel in this moment. And because this is real, I pull her hand into mine, palm to palm, and thread our fingers together.
Sawyer’s breath hitches again, but she doesn’t pull back. Instead, she runs her thumb along mine, back and forth, back and forth. It’s the slightest touch, though I feel it everywhere, and it only makes me want more.
I mimic her movements. The tiniest of sighs escapes her lips, which makes my whole body tingle.
Our contact is innocent, limited to our joined hands, but it’s somehow more intimate than any moment I’ve shared with another person, which only confirms what I’ve been starting to suspect. The connection between us runs way deeper than it should, and I’m not the only one who knows it.
We finish the show hand in hand, though neither of us attempts to speak, or even look at the other. Rationally, I know why that is. We’re both afraid for this moment to end, because when it does, we can only go backward. It doesn’t matter that we both feel the same pull, wanting more than what we have. What we want isn’t possible.
Sawyer finally moves when the credits roll, allowing herself to look at our joined hands. I do the same, giving her a gentle squeeze.
“Why?” Her voice is raspy. Strained.
“I wanted to.”
A sad smile passes over her face. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I wish…” She sniffs, never taking her eyes off our hands.
“Me too.” So much for that reality check.
She squeezes my hand back, then drops it and rises off the couch. As she makes her way to the stairs all I can think about is how cold I feel without her hand in mine, and what a horrible person I am for wishing my pop fell in love with anyone other than her mom.
Sawyer
It’sdone.
Mom was stunning in her cream gown, her joy written all over her face. Anthony was just as striking in his tux, and even Dad, who in a newfound show of family loyalty gave Mom away, looked handsome as he handed her off to a beaming Anthony. But it was Wes my gaze was drawn to all night.
He’s already big enough to pass for a man, but in a tux he looks the part. The lines of the suit emphasize the planes of his strong jaw, the breadth of his shoulders. Combined with the crisp scent of the evergreen body wash... My stomach was doing somersaults to the point that I had to lean on him when I walked. Fortunately, that was attributed to my footwear instead of my hormones.
The reception, like the ceremony, was limited to close friends and family, so some of the more rowdy traditions were absent. There was no garter toss, thankfully, though there was a dance with just the newlyweds, and one where Wes danced with my mom while I danced with Anthony. Wes and I even danced together a few times, which was awkward only because we made such an effort not to stand too close or to look at one another. The foot we kept between us at all times only made me more conscious of my desire to be close to him. Thank goodness we got to leave the reception after the cake, because acting like I wasn’t affected by his touch was harder than expected.
Shortly after we make our exit my phone beeps in my bag, and I pull it out to find a text from Mom’s friend Lisa. It’s a picture of me and Wes, taken during the reception. Lisa had insisted on it when she saw us dancing and realized of all the pictures being taken none were just the two of us. We’d tried to object, but she swore our parents would want a picture of ‘their kids.’
I look at the picture, and the caption that accompanies it. “Look how great you two look together. Beautiful family!” The together part brings a tear to my eye.
“What’s that?” Wes asks, glancing briefly at me before turning his gaze back to the road.
“Lisa sent me that picture she took of us.” I stare out the window at the lights dotting the horizon.
“How’d it turn out?”
I look at the image again, Wes’s arm slung around my shoulders so that I’m tucked into his side, both of us wearing shy smiles. With my red dress and his red tie, we match. We look like a couple.
“Great actually.”
