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Nice move there, Clayton, I tell myself. Although it is complete and utter bullshit.
But, Stevie’s nodding, smiling brightly as ever.
“I’d like that. Do you still want me here at 9?”
“Let’s make it 1 PM. We don’t want to tire ourselves out at Legoland. Especially with the way Winston is probably going to be tearing around the place.”
“You’re right,” She says, “not to mention there will just be a general stampede of children to deal with.”
I laugh, louder than her little joke warranted. We stare at each other for what feels like a minute.
“Thanks again,” I say to her, striding to the door and opening it.
“Goodbye.”
Instinctively, I grab her arm.
“Wait.”
Fear on her features, then… Is that excitement?
“Yes?” She asks in a small voice.
My grip droops. Why did I even call her back? The answer is at the corner of my mind, but I shove it away.
Throwing my arms around her and pressing her body to mine, I say “Thank you so much for today. You really were a surprise.”
In more ways than you can even fathom, an unwanted voice in my head says.
Time stops as our bodies meet. Hers is warm and giving. I can feel her full breasts pressed against my chest. Her hands close uncertainly around my back. Peach is definitely in the air.
Right now, her face is almost level with my chin, and yet I can sense her gaze is going for mine. I don’t dare meet it. If I do, I don’t know what will happen next. Scrap that – I do, and it cant.
Seconds tick on, taking me closer to what is inevitable, what I’ve been avoiding since the moment that door opened.
Tick tock. Don’t look at her. Tick tock. That gaze. Tick tock. Those lips… tick tock.
“Stevie!”
It’s Winston. Barreling up, he slams himself into a hug around her legs that sends her shaking.
“Be careful, you goof,” I say, poking him in the special place between his shoulder blades that always gets him giggling.
“Sorry,” he says, sure enough giggling, as Stevie crouches down to deliver him a kiss on the top of his head.
“See you tomorrow, Winston,” she says, carefully avoiding my gaze as she leaves.
Although, right before I close the door, I see her head turn around and a flash of an enrapt look.
A shudder travels from my head all the way down to my feet. I know what that look contained. It’s the one thing I’m battling with now standing here with the memory of that hug encircling me.
Pure visceral want.
Chapter 2: Stevie
“So, you didn’t kiss him?”
“George!” I yell, smacking her on the arm.
As she bursts out laughing, I head for my room.
“Forget it. I’m going to bed.”
I storm the rest of the way up to own room. Thankfully, my parents are sleeping. The last thing I want to do is explain to them why I’ve gotten irritated with George once again. George is over often enough that Mom and Dad have had their fair share of witnessing our fights. And, as much as I love my parents, when I’m in a fight with my best friend, the last thing I want to hear is “Honey, you should be more understanding. George comes from a difficult home.”
I know George comes from a “difficult home”. That’s part of the reason why she sleeps over here every few days after another blow up at home. But still, that doesn’t help the fact that sometimes she’s just a pain in the ass.
Like everyone in her family, she has a big mouth. Figuratively and literally.
Even physically, her big lips that she wears a stubbornly bright red color are the focal point. Her sleek black haircut in a mod style, and cat lined eyes, add to the effect.
Yes, George has never been afraid to say what she thinks and do what she wants. While that can be exciting in certain circumstances, when it comes to just having a heart-to-heart with your best friend, it can get to be a little more than frustrating.
I fling myself on my bed and snuggle my head under my its covers, ensuring that the soft cotton shelters all of me, from my bare feet to even the top of my ponytailed head. An old habit I haven’t shaken from childhood. There’s something about curling up underneath a comforter that makes you feel very safe. Although right now, being safe is the least of my worries. Or the most of it, if I really think about it.
After I told George what had happened today in my new babysitting position, the whole hot boss issue, she’d not only been unsympathetic, she’d been unsupportive.
“Why didn’t you just go for it?” She had asked.
A knock on the door.
“Go away,” I call out.
“I can’t go away; I’m sleeping over, remember?” George’s irritated voice calls back.
I stay silent.
“I’m sorry, all right?”
