Page 76 of The Lovers
I pull back. “What do you say we get out of here?”
Her smile is sorcery. Her “yes” is a taunt against my lips.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Julia
We didn’t stop touching the whole walk back to Kit’s Airstream trailer.
Not when we passed Natalie doing shots of mezcal with a few of the guys from the groom’s party, or passed the mothers of the bride and groom locked in a warm embrace, sobbing about becoming a family. We didn’t let our fingers disconnect when we opened doors or moved through tight corners on dimly lit paths or while I shot off a quick text to let Zoe know I was going off duty for the night.
Kit isn’t out yet, but she isn’t hiding either. Here, she doesn’t have to explain her sexuality to the people who might observe us. No onehereis invested in a past version of her that makes them feel comfortable. But that doesn’t mean this is easy for her, and it doesn’t make her openness any less comforting to me.
When we reach the gate to her accommodations, I tug her to a stop. She turns, still not releasing my hand, and at this angle the moonlight touches the top of her head like a halo.
“What’s up?” she asks. “The other side of this gate is paradise.”
“Are you saying your pussy is a wonderland?” I reply with a smirk, referencing the queer love Halsey anthem. She tugs me in, her grip on my hand pulling mine between us so it presses between her thighs. She’s hot; I can feel it through the thin fabric of her dress.
“You’re not having second thoughts?” I ask. I can’t be distracted by her magical sex before asking at least one of the most important questions.
“I want this, Julia,” she whispers, then kisses me. “I wantyou.” She moves her hips until my hand is firmly between her legs. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
She kisses me, all intoxicating, and as our mouths meld together, our breasts touch. I run my hand up her body to brush her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. She clenches her thighs, using the hand I’d left there to apply pressure.
“Noted.” I tug back. “But not out here.”
Her eyes are dark with her dilated pupils. She fixes them on mine.
“I have an idea,” she says, flipping the lock up on the gate and pulling me to the other side.
To paradise.
?“You better not be peeking,” she scolds. I can hear glasses clinking as she walks back toward me from inside the trailer, then her motion pauses and there’s some kind of shuffle before she commences her approach. I’m sitting on the outdoor bed curled underneath a heavy patterned blanket. She wanted to set the scene, to show meshe wasn’t just looking for some quickie thing in the bed of an Airstream trailer. She can provide foreplay. She isn’t trying to rush us through this.
I hear her steps halt and then her breathing quiver a little before she says, “Okay, you can look.”
She’s brought out a bottle of wine, glasses, and a small charcuterie board, probably utilizing the overpriced hotel-supplied items in her fridge. She’s removed her professional jacket and wrapped another dusty rose blanket around her shoulders.
“I’m guessing you’re like me and you didn’t get to eat at the thing,” she says. “Not even one of those extra beef empanadas.”
“The groomsmen eviscerated the excess.”
“I’m deeply bummed out,” she replies.
“You should be,” I say, my mouth watering at the doughy memory. “I had one earlier and it was a pouch of pure heaven.”
“And you couldn’t save me one?” She fakes being offended, puffing out her lip in a pout, but she still approaches with her tray of goodies. She sets it on the bed, picking up a lighter she brought from inside and using it to light the firepit beside the bed. She grins, pleased, as soon as the flames catch. I watch her shadow against the dark copper fence line that surrounds the whole space. I guess if someone really wanted to see inside, they could, but they’d have to be willing to get branded a total perv in the process.
You couldn’t accidentally peep; you’d have tomeanit.
Kit sits on the other side of the tray, wrapping her blanket tighter around her shoulders and slipping her foot beneath her. I’m transfixed, watching her every move. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear, letting her row of earrings catch the light of the fire. The way she wets her lips before she untwists the wine cap. She’s always been this way—soft and sensual. Graceful and sure.
She hands me a glass, raising hers toward mine.
“I feel like we should do a cheers.” She looks nervous to suggest it. Like she expects me to shoot her down. My heart does a flip because I can’t believe she wants to impress me. She never needed to do that, never had to try—just her existence was enough for me.
“To finding our way back,” I say, tipping my glass toward hers. The glass doesn’t quite touch.
