Mirage(11)

“You were saying . . .”

Clear throat. Decide whether to tell the truth. Decide that I can’t not tell him. “You have to promise to keep it to yourself.”

“Does that even need to be said?”

“No.” The spiked juice goes down easy, and I gulp some more, hoping the warmth will chase the damp chill of dread out of my bones. I tug my picnic blanket from my bag and get out of the car, wrapping it around my shoulders as I sit on the warm hood. The light wind makes the edges of the blanket flap like the sound of a parachute. I close my eyes and imagine being up there right now, floating in the stars. What would it feel like to fall up?

The car door shuts loudly when Joe gets out, snapping me back to the moment. We both know I’m stalling. I look at my lap as I speak. Bite my lip. Stop myself from curling into a ball. “I think I’m losing it.”

“That would imply you hadn’t already, my love.”

I sock him in the leg. “Three times today, I could swear I saw someone looking back at me out of my reflection.”

“Ryan, isn’t that, like, the very definition of reflection?”

“Someone besides me, dope!”

His smile says, C’mon, quit screwing around, but it fades when he sees how serious I am. “I?—?I don’t know what to do with that information.”

“Me neither.”

“It’s not normal to see other people when you look in the mirror.”

“You don’t say.”

Lights bounce erratically behind us, and we both realize that someone is coming up the hill. Dom rumbles up next to us in his brother’s car. He smiles at me, no trace that we had a fight earlier.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Dom chin-lifts to Joe. “What’s up, man?”

“Oh, ya know, gas prices, value of Apple shares, concerns over America’s increasing military presence in foreign countries . . .” I nudge Joe in the ribs, and he hops off the hood. “I’d better be getting back. I’m guessing you might want to stay?” he asks me with his hands stuffed in his pockets. I still don’t get why Joe doesn’t like Dom. If he would only get to know him . . . Seems Joe’s nonjudgmental ways stop at Dom’s door.

“I’ll stay.” I slide onto my feet and kiss Joe’s cheek. “Call you tomorrow. Love you.”

We watch him back up and pull away. His engine fades as it descends the hill.

“C’mere,” Dom says, holding out his arms.

My hands are on my hips as I take one soldier step toward him and halt. Dom bows his head and rubs his jaw, trying to hide his smile behind his hand. He takes one step toward me, stops.

Crickets chirp in the night around us.

“Still mad?” His voice is soft.

I take another step forward. “Not really.”

His move. “I’m sorry.”

One step. “Me too.”

We are one last footstep away from each other, both of us smiling. Dom draws a line in the sand between us with the toe of his boot.

“Daring me to cross the line?” I ask with a laugh. “That’s like asking a tiger not to eat meat!”

“Ha! After today, tiger, I know there’s no line you won’t cross if you really want to.” He bites his bottom lip in that slow way that invites attack, and fixes me with sultry cinnamon eyes. “Want to?”

Trusting him to catch me, I pounce, wrapping my legs around his waist as he holds me up. His jeans scratch pleasantly against my bare calves. When I grab both sides of his head and kiss him hard, hungry, he matches my force with lips seasoned with a bit of guy sweat and cool mint. I tease them open with my tongue, exploring, tasting. He’s my cake.

The moon is a spotlight on Dom’s upturned face, bathing him in an incandescent blue glow. I trace the light on his heart-shaped lips with my fingers. It’s such a turn-on the way his breathing intensifies and his mouth opens when he wants me.

I yank his T-shirt sideways to expose his corded neck and shoulder and revel in his groan when I bite the tattoo there. A sense of power rolls over me when I leave a mark. It’s exhilarating to pull my shirt over my head and throw it on the ground. The desert blows on my skin like it’s making a wish, and I think that we, clutching each other on this mountain, are the pin the world revolves around.

Dom’s gaze devours my bare skin.

I am black silk against the moon.

He lifts me higher to clamp his mouth on me, and I cradle his head against my chest; my face burrows into his black hair. It tickles my neck. He carries me to the car and sets me down softly on the hood, my bare back registering the residual warmth of the engine’s heat. But the warmth that radiates through me has nothing to do with the car. My fingers rip open his jeans, and I push him away with my foot to squirm out of my shorts. He moves my foot off his belly and runs his hands down my thighs. The question burns in his eyes.

My answer is to hook my heels around his back and pull him to me.

“I don’t have a condom,” he whispers, pressing his body against mine.

“I want you now, Dom.”

I love that first push.

All of them, really.

I like how we say no more words but have expressed . . . everything.



“Do you see that?” I point to the east. Miles away, flashes of lightning split the sky, flickering across it in enormous white sheets. It’s so far away I can’t hear the thunder. There’s hot wind, though, and it whips against my skin as I stand naked on the hilltop with my arms stretched over my head. I feel feral. Elemental, like lightning could shoot from my fingertips.