Page 31 of Feels Like Falling
And while I want to hurdle over any and all reservations and obstacles, I know I still need some time to come to grips with this new chapter in my life—find some balance maybe.
And besides, if years couldn’t lessen this pull toward Montana then nothing would.
14
MONTANA
“Sold” by John Michael Montgomery plays from the speaker of Ellison’s phone beside her on the lounger of her parents’ pool. Her pretty face is pointed toward the sun, and even though sunglasses cover her eyes, the quirk of her lips is enough to tell me she remembers this song as well as I do.
Growing up, I’d thought that song was all I needed to know about wooing a girl, and I practiced my slick dance moves on Ellison. She’d rolled her eyes and told me I was bein’ ridiculous, but really she was mad the girl in the song had blonde hair and hers was a rich dark brown.
She hasn’t spotted me yet and I make up my mind on the spot—kicking my shoes off and dropping my keys and phone softly in the grass. Ellison’s head lolls to the side, and her smile widens as I join in on the next chorus, shimmying and reviving some of the rusty dance moves I’d retired in our youth.
Ellison laughs, her breasts bouncing in the hot-pink bikini top, and I can barely focus with the way her sun-kissed legs look with one knee bent and the other stretched out toward me. She’s hot as hell, and just because I know she’ll love it, I change the words to brown hair, brown eyes and really belt it out.
She claps along, whistling and catcalling me before falling sideways in a fit of giggles in the lounge chair.
“What do you think? Did I live up to the original?”
“I mean,” she says when she’s gained some composure, “it’s hard to match perfection, but your enthusiasm is noted.”
I snort as she swipes at the corners of her eyes. Offering her my hand, I pray she’s too distracted to see through my intentions. When her soft palm slides against mine, I don’t wait. Rushing forward, I use her momentum and drop my shoulder, hoisting her up and off the lounger before she can react.
Ellison squeals and latches on to me like a spider monkey, her hands grabbing at me as I take two steps toward the pool and launch us into the deep end.
She lets out a colorful string of curses before we hit the cool water, both of us weightless for a split second before going under. I love the initial drop below the surface, the displacement of water that leaves you suspended before forcing you up again. Bubbles surround us, and I grunt as Ellison’s foot not so accidentally makes contact with my stomach, but it’s so worth it.
I’m just about to tell her that, but instead of sucking in a lung full of air when I surface, I suck in the wave she splashes at me. Coughing and sputtering, I can’t help but laugh, the denim of my jeans plastered to my legs and no longer as fun as when I first had this idea.
“Really proud of yourself, aren’t you, Max?” Ellison asks, her dark ponytail stuck to the side of her head.
“A little.”
“Well good, because my sunglasses are currently in a relationship with Davy Jones’s Locker.” I follow her gaze, shamelessly taking a perusal of her body in the water before locating said item gently swaying along the bottom.
“Don’t worry, Eddie, I’ll?—”
“Oh no,” she says, her expression mischievous as we both tread water, “lose the shirt and pants, good sir.” She points at the diving board and I roll my lips inward. “And make it good, because you know how much I like to judge yourtechnique.”
I try not to react to the suggestive lilt she puts on the word technique, but it’s impossible as I pull myself out of the pool and strip out of my shirt. The fabric lands in a wetplopon the patio next to me, making Ellison pump her fist in the air while yellingtake it offand other things that have heat creeping up my neck.
My jeans are heavy and rough against my skin, and the friction as I push them over my dick has me swallowing a groan and then a chuckle as Ellison motions for me to turn around—the girl is really after the full show today.
And dammit if I don’t want to give it to her.
“You getting a commission for wearing those boxer briefs?”
“Shut up, Eddie,” I say on a laugh as I toss my jeans and socks next to my shirt before stalking toward the diving board. This is a game we’ve played a hundred times before—minus the sexual tension and innuendos of course. My need to constantly try and impress Ellison was only matched by her drive to make sure she could nail every trick, jump, and flip I did too.
Girl always did know how to keep me humble.
“Let’s see it! Double backflip with a triple tuck!” she yells like she has any idea what that would actually look like, but I nod seriously before stepping onto the board and blowing out a breath. Locating the glasses at the bottom, I lock eyes with Ellison before jumping on the end of the board.
She throws her head back and laughs the minute I tuck my arms around my legs, cannonballing into the water. It’s the last thing I hear as I break the surface of the water, and this time, I let myself drop as far as I can before kicking my legs and swimming down. My fingers wrap around one of the lenses, and it’s enough of a hold for me to shift toward Ellison before kicking up like a rocket. I emerge from the water like a breaching whale and she yelps, no doubt in surprise, before clapping and cheering.
“Bravo!”
It’s ridiculous.
