Georgie, All Along (63)

Everything about her has softened now—her posture, her eyes, her lips. But when she speaks it’s with a grudging, tentative sort of softness. “Okay, but you don’t owe him, you know . . . my chastity.”

It’s the first time I’ve felt like smiling. I can tell she’s forgiven me, or at least she’s on the way to, but I haven’t given her enough, not yet. I practiced another part of this, and I’m going to say it.

“The other night was the best night I’ve had in a long time. Maybe the best night I’ve ever had. I’d give anything to go back and not leave it the way I did, and you’d have every right to never do any part of that list with me again after I messed up my first shot at it.”

“The best night, huh?”

“Yeah.”

I take a step toward her and put my hand in my pocket, taking out what I put in there this morning, after I texted her. She might say no, might think it’s too presumptuous of me. But if she does, I’ll understand. At least I’ll have tried.

I hold out the Sharpie to her.

“This is a better dock than Buzzard’s Neck,” I tell her. “Sturdier. Good water quality around here.”

She takes a tentative step forward, and then she takes the marker from me, turning it over a few times in her fingers, lowering her eyes. “I couldn’t even think of a wish when I was at Buzzard’s Neck. Not even something small.”

“You can try again. Maybe you’re out of practice.”

When she looks up at me, there’s something grateful in her expression. “Maybe I am.”

But she doesn’t make a move to uncap that marker.

“I could leave you to it, if you want. You could call out if you needed me. Hank and I’ll stay close by.”

She turns the marker again, thinking about it.

But then she says, “I thought you wanted to do some of these with me.” Her lips curve into a gentle, teasing smile. A peace offering.

“I do,” I say, recognizing that I’ve made this vow to her before. This time, I won’t break it.

She nods and uncaps the marker, holds her forearm in front of herself. She doesn’t hesitate, and I don’t watch for what she’s writing, in case she wants to keep it private. When she’s done, she makes a point of transferring the marker to her other hand, so that when she holds it out for me to take, she’s also making it clear: She’s showing me her wish.

Another kiss from Levi Fanning, she’s written, and when I look at her, she’s flushed, tentative, and so, so pretty. I’d make her wish come true right now, but I know she wants me to play along, to write a wish of my own. I take the marker, and what I want to write is, I know, all wrong. Too big for the moment.

Georgie, I want my skin to say.

Georgie here forever.

But she’s waiting, and I want to give her what she wants from her list—the spirit of Buzzard’s Neck, simple and small scale. I turn my arm and write a wish that’s a complement to hers, because we’re doing this thing together.

No interruptions this time, I write, and show it to her.

She smiles big—maybe the biggest smile she’s ever given me—and I swear my heart might stop for a minute. But it gets going again when she turns, giving me her profile and in one fell swoop pulling her dress over her head—fast, un-self-conscious, joyful. She’s wearing a white bra and panties, and oh man. When she gets in that water . . .

“Well?” she says, keeping her gaze on the river.

I don’t have to be asked twice. I pull off my T-shirt and toe off my shoes, then unbutton and push down my jeans, getting my socks off as I go. As soon as I’m in that water, Hank’ll make a bed out of my pile of clothes, but I don’t care. Being honest, I hope I’m headed to where I don’t need clothes for the rest of the day.

We stand beside each other, quiet and excited, and then she grabs my hand in hers, swinging it back and forth. Once, then twice, and I get it; she’s counting.

On three, we jump.

*

IN THE WATER, I don’t wait. When Georgie comes up, it’s with more delicacy than she did that morning out on Buzzard’s Neck—her head tilted back, her hair smoothed away from her face, her smile close-lipped. I want to make every wish she’s ever had come true, but I start with the one she made on her arm, and I reach for her, my hand finding her hip beneath the surface of the water unerringly. It’s the smoothest dance—her weightless legs wrapping around my hips, her arms around my neck, and my God, the way she looks out here. Sun and salty water, trees all around. A dream I didn’t know I had, coming true.

We kiss like we’ve been doing it forever, like we never stopped the other night, but it’s different now, too—no boundaries, no just this. Georgie is pressing against me, rubbing the center of herself along my abdomen while I hold her tight.

“Levi,” she whispers against my mouth, “now I want more.”

“I’ll get the Sharpie.”

She tips her head back and laughs, but it lowers the warm center of her farther down my body, right against the part of me that’s hard and aching for her.

“Come inside,” I say, gruff now, and she kisses me again and nods.

It’s messy how we clamber up, me helping Georgie onto the dock with my palm on her ass, an act that gets my brain going with all sorts of new wishes, the kind that make it a dangerous situation for me to hoist myself up without getting a splinter in the dick. In the end I must look a real sight, trying to delicately get myself up on dry land again, but Georgie doesn’t seem to notice. Hank’s jumping in excitement all over our discarded clothes, and once I’m on my feet Georgie and I both look down at them and shrug, and then I’m taking her hand and we’re running back toward my house, laughing as we slip on the grass, Hank barking in confused glee beside us.