Riding With Brighton(25)
“Sure. I don’t really care what someone eats. You know, as long as it’s not kittens, dogs, or bunnies. You ready?” I ask, taking the first few steps up the ladder.
“You’re the one who’s afraid of going up rickety ladders, not me.”
“I built this ladder. It’s not rickety.”
“So who was the artist that you were working with on this?”
“Her name is Sarah, and she’s probably the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You know, one of those people who are so good it makes you hate yourself. It sucked when she left.”
“Holy shit,” he says when he takes his final steps into the little deck that feels more like a room with its colorful bench swing, wind chimes and the window frame all hanging from the pitched roof. I walk to the frame and look onto the perfect view of a giant, glistening heart in the distance. “Wow, it’s like a picture on a wall.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Her husband made it six months before he died. Sarah was living here with him, but she didn’t think she was an artist. And then she had the vision for this masterpiece. She built all of this just so she, and anyone else who climbs up here, can get the perfect view of his heart.”
“Jesus, it’s like you live in some fairy-tale world built on the vapors of true love—your parents, Doc and Betty, and now Sarah and her husband. No wonder you dream about going to the school dance. I suppose you’re gonna get there in some pumpkin-turned-carriage.”
“Are you calling me a princess?”
“Not exactly. Just a reference to the whole true-love thing.”
“I guess you’re right. I’ve seen true love quite a few times. All stages of it… even the aftereffects. I guess that’s not something everyone gets to see.” I let out a breath so I don’t lose it. “It’s hard to think about Sarah. She was completely broken after she lost James. But the months we spent putting this thing together—watching the care and love she put into every detail while she told me about their lives—was amazing. And by the time we were done, you could see it: like she had been cleansed and was ready to move forward with her life.”
“I didn’t mean to get all sarcastic about it. It really is amazing,” Jay says.
“Yeah,” I quietly agree, backing away to sit on the swing.
He joins me, and we rock in silence, looking out the frame and onto the heart reflecting the sun.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually says, “for acting like a jealous asshole. I’ve just never felt that before, you know? This,” he says, loosely gesturing to his surroundings, “is something I want. And I guess right now I’m picturing some fairy-tale romance with you, but if that’s never gonna happen, I still want you to find what all those other people have. Even if it’s with Samuel.”
I laugh at the pissy way he says Samuel’s name. “Wow, Jay, you’re evolving right in front of my eyes. You’re picturing a happily ever after with a guy, huh?”
“I know, right? Jesus, the cast of characters living inside of me… I had no idea.”
“The good news is, everyone’s true love is out there somewhere. The bad news is, you told me you’re sorry so now you gotta dance.”
He laughs. “I’ll give you five bucks instead.”
“I don’t want your money. I want to see you move your hips. I bet you’re a sexy dancer.”
“Not even close. And the last person I want to see me dance is you.”
“What if I dance with you?”
He turns to me, curiosity in his eyes. “Here?”
“Yeah, here.”
“There’s no room.”
“I’ll hold you really close, I promise.” I stand and offer him my hands.
“Fine.” He takes my hands and I pull him up and he’s right—there’s not a lot of room. He falls against me, and I fall back into the pillar, his body resting on mine.
“Shit,” he says through his laughter, “sor—”
“Maybe after you get danced with properly, you’ll actually want to say the word.”
“I’m sorry,” he tells me with a smirk.
I stand upright, and his body moves with mine. I let go of his hands so I can wrap mine around his shoulders. I let my fingers feel the muscles there. They’re strong and big, and they turn me on. “Wrap your arms around my waist,” I say, and my voice comes out too husky. He does what I say, gripping my hips so tight it feels possessive. “How does that feel?”
“Really fucking good,” he whispers, resting his forehead on mine and letting his fingers splay out so they round the top of my ass.
I always envied girls one thing. If they’re turned on, the person that’s turning them on doesn’t necessarily have to know about it. But shit, here with his hands on me, his body pressed up on me and his mouth so close to mine I can practically taste it, I literally spring to life. The only consolation is that I know he’s turned on too.
His hips start swaying against mine. I’m guessing it’s to create some friction, but I tell him, “See, you’re a natural. I don’t even gotta tell you what to do.”
“I guess I can see it now.” His voice sounds drunk with desire, and his fingers press harder into me. “How dancing is sexy. How it’s the best form of foreplay.”