Page 33 of Summer Romance

I’ve barely gotten the word out before his mouth is on mine and my lips part and I am lost. His hands wind through the back of my hair and pull at my neck to bring me closer. I underestimated the thrill of kissing someone for the first time. I didn’t account for the taste of him and the brush of his slight stubble against my face. I did not consider what it would feel like to breathe in his scent up close, my fingertips tightening on his shouldery shoulders. I have the sense that I could eat this man. Everything around us has gone quiet, the kind of quiet when the pin’s been pulled from the grenade. Just before the explosion.

He deepens the kiss and I hear myself groan. He pulls away, my face in his hands, and looks me in the eye. His breaths are shallow. “Wow,” he says. He brushes his thumb over my swollen lips and I feel it throughout my body. Aftera few beats he says, “I’m going swimming.” It’s a dare, and I wonder if he knows that right now I would follow him anywhere.

He gets up, takes off his shirt, and walks to the pool steps. I run my eyes across his shoulders and his chest, and I know that he knows I’m watching him. His eyes catch mine and we both know I’ll never call him Scooter again. I finish my wine, and without thinking about it, I take off my shorts and T-shirt and dive into the pool in my bra and underwear. The water shocks my already heightened senses, and I love the delicious way it moves across my skin. When I’m close to the bottom of the pool and the cool water has touched every part of me, I realize that I forgot to be self-conscious about my perfectly fine body. I forgot to notice what underwear I was wearing. Most of it comes from a package of six that I get at Costco, cotton in shades of beige with one blue pair that’s particularly dowdy. In February and September it’s on sale, so I stock up. At this moment I don’t feel like a woman who buys her lingerie at the same place she buys laundry detergent and peanut butter pretzel bites.

I come up for air, and he’s getting into the pool. I swim from the deep end, underwater, to where he’s standing submerged to his shoulders. It’s too deep for me to stand so I place my hands on his shoulders to stay afloat. There’s some reality where my holding on to him is just playful. Or me trying not to drown. He looks at me like he thinks this is neither of those things and puts his arms around my back.

“So,” I say, and wrap my arms around his neck.

“Yes?” He pulls me close so that our stomachs are touching. I can feel this going from zero to sixty veryquickly. My body is screaming at me to jump in, but I need to contain it.

“This,” I say, and gesture between us, “this is a summer romance.” My voice catches as he moves his mouth down my wet neck.

“It’s whatever you want,” he says, right before he presses his lips to mine, first featherlight and then with intent.

“Can this just be kissing?” I ask against his mouth.

“Yes. Whatever you want, Ali Morris. I mean it.” He kisses me again.

“It will get so complicated otherwise.” I’m saying this thing, which is intended to slow us down, while exploring his bottom lip with my mouth.

He nods.

“And no touching in public. My kids.”

“Okay, I’ll just keep you here,” he says against my skin, and I shiver. I move my hands down his back, exploring the muscles there and feeling his breathing speed up as I do.

There’s a beeping, and it reminds me of the sound of my alarm during a really good dream. He keeps kissing me and I keep pressing myself against him. Then I hear the beeping again. It’s my phone.

I kiss him quickly and move toward the steps. He grabs my hand and pulls me back toward him. “You don’t need to get it.”

“I have kids. I always need to get it.” I squeeze his hand and get out of the pool.

It’s Pete, of course: Just hooked up with a group that’s doing a super-early ride tomorrow morning through Manhattan. Going to drop them off after dinner.

Ethan’s gotten out of the pool and is holding a towel out to me. “Pete wants to bring the kids home,” I say.

“Ah, better deal?”

“Basically,” I say.

“What did you say?”

“I haven’t replied yet.” I’m looking up at him for direction. At my core, I am a mother; my instinct is to put on my clothes and race to where they are, to wrap myself around them in case they’ve picked up on the fact that they’ve been dumped for a bike ride. I hate the idea that they feel like I always did, like they are his second-choice activity. And yet my skin is wet in the night air and wants to be pressed up against Ethan, feeling his chest against mine. I want his lips on my neck. In this instant I understand want in a way I haven’t before, an irrational shedding of all other thoughts besides:I want that feeling again. I reach out and rest my hand on his wet chest.

I feel him take a quick breath.

“I have to go,” I say.

“Don’t,” he says, stepping into my hand, increasing the pressure between us.

Leaving is the last thing I want to do, but I pull away because I think of Cliffy walking into the kitchen and expecting me to be there. “So was this our second date?” I ask. “Do people kiss on the second date?”

“Yes, it’s a rule,” he says. He runs a hand down the length of my waist and I feel it all the way down through my legs. “This was a great date. My fourteen-year-old self can’t believe I got Ali Morris half-naked in the pool.” He grabs a towel and wraps it tightly around me.

19

I drive home in a daze. It’s a half-mile drive, and I catch myself raising my fingers to my lips three times.

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